I did not expect a sudden little clutch of my hand, and a quick, "Oh, I am so glad you feel that. It's just what I feel, and can't put into words."
"Of course," I added, "it is only a human conception of what He is; and one knows that every human conception of Him must fall infinitely short of the reality."
Thyrza's dark eyes were fixed on me intently. "And you don't think this corner of my room incongruous with the rest," she asked. "I do so like to have all my pet things about me; and I have nowhere to put them except on the walls. Is there any harm?"
"I can understand your mother's feeling," I said cautiously. "And if there were any touch of the really comic, frankly, I should not like that, side by side with the sacred. But the room does not strike me as comic. It is only singular and natural, a putting forth of your mind and tastes. To me, it seems rather to mean the coming of religion into the common little things of everyday life. If our religion doesn't do that, it is not worth much. Perhaps a good deal depends on how one looks upon a question."
[CHAPTER VIII.]
"MILLIE."
THE SAME—continued.
February 27. Friday Evening.
"THANK you," Thyrza said earnestly.
She led me to the tiny mantelpiece, over which hung numerous photographs. Brothers and sisters grouped round the parents were easily recognisable; most of them having been recently taken.