"It doesn't sound as if we are bragging?" said Hope a little doubtfully after Charity had read this long letter through with much pride.
"No, for we only tell her what is true," Charity replied.
"I should like you to tell her a little more about Timothy," said Faith. "Mrs. Cox would be made quite happy if Timothy talked to her."
"Mrs. Cox would never be happy," said Charity firmly; "she's one of those people who are happy when they're unhappy."
"Let me put a postscript," begged Faith.
Charity assented, and Faith sat down at the table and wrote very carefully as follows:
"My friend Timothy tells me about God the Comforter Who lives now in the world going about and drying people's tears. Do you know Him, Mrs. Cox? He will make the people you tell us about who are sick of life quite, quite joyful. I wish you knew Timothy. He does talk me into being happy, and you would be happy too. But the Comforter is in London and in your street. I told Timothy where you lived and he said He was.
"FAITH."
Charity and Hope looked at each other when they had read what Faith had written.
Charity shrugged her shoulders.
"Faith will get too good to live soon," she said; "but she's simply cracked over her old Timothy."