Tony, who had never had anything to love except a stray cur or two, which he had always lost after a few days’ friendship, felt as if he could have suffered himself to be put to death for either of these two; while Beppo came in for a large share of his unclaimed affections.  The chief subject of their reading was the life of the Master, who was so intimately dear to the heart of old Oliver.  Tony was very eager to learn all he could of this great friend who did so much for the old man, and who might perhaps be persuaded some day or other to take a little notice of him, if he should fail to get a crossing for himself.  Oliver, in his long, unbroken solitude of six years, had fallen into a notion, amounting to a firm belief, that his Lord was not dead and far off, as most of the world believed, but was a very present, living friend, always ready to listen to the meanest of his words.  He had a vague suspicion that his faith had got into a different course from that of most other people; and he bore meekly the rebukes of his sister Charlotte for the unwholesomeness of his visions.  But none the less, when he was alone, he talked and prayed to, and spoke to Tony of this Master, as one who was always very near at hand.

“I s’pose he takes a bit o’ notice o’ the little un,” said Tony, “when he comes in now and then of an evening.”

“Ay, does he!” answered Oliver, earnestly.  “My boy, he loves every child as if it was his very own, and it is his own in one sense.  Didn’t I read you last night how he said, ’Suffer the little children to come unto me, and forbid them not.’  Why, he’d love all the young children in the world, if they weren’t hindered from coming to him.”

“I should very much like to see him some day,” pursued Tony, reflectively, “and the rest of them,—­Peter, and John, and them.  I s’pose they are getting pretty old by now, aren’t they?”

“They are dead,” said Oliver.

“All of ’em?” asked Tony.

“All of them,” he repeated.

“Dear, dear!” cried Tony, his eyes glistening.  “Whatever did the Master do when they all died?  I’m very sorry for him now.  He’s had a many troubles, hasn’t he?”

“Yes, yes,” replied old Oliver, with a faltering voice.  “He was called a man of sorrows, and acquainted with grief.  Nobody ever bore so many troubles as him.”

“How long is it ago since they all died?” asked Tony.

“I can’t rightly say,” he answered.  “I heard once, but it is gone out of my head.  I only know it was the same when I was a boy.  It must have been a long, long time ago.”

“The same when you was a boy!” repeated Tony, in a tone of disappointment.  “It must ha’ been a long while ago.  I thought all along as the Master was alive now.”

“So he is, so he is!” exclaimed old Oliver, eagerly.  “I’ll read to you all about it.  They put him to death on the cross, and buried him in a rocky grave; but he is the Prince of Life, and he came to life again three days after, and now he can die no more.  His own words to John were, ’I am he that liveth, and was dead; and behold, I am alive forevermore.’  What else can it mean but that he is living now, and will never die again?”