Christina raised her head with big tearful eyes. "Oh, please, Miss Bertha, why did God make me a coward? I'm sure I've always been one ever since I was a tiny baby."
"No, darling, God never made you a coward; and if you think you are not as brave as you ought to be, ask Him to make you brave."
Christina dried her eyes, and jumping up clasped her arms round Miss Bertha's neck.
"It wouldn't be too difficult for God, would it?" she asked, hope dawning in her eyes.
"No, it would be quite easy. Shall we ask Him now to take away all fear of meeting your father and mother?"
Miss Bertha was the only person who talked to Christina about good things. She seemed to live so close to God herself that she brought every one she knew close to Him too. Christina's nurse often wondered at the knowledge her little charge seemed to have of God and of His love and power. She was not a religious person herself, but as a matter of duty heard Christina say her morning and evening prayers, and on Sunday afternoons would read her a chapter out of the Bible. Beyond this she never went, and Christina looked upon Miss Bertha as the only one who could solve her childish perplexities and religious difficulties. For the little girl was a thinker beyond her years, and her brain was far stronger than her body.
She was quite accustomed to Miss Bertha's custom of getting down upon her knees at any moment of the day to speak to the One whom she loved and followed; and now, as the grey and golden heads were bowed together, Christina's burden disappeared. She jumped up almost joyfully.
"And now, please, Miss Bertha, may I have your dear little Chinese doll to nurse?"
She was a child again for the time, and her merry chatter and laughter brought a corresponding light and gladness into the face of her old friend.