a hammock, which is indeed my own bed, and put Giles upon it: we then
lifted him up, bed and all, as tenderly as if he had been a gentleman,
and brought him in here. My wife has just brought him a drop of nice
broth; and now, sir, as I have done what I could for his poor
perishing body, it was I who took the liberty to send to you to come
and try to help his poor soul, for the doctor says he can't live."

Mr. Wilson could not help saying to himself, "Such an action as this
is worth a whole volume of comments on that precept of our blessed
Master, 'Love your enemies: do good to them that hate you.'"

Giles' dying groans confirmed the sad account Weston had just given.
The poor wretch could neither pray himself, nor attend to the
minister. He could only cry out, "Oh, sir, what will become of me? I
don't know how to repent. O my poor wicked children! Sir, I have bred
them all up in sin and ignorance. Have mercy on them, sir; let me not
meet them in the place of torment to which I am going. Lord, grant
them that time for repentance which I have thrown away!" He languished
a few days, and died in great misery--a fresh and sad instance, that
people who abuse the grace of God, and resist his Spirit, find it
difficult to repent when they will.

Except the minister and Jack Western, no one came to see poor Giles,
besides Tommy Price, who had been so sadly wronged by him. Tom often
brought him his own rice and milk or apple-dumpling; and Giles,
ignorant and depraved as he was, often cried out that "he thought now
there must be some truth in religion, since it taught even a boy to
_deny himself_, and _to forgive an injury_." Mr. Wilson, the next
Sunday, made a moving discourse on the danger of what are called
"petty offences." This, together with the awful death of Giles,