"But I want to know." Mittie twined an arm round Julia's as she spoke. "Because my Marjory says that if we do love God, Aunt Julia, we must be awfully unhappy to make Him sorry. And cousin Hermione was in a dreadful temper, wasn't she? So she ought to be miserable."
"People are unhappy in different ways," Julia answered judiciously. "When were you in a temper last?"
"Oh, not for a whole week. And I don't mean to be, never again!"
"But everybody does wrong sometimes."
Mittie shook her head. "Nobody oughtn't," she said. "And when they do, they've got to be awfully sorry, and go and tell Jesus, and try harder."
"Yes; that must be right," said Julia, with a sudden wonder in her heart—why had not she tried this plan?
There was sufficient light for her to see the upturned face of the child, with its surrounding cloud of flaxen hair.
"Mittie, how do you know enough about—about Him—to be able to love Him?"
"Why, Aunt Julia! You love Him!"
Julia made no reply.