"No, it would not," Kathie answered, reflectively.
"So we have to keep a watch every moment, be fed every day and hour, or we shall hunger."
Kathie sighed a little. Why had it not been as easy to be good and pleasant to-night as some other times when mamma did not think a coveted indulgence necessary? Yet her perplexity appeared so trivial that she hardly had the courage to confess it even to this kind listener.
"You took the right step to-night, Kathie," said Aunt Ruth, presently. "I was glad to see you do it. Brooding over any real or fancied burden never lightens it. And though it seems a rather sharp remedy in the midst of one's pain to think of or help some other person, it works the speediest cure."
She saw that. So little a thing as entertaining Freddy had soothed her own disappointment.
"But I ought not—" and Kathie's voice trembled.
"Stoicism is not the highest courage, little one. And God doesn't take away our natural feelings when he forgives sin. There is a good deal of sifting and winnowing left for us to do. And I believe God is better pleased with us when we have seen the danger, and struggled against it, than if it had not touched us at all. The rustle of the leaves seems to give promise of fruit."
"I think I see," Kathie answered, slowly. "There is some marching as well as all battle."
"Yes"; and Aunt Ruth kissed the tremulous scarlet lips.
Kathie was so soundly asleep that she did not hear mamma and Uncle Robert come home. But she was bright and winsome as a bird the next morning.