"No. Oh, I was glad to see her again!"
"It seems a slight thing she did to be so grateful for."
"You don't understand, Uncle Guy; I thought you would not. It was not a slight thing to mother and me; it seemed as though God sent us the lilies to remind us of His promises."
"But, Felicia, how could that be?"
"It's in the Bible, you know."
"I don't know, child. I don't read the Bible—to do so would only make me melancholy. Your grandmother used to try to talk of religion to me, but I wouldn't have it; and the Vicar—but never mind that. I want to hear about your mother and the lilies. How could they remind her of God's promises?"
"Because Jesus spoke of them. He had been telling His disciples not to trouble about how they should live, because their Father in Heaven knew all they wanted, and He said: 'Consider the lilies how they grow; they toil not, they spin not: and yet I say unto you, That Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these;' and—oh, don't you—can't you understand, she remembered how wrong it was to worry and fret, and that Jesus said, 'Fear not, little flock, for it is your Father's good pleasure to give you the kingdom,' and she knew she ought not to fear. She told me how she had troubled, and—and I shall never see white lilies again without thinking of her, lying as I saw her last—" Felicia paused and caught her breath in a sob. Her uncle was observing her intently, with a keenly interested expression in his eyes.
"I did not know your mother was a religious woman," he remarked at length, "and you—are you religious too?"
She looked at him in great surprise, amazed at such a question.
"I—I try to be good," she answered, flushing; "I do try to be, but it's very hard sometimes, and—and it's so difficult to believe God knows best—but He does, I'm certain of it deep down in my heart."