"I suppose," she mused, "that my life is round a different centre. I hope and trust that it is. What a difference it has made in my life! But how I wish I could get grandfather to see it too!"
She prayed much that she might seize any little opportunity given to her, of speaking to others about the things that were of so much interest to her. She soon found in visiting some of the cottages which were a long way off from the church, that there were great big boys and farm lads who went to no place of worship and hardly knew what to do with themselves on Sunday. With some trepidation, she asked her grandfather if he would object to her starting a class for them, and holding it in an unused room on Sunday afternoons.
He stared at her in surprise at the request.
"What is this fancy? What can you teach them, except how to paint?"
Jean was not repulsed by his sneer. Her opportunity had come.
"Grandfather, I have never told you, but I have been led to look at life so differently since I have been in London. I see that it is so short down here compared with the years that will follow. And it is meant to be a preparation, isn't it? I don't know how to express myself well, but I have learnt to love and follow Christ, and I have taken Him as my Saviour and Master. It has made me so happy that I want others to be happy too."
"Well, keep it to yourself," grunted Mr. Desmond. "Women always are superstitious fools; they have no brains to be otherwise."
But he raised no objection to the class of boys, and Jean started it with great fear and trembling the following Sunday.
It was her first venture, and eight lads in the hobbledehoy stage appeared, four of whom could not read. They had learnt in a manner, but had forgotten, as from the time they had left school, they had never opened book or paper. Their ignorance was dense.
"Can you tell me anything about John the Baptist? Who was he?" she asked, after they had read a chapter together.