"I think I am," Clarice said, thoughtfully. "Perhaps it is not right to be cross and to cry and fret and vex you. But, there, I never did when I was well and strong, and I would not do it now if I was well again. And yet you think it is God's will that I should be like this!"
She remained silent for so long a time that her mother hoped she had forgotten all about it. But poor little Clarice had not forgotten, and was floundering about very hopelessly on the margin of that wide and deep sea of perplexity in which many a better-found boat than hers has gone down. Presently she sighed deeply and said,—
"I wish I knew how to be good! I am afraid I am not good; and then if I die, I might not go to heaven; and then it would be better for me to live, even though I never get any better. You would go to heaven, mother—you're always good!"
"Ah, no, Clarice! I'm afraid not."
"Afraid you won't go to heaven?"
"No, no—afraid I'm not good."
"But that's all the same thing, for only good people go to heaven. I remember that much, at least. But I know you are good, mother dear, so don't you be frightened; but I ought to be frightened, for I am not a bit good. I feel full of crossness, and sometimes nearly hate people when I hear them running and jumping. And when baby was born, I hated her, because then you could not nurse me so much; and I hate—"
"Oh, Clarice, be still. It is wrong to hate any one, and I am sure you don't."
"I do sometimes, really. I'm afraid I am not good at all. If I was well and strong, I would be good; so it's not my own fault, after all."
"God will make you good, if you ask Him," Elise said, after a silent struggle. Her heart reproached her, both for her own ignorance and that of the child; but she did not know what to say.