"Oh, no, no! I was only afraid of tiring you," Elsie said, leaning over
her and stroking her hair with soft, gentle touch. "I should like to stay
and talk if you wish; to tell you all about our visit to the Crags, and
mamma's old governess, and----"
"Oh, yes, do; anything to help me to forget, even for a few minutes. Oh, I
wish I was dead! I wish I was dead! I can't bear to live and be a
cripple!"
"Dear Molly, don't cry, don't feel so dreadfully about it!" Elsie said,
weeping with her. "Jesus will help you to bear it; he loves you, and is
sorrier for you than anybody else is; and he won't let you be sick or in
pain in heaven."
"No, he doesn't love me! I'm not good enough; and if he did, he wouldn't
have let me get such a dreadful fall."
Little Elsie was perplexed for the moment, and knew not what to answer.
"Couldn't he have kept me from falling?" demanded Molly, almost fiercely.
"Yes, he can do everything."
"Then I hate him for letting me fall!"
Elsie was inexpressibly shocked. "Oh, Molly!" in an awed, frightened tone,
was all that she could say.
"I'm awfully wicked, I know I am; but I can't help it.
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