"Well, darling, I'm going to talk very often about it, because I love to do so, and I want my children to grow up with their little hands placed in the Hands of their loving Saviour; I want them to be led through their lives by Him."
"I wonder if Chris and Noel have got home yet?"
Mrs. Inglefield smiled. She understood her children, and never gave them too much at a time. But she prayed a lot for them, as all good mothers do.
When they reached home they found Chris dusty, hot, and rather cross. He was cleaning his bicycle with some old rags outside the shed in which he kept it.
"Have you had a nice time?" his mother asked. "Where is Noel?"
"I don't know."
Chris spoke sullenly.
"Didn't he come back with you?"
"I think he's sulking in a ditch. I let him ride much more than I did, and then he went on for miles and left me. He wouldn't stop. And when I did come up with him I let him have it, and he yelled, and I told him, he shouldn't get on it again, so I came on home by myself."
"Oh, Chris! He's a little boy. You shouldn't have left him. Where is this ditch? I did think I could trust you to take care of him."