I tried to think. Then I said,
"I feel that I love her. I love to love her, I like to be with her. I like to hear people praise her. And I try—sometimes at least—to do things to please her. But I don't try half as hard as I ought, and I do and say a great many things to displease her."
"Yes, yes," he said, "I know."
"Has mother told you?" I cried out.
"No, dear, no indeed. But I know what human nature is after having one of my own fifty years, and six of my children's to encounter."
Somehow I felt more courage after he said that.
"In the first place, then, you feel that you love your mother? But you never feel that you love your God and Saviour?"
"I often try, and try, but I never do," I said.
"Love won't be forced," he said, quickly.
"Then what shall I do?"