Norman turned crimson, and Bertha saw his sympathy in his face.
"And so I came out here," she said, sorrowfully. "It was quite true—that part of it—how dreadful it was of me to be in such a temper over His work, Norman! Now I don't know what to do. Shall I burn them all, and never do any more, if I can't be a better girl."
Norman's brown hand was stretched out and took hold of her little one. "Poor kiddie," he said, softly.
"What can I do, do you think?" she asked, anxiously.
"Not burn the things!" he said, decidedly. "I think—I'm not much of a hand at good sort of talk, you know—but if we've done wrong—if we know we have—"
Bertha nodded.
"Then mother always says we ought to ask God to forgive us, and—you won't like me to say it—and Aunt Esther. Mother says then we can begin again, you know. Only it's awfully hard—"
Bertha raised herself from the ground. "Yes, Norman," she said, solemnly, "I see. I'll do it. Ask God first, then Aunt Esther. I will."