"Don't you think that fellow John ought to be ashamed of himself, and I
don't believe he ever thinks of it," said Joe, recurring to his old
feeling of revenge and hatred.

"Perhaps he thinks of it more than you imagine," said Emilie, "but don't
fancy that no one cares about you, that is the way to be very unhappy."

"It is _true_," said Joe, sadly.

"God cares for you," however, replied Emily softly.

"Oh, if I could think that, it would be a comfort," Miss Schomberg, "and
I do need comfort; I do, I do indeed, groaned the boy."

Emilie's tears fell fast. No words of sympathy however touching, no
advice however wise and good, no act however kind could have melted Joe
as the tears of that true-hearted girl. He felt confidence in their
sincerity, but that any one should feel for _him_, should shed tears for
him, was so new, so softening an idea, that he was subdued. Not another
word passed on the subject. Emilie returned to the piano, and soon had
the joy of seeing Joe in a tranquil sleep; she shaded the lamp that it
might not awake him, covered his poor cold feet with her warm tartan,
and with a soft touch lifted the thick hair from his burning forehead,
and stood looking at him with such intense interest, suck earnest
prayerful benevolence, that it might have been an angel visit to that
poor sufferer's pillow, so soothing was it in its influence. He half
opened his eyes, saw that look, felt that touch, and tears stole down
his cheeks; tears not of anger, nor discontent, but of something like
gratitude that after all _one_ person in the world cared for him. His
sleep was short, and when he awoke, he said abruptly to Emilie, "I want