"How is he to find it, then?"

"He must ask the One who does know."

"Ask?--_Pray_, you mean?"

"Yes, pray. He must ask to be shown what he ought to do, and how to do it. G.o.d knows what place he is meant to fill in the world."

"And if he asks, will he be told?"

"Certainly. That is the promise. 'If any of you lack wisdom, let him ask of G.o.d, that giveth to all men liberally, and upbraideth not; _and it shall be given him_.'"

Lois's eyes came over to her questioner at the last words, as it were, setting a seal to them.

"How will he get the answer? Suppose, for instance, I want wisdom; and I kneel down and pray that I may know my work. I rise from my prayer,--there is no voice, nor writing, nor visible sign; how am I the wiser?"

"You think it will _not_ be given him?" Lois said, with a faint smile.

"I do not say that. I dare not. But how?"

"You must not think that, or the asking will be vain. You must believe the Lord's promise."

Lois was warming out of her reserve, and possibly Mr. Dillwyn had a purpose that she should; though I think he was quite earnest with his question. But certainly he was watching her, as well as listening to her.

"Go on," he said. "How will the answer come to me?"

"There is another condition, too. You must be quite willing to hear the answer."

"Why?"

"Else you will be likely to miss it. You know, Mr. Dillwyn,--you do _not_ know much about housekeeping things,--but I suppose you understand, that if you want to weigh anything truly, your balance must hang even."

He smiled.

"Well, then,--Miss Lois?"

"The answer? It comes different ways. But it is sure to come. I think one way is this,--You see distinctly one thing you ought to do; it is not life-work, but it is one thing. That is enough for one step. You do that; and then you find that that one step has brought you where you can see a little further, and another step is clear. That will do,"

Lois concluded, smiling; "step by step, you will get where you want to be."

Mr. Dillwyn smiled too, thoughtfully, as it were, to himself.

"Was it _so_ that you went to teach school at that unlucky place?--what do you call it?"

"It was not unlucky. Esterbrooke. Yes, I think I went so."

"Was not that a mistake?"

"No, I think not."

"But your work there was broken up?"

"O, but I expect to go back again."

"Back! There? It is too unhealthy."

"It will not be unhealthy, when the railroad is finished."

"I am afraid it will, for some time. And it is too rough a place for you."

"That is why they want me the more."

"Miss Lois, you are not strong enough."

"I am very strong!" she answered, with a delicious smile.

"But there is such a thing--don't you think so?--as fitness of means to ends. You would not take a silver spade to break ground with?"

"I am not at all a silver spade," said Lois. "But if I were; suppose I had no other?"

"Then surely the breaking ground must be left to a different instrument."

"That won't do," said Lois, shaking her head. "The instrument cannot choose, you know, where it will be employed. It does not know enough for that."

"But it made you ill, that work."

"I am recovering fast."

"You came to a good place for recovering," said Dillwyn, glancing round the room, and willing, perhaps, to leave the subject.

"Almost too good," said Lois. "It spoils one. You cannot imagine the contrast between what I came from--and _this_. I have been like one in dreamland. And there comes over me now and then a strange feeling of the inequality of things; almost a sense of wrong; the way I am cared for is so very different from the very best and utmost that could be done for the poor people at Esterbrooke. Think of my soups and creams and ices and oranges and grapes!--and there, very often I could not get a bit of fresh beef to make beef-tea; and what could I do without beef-tea? And what would I not have given for an orange sometimes! I do not mean, for myself. I could get hardly anything the sick people really wanted. And here--it is like rain from the clouds."

"Where does the 'sense of wrong' come in?"

"It seems as if things _need_ not be so unequal."

"And what does your silver spade expect to do there?"

"Don't say that! I have no silver spade. But just so far as I could help to introduce better ways and a knowledge of better things, the inequality would be made up--or on the way to be made up."

"What refining measures are you thinking of?--beside your own presence and example."

"I was certainly not thinking of _that_. Why, Mr. Dillwyn, knowledge itself is refining; and then, so is comfort; and I could help them to more comfort, in their houses, and in their meals. I began to teach them singing, which has a great effect; and I carried all the pictures I had with me. Most of all, though, to bring them to a knowledge of Bible truth is the princ.i.p.al thing and the surest way. The rest is really in order to that."

"Wasn't it very hard work?"

"No," said Lois. "Some things were hard; but not the work."

"Because you like it."