So, instead of scolding, he slipped an arm under Agatha's shoulders to raise her up, that she might take her tea before he was obliged to leave her.

'If Catherine comes, you will need strength to entertain her cheerfully.

Be brave and good, dear.'

Agatha longed to push the cup away from her, but his patient kindness prevailed over her cross mood.

'I'm a savage little beast. Guardian, I'm--I'm sorry!'

'There's a dear girl! No doubt pain is very bad to bear.'

'I haven't any pain now--only in my temper. But I don't pretend to be _religiously_ sorry, you know; I don't want to be bad to you--that's all.'

'Your Father in heaven loves you better than I, your adopted father on earth, can do.'

'You only love me out of duty. It must be that, because I'm not a bit nice; so probably my Father in heaven gave me up long ago!'

'Agatha, my darling, do you not know better than that?'

'Better than _which_, guardian? better than to doubt G.o.d's love or yours?' she asked, smiling through tears that seemed to burn her weary eyes.

'I might answer truthfully, "Both"; but if you cannot trust in my love, you should be able to lean confidently upon the love of your Maker.'

'Are you _really_ fond of me? Would you be sorry if I were to die?'

Colonel Jack looked his ward gravely in the face, his eyes filled with sincerity. He was a man of action, not of words, so he made no lengthy protestations, only saying with heartfelt fervour:

'I love you, for your own sake and that of my old friend, your father; and I should be lonely without you.'

Agatha gazed at him in silence for a minute or two, studying the sincerity of his eyes, which had so often looked at death calmly. Then she pressed her lips to his hand, and cried:

'I'm happier now, then! It's dreadful to think that no one does.

Perhaps--I mean, I'll believe G.o.d does.'

'"Greater love hath no man than this, that he lay down his life for his friends,"' quoted the colonel reverently.

'Guardian, you are always repeating that. I believe it's the only text you know by heart!'

Seeing Agatha's natural expression come again to her face--the teasing, audacious, little smile he knew so well--he was contented.

'It is the best I _could_ remember, little woman. Now, promise me you will not fret any more to-night, while I am away. Catherine will come to you, unless she is unavoidably prevented.'

'I'll try to be reasonable. It would be much nicer if you could stay with me till she comes, though. There's something very odd about persuading young men and boys to go to a club on Sunday evenings, just to hear reading, when they could quite well go to church.'

'None are allowed in but those who have been to church in the morning, and Mr. Burnley tells me that many go to service (who used never to be seen in church before), just that they may be ent.i.tled to join our Sunday evening circle. We read interesting books to them, and sometimes there are recitations of poems,--it is not surprising how many great literary works there are which raise the heart and mind to G.o.d. Then we always begin and end with prayer. It is not a bad service itself, Agatha; and the young fellows would not go to church twice a day--they would probably spend their evenings in gambling and drinking, or in the company of street loafers. Beverbridge has its bad characters.'

'Now, why is it that you never address meetings of the club?' asked his ward mischievously. 'That was quite a speech!'

He laughed.

'_I_ speak? My courage fails me even when I begin to read aloud! No, no, that is not the kind of action for which my poor powers are suitable....

Now, good-bye, my dear. Keep a brave heart until Catherine comes. Be G.o.d's plucky little soldier!'

Only half an hour later Agatha was nestling her face against Catherine Carmichael's shoulder, smiling up at her radiantly. They were talking of Agatha's own life,--its trials, pleasures, wants, and blessings.

'Oh, you can't guess how badly I've wanted a girl-friend, some one to tell everything to! I used to dream about you, when you were out in Australia, and I nearly began to write long letters to you.'

'I wish you had written.'

'You couldn't have known what I was like. I should have hated you to think me nice, and then to have come to England and been disappointed.

It's best as it is. Help me, Cath; _do_ help me! What am I to do to be nicer?'

'Leave off thinking so much about yourself.'

'Why? I ought to meditate continually upon my faults, ought I not?

People have told me so.'

'That is a morbid idea of religion and duty, dear. Be as sorry as possible for your sins, but spare time to meditate upon G.o.d's mercy and goodness, otherwise how can you learn to love Him? Then again, by thinking always of your faults, you grow into a spiritual hypochondriac.

How ill a person would feel who spent all his time in considering the exact strength and nature of every small pain or weariness! No, no, Agatha; to be healthily religious, you must trust in G.o.d a great deal more, and, in remembering Him, forget yourself!'

'It must be much easier for you, Catherine,' said the little girl wistfully, 'for _you_ never feel too ill to do anything but be cross, do you?'

'No, dear. But there will be a wonderful reward due to you in heaven, if, in spite of your bodily weakness, you serve the Father bravely. Tell Him your difficulties; speak to Him quite simply, at all hours, out of the fulness of your heart, and He will understand. You will learn to feel sure of His presence near you; you will love to bear pain patiently, to please Him, and in remembrance of the agony He chose for His portion in order that we, His rebellious servants, might be eternally happy. Once you have learned this lesson, you will never feel lonely any more.'

Catherine's face was glorified by the light of the peace of which she was speaking, that peace which truly pa.s.seth understanding! Perhaps Agatha learned more by watching her friend's face than even by listening to her words. Certainly she was both convinced and comforted.

'Catherine, I'll try.'

The promise (for as a promise the words were spoken) came slowly, earnestly, eagerly from the child's lips. Then, laying her head on her friend's shoulder, she went on to say:

'It won't be easy, I know that; and it means never trying to please myself only, never speaking angrily just to make other people angry, never calling Uncle Ross our enemy and trying to hate him, never.... Oh yes, it _will_ be difficult! Only now I seem to understand, as I never did before, that it isn't only people who want to be extra good, but it's _every one_ who ought to serve G.o.d _thoroughly_. Do you know what I mean?'

'Yes, dear. It is very common for persons to say or think, "_I_ needn't devote my whole efforts to serving G.o.d. _I_ shall be all right, so long as I do not sin in great matters." But that is a form of ignorance.

Directly such a person is asked, "Why were you created?" "Are you fulfilling the Creator's purpose?" there is no answer forthcoming, except an admission of failure. Now we all of us despise failures that are the result of idleness; so how can we expect G.o.d, at the last judgment, to reward us for failing through our ill-will and slothfulness?'

'It all seems quite plain, when you talk of religion.'

Catherine's gentle hands were stroking Agatha's hot forehead, pa.s.sing and repa.s.sing over her eyes with a soft touch which was very soothing.

'My mother taught me all these truths, and I have never forgotten them,'

she answered. 'So you are going to give G.o.d your whole heart?'

'I'll begin this very evening, and I shall write down the promise, in cypher, in my diary, that I mayn't ever be able to forget for long.

Cath, if I were to die now ... should I go to h.e.l.l?'

'If _you_ had a servant who had neglected his duty, but who was honestly sorry, and promised you that he would never wilfully sin against you again, would you wish to condemn him to eternal misery? Oh, childie, when you doubt G.o.d's mercy, you do Him a terrible injustice, for He is many million times more generous than the greatest and best of His creatures can ever become.'

'Oh, Catherine, you _are_ beautiful!'