She chose to consider it an occasion for fault-finding, and scolded Beryl for being so ready to make acquaintance with an utter stranger, who was not likely to prove a desirable person to know.
Beryl received her aunt's rebukes more patiently than was her wont. The recollection of her resolve to be a child of the kingdom helped her to refrain from a rude and angry retort.
Later in the evening, when the children went to Mrs. Despard's room to bid her good-night, Beryl found the sympathy for which she longed.
Mrs. Despard was sitting up, and looking much better, Beryl thought, because a bright crimson spot burnt in each cheek, and her eyes were large and brilliant. She began to question the children about their walk, and soon heard all that Beryl could tell her of the stranger whose name was David Gilbank.
"I wish you could have heard what he said," the child cried eagerly; "he was speaking about the kingdom of God, and oh! He made it all so plain—how God is our Father and our King, and we must all be children of the kingdom. And I am going to be a child of the kingdom; I said that I would!"
"Ah, it is easy for the young," sighed Mrs. Despard; "but I have never thought much of religion, and now I fear the door of that kingdom is closed against me."
"But Jesus is the door," said Beryl. "David Gilbank said so; he told me to come to Jesus, who said,—'Suffer little children to come unto Me.' But then you are not a little child; I forgot that. I don't know what you must do."
"No, I do not know what I can do," was the sad response.
"But the kingdom is for men and women too. He said that; so I do not see why you should not come, although you are not a little child," observed Beryl. "If I were you, I should ask Jesus to let me in."
"Should you?" said the poor woman, wistfully.