"I never thought of that before," said Robin.
"Maybe not, child; you are young, and have much to learn. A lifetime is not long enough to find out the wonders of His grace. But mind you, my boy, we must have the root of the matter in us before we can be right for God's garden. Some people are like plants put into the ground with their heads downwards; their lives are all wrong and topsy-turvy, and nothing can be done with them until they are turned right round, which is what is meant by being converted. When you ran up to me just now, I was thinking over the Apostle Paul's wonderful prayer; I had been reading it in my Bible before I set out for my day's work; I was saying ft over and over again for fear I should forget it:
"'That He would grant you, according to the riches of His glory, to be strengthened with might by His Spirit in the inner man; that Christ may dwell in your hearts by faith; that ye, being rooted and grounded in love, may be able to comprehend with all saints what is the breadth and length and depth and height; and to know the love of Christ which passeth knowledge, that ye might be filled with all the fulness of God.' (Eph. iii. 16-19).
"Ah, Robin, my boy, God grant you that blessing, and then you will grow up a rare plant and noble tree,—'the tree planted by the rivers of water, that bringeth forth his fruit in his season, and whose leaf shall not wither.'
"Yet, however far down our roots may strike, we shall never reach the bottom of Christ's love. But we can grow in it. 'It is the Spirit that quickeneth;' and He can give us all in and through our Lord Jesus Christ. Now run away, my lad, and fetch your barrow. I will wait for you at the turn of the shrubbery nigh the house."
[CHAPTER III]
A RAINBOW IN THE NURSERY
THE kitchen at Oaklands was a warm and cheery place to turn into on that frosty morning; at least so thought Robin, as, standing beside his friend Jonathan in the doorway, he watched the cook pour steaming bread and milk into the basins that were going up into the nursery. The scent of fragrant coffee, mingled with the savoury smell from the rashers of bacon sputtering and browning in the great frying-pan, made a most inviting combination.
"This is Widow Campbell's son," said the gardener, pushing Robin forward a little; "he has come to fetch the clothes for his mother."
"Then he must wait a while, if you please," said the housekeeper, who entered at that moment. "We are very busy this morning, and I am behindhand with several things. Cook, give the lad a cup of coffee and something to eat with it. It may be an hour before I can send him home again."