"I know quite well you do, 'cause you've been ever so much nicer lately. And that's why. I expect—" and Mittie paused thoughtfully. "I expect cousin Hermione doesn't love Him much to-day, else she wouldn't have got into such a rage."
"I don't think you had better talk about Hermione. We have to do right ourselves, not to discuss other people."
"That's just exactly what my Marjory says," Mittie answered, in a tone of profound satisfaction, as she clasped both arms round Julia's waist. "Aunt Julia, I love you heaps more than I used. I told my Marjory so, and I said I wished you'd come and hear her talk. And she said you was too old."
"Too old!"
"Yes; you're as old as she is, and you don't want to be taught. My Marjory said you was old enough to read your own Bible, and to listen to everything in Church. And she said God's teaching was the best. I do try now to listen in Church as much as ever I can, only I s'pose I'm too little to understand it all. There's some hard words, you know. But I always know what it means when His name comes in, and it does come in so very often. That's nice, isn't it? And I s'pose by-and-by, when I go to Church, God will teach me; but now, you know, Marjory teaches me."
Julia would have wished to hear more of the simple prattle. Somehow, it seemed to help her. Through the infantine words she caught glimpses of truths hitherto veiled from her eyes.
Old enough to read her Bible, and to listen to everything in Church. That suggestion would remain, Julia had read her Bible regularly of late, but the reading had been formal, mechanical, superficial— a thing that had to be done because it was right, not an earnest searching to find out the mind and will of God. She had gone to Church regularly, often of late twice instead of once on Sunday, but the going had been from a sense of duty, not to join in heartfelt worship, in prayer, in praise, and not with thirsty craving for instruction. At least, if the thirsty craving had been there, she had not looked to have it satisfied. Something of this dawned upon Julia as the child spoke. But no more could be said, for Mrs. Trevor's voice sounded in raised tones—
"Julia! Where are you? What are you doing?"
"I am here," Julia answered, coming out of the alcove, and descending the lower flight. Mittie remained behind. Mrs. Trevor retreated before Julia into the drawing-room.
"Where have you been? You might have remembered that I should be alone all this time? Except when Harvey appeared, which was worse on the whole than solitude. What made you go and tell him all about that scene? He is in a nice state of mind!"