- char_end
- 920
- char_start
- 0
- chunk_index
- 0
- chunk_total
- 1
- estimated_tokens
- 230
- text
- 146
ing down at night, and remembering all that had been told of Jesus, would whisper, “I wonder, oh, I wonder if He could make bad people good? That would be still harder to do.”
Mothers, you know, always desire the best things for their children. So when it chanced one day that in the crowd going towards Jerusalem there was a rumor that Jesus the Prophet was near, talking in His own sweet way, wise and comforting and commanding, a few dark-eyed Judean women, holding babies in their arms, and with older children clinging to their gowns, pressed out of the throng and came close to the Master. This was the name they had begun to call Him now.
They wanted Him to touch their children. Some of the children were ill, some were fretful and tired, some were bubbling over with health and fun. All were very dear to their mothers, and the mothers thought that a touch of those hands that had done so much good would