"Any room on the sofa for a fellow?" asked Hugh.

"Oh, yes! plenty."

"Sit next me," said Minnie.

"All right. I say, Agnes, how strange it will seem to have Christmas Day without them!"

"Yes; but we can make it happy if we try," said Agnes.

"How?"

"By _being_ happy."

"That's all very well," said Hugh; "but then, you know, Agnes, _being_ made happy depends on outward things."

"Of course it does; and on inward things too. If we have got a well of happiness inside us, it will make everything round us seem bright and beautiful."

"What do you call a 'well of happiness'?"

"I know what Agnes means," said Minnie.

"I was thinking then of the day father came home from America--last time; and we had received the telegram that he had landed at Liverpool.

How we all went about singing and happy; how we never thought of quarrelling, but hastened to get everything ready for him."

"I remember that day," said Alice; "it was one of the nicest I ever spent."

"So that is what I mean by a 'well of happiness;' something which gives us joy, independently of anything else."

"And what's your Christmas 'well of joy' for this year, Agnes?" asked John with a smile.

Agnes gave an answering smile. "Oh, John, it is that we are His; that, through the coming of the dear Saviour, we have been given all other blessings--happiness and peace here, everlasting joy hereafter."

"And you think that ought to make up for all other deficiencies?" asked Hugh.

"If we have _got_ it," said Alice thoughtfully; "but sometimes I wonder----" she looked down, and tears glittered in her eyes.

Agnes heard the quiver in the tone, and put her arm lovingly round her sister. "Is it so difficult to know?"

Alice shook her head.

"He gives the Holy Spirit to them that ask Him."

The little party were silent; Alice's unusual feeling startled them. The Sunday afternoon was drawing in, and the light fading.

Presently Agnes said, "I have thought of a little allegory; would you like to hear it? It might help us to understand Alice's difficulty."

The question did not need repeating, and she began:

[Ill.u.s.tration]

[Ill.u.s.tration]

CHAPTER X.

_THE GOLDEN OIL: AN ALLEGORY._

I fell asleep and dreamed. Before me spread out verdant fields, picturesque villages, valleys of peace and plenty, cities of care and toil, the wide ocean restlessly tossing, the mountain bare and rugged.

At first my eyes seemed heavy with sleep, but after a time I began to see things more clearly, and in all these varied scenes I perceived there were children moving to and fro.

I was apparently at a great distance from them, and could not well understand what they did, nor could I hear what they said.

They appeared to be very busy, often eagerly running or walking; talking together in twos and threes; playing with the trifles which seemed to lie everywhere for their amus.e.m.e.nt; sometimes two quarrelling loudly over these same trifles, and crying pitifully if they could not have what they wanted.

In my dream I seemed to be drawing nearer and nearer to them, and I began to perceive the differences in their countenances and dress, and to find that there was only one point of resemblance in them all; and this one thing caused me great surprise.

Some were robed in dresses whose sheen, reflecting the rays of the morning sun, dazzled my eyes; again, others had garments of the dullest hue; and the clothes of others were so covered with mud and dirt, that I could not have told what they once were. But, whether gaily decked or dressed in sombre attire, each child had fastened round it a curiously-fashioned girdle, to which hung a small pitcher. The pitchers appeared to be all of one shape and size, but the materials of which they were made seemed to differ widely.

On some of the children, whose dress was of gayest hue, the pitcher, strange to say, appeared to be made of commonest material, for it looked dull and dark; while at the girdle of some who were most plainly attired hung vessels of brightest gold. This also was incomprehensible to me.

Presently my dream seemed to bring me so near that I could see what they were doing and hear a little of what they said.

A group of them were sitting on a bank of flowers, resting in the shade, and as they talked I drew near to listen.

"I do not believe it," said a st.u.r.dy little boy, as he threw a ball of flowers into the lap of a little maiden opposite.

"What do you not believe?" asked a grave-looking girl who was seated near.

"That there is any hurry to get the pitchers filled."

"Did any one say there was?" asked the girl, glancing thoughtfully at the vessel hanging at her side, while I perceived that it had the look of being neglected and soiled.

"Yes, there was a proclamation this morning that the pitchers might be needed this very day, and that all who had not the Golden Oil should, without delay, repair to the place whence it could be obtained."

"So there is every day," exclaimed a tall youth who was lying on the gra.s.s at their feet. "That is nothing new: it is the duty of the Herald to proclaim, and it is our duty to hear, but----"

"No one ever thinks of obeying," laughed the roguish boy, weaving his flowers as if all his life were centred in doing that only.

But the thoughtful girl looked up with a deep flush at those careless words. "I do not think _every one_ does that, Ashton; for Esther here----"

She pointed to a child at a little distance who was threading daisies together wherewith to deck a tiny brother, who sat watching her little fingers with absorbed interest.

Now that my attention was directed to this little girl, I took note of her for the first time. Her dress was of some white material, her eyes clear as the deep summer azure, her face full of sunshine, while close to her heart a golden pitcher gleamed in the light, as her happy little figure turned backwards and forwards in her task.

"Oh, Esther always obeys!" said the youth from the gra.s.s, "and is the happiest little mortal in doing so; but that would not suit every one."