"God makes it all right at last. He asks us to wait his time. And though it is very hard—" Kathie's lip quivered and her voice grew unsteady.
"It seems to me this has been the meanest thing I ever knew. You cannot guess what gave it the first start."
"Yes. It was while you were sick that the girls—took a dislike to me. I spoke to some people one day, some friends," correcting herself, "and Belle laughed at them. Then the girls talked about—mamma."
"It was shameful!"
"We were poor, and we had to work. Mamma could not help all that. And then Uncle Robert came, and we have been so very happy ever since. Thinking of it all, I don't mind this little trouble much. All that Belle says cannot make us coarse and vulgar and ignorant, and I have been trying all the time to look on the best and brightest side."
Emma put her arm suddenly around Kathie.
"What is it," she asked, in a husky voice,—"what is it that makes you sweet and patient and tender and forgiving, always ready to minister to others and to the poor, even if you are laughed at and teased? Maybe it's the same grace that takes away the fear of death! O, I wish I knew! I wish I had it! I am sometimes so miserable, Kathie. Do you believe that your God could love and pity me a little?"
"'Him that cometh to me I will in no wise cast out.'"
It was all that Kathie could think of to say as Emma stopped short in her walk, trembling, excited, and tearful.