'What's your picture of Him like, Ross?' I remember asking.
'On a horse, of course, with a sword and crown like it tells you in the Revelation.'
And then, for that masculine English horror of 'talking religion' was developed strongly in him even at that early age, he wouldn't say any more, only, 'Let's come and see if we can find some lions!'
When daddy came in to wish me 'good-night' he said that Uncle Jasper was still in a most frightful bate with Eustace about 'this idea that he has got into his head,' and that Eustace has agreed to wait a year or two before chucking up the army.
I can't understand my cousin. Last time I saw him his young man's fancy had lightly turned to thoughts of loving me. Now he desires a Monkery. But which is 'the idea'? that's the question that I felt would keep me awake all night. Has he really a vocation? If so, I suppose I was merely a kind of centipede that got, for a moment, into his sponge. Time alone will give the answer.
But, oh dear me, I didn't keep awake all night. I only wish I had. Instead, I had a most appalling nightmare. I dreamed that Ross was going into a nunnery. He would do it, in spite of all I said to him. I found myself in the passage in floods of tears, hammering on his door and sobbing, 'Oh, don't, don't. Think of the privations.'
The next moment I was on my own bed with Ross and father beside me.
'Am I dying?' I asked, seeing my family gathered round my couch.
'Dying!' said my brother, giving me a shake with one hand and a stick of chocolate with the other, 'it's we who are dying, with laughter.'
'I thought you were going into a nunnery,' I wailed, 'and——'