"It is a comely fashion to be glad, Joy is the grace we say to God."
"I consider those lines are worth bearing in mind. Never think you ought not to be glad."
"But—but it seems as though it must be wrong to be happy when—when mother was so poor, and—"
"My dear little girl," the Vicar interposed, "do not be always thinking of what is past; think instead of your mother in the presence of her Saviour as one of those who have come out of great tribulation and have washed their robes and made them white in the blood of the Lamb. 'They shall hunger no more, neither thirst any more,' and trouble shall no more have power to touch them, for 'God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes.'"
"Oh, you believe that, don't you?" said Felicia earnestly.
"Most certainly I do. It is the Christian's sure hope—"
"Because, do you know, I don't think Uncle Guy does believe it!" she broke in.
The Vicar started, and across his kind face there flitted an expression of anxiety and pain.
"What makes you think he does not?" he asked. "Has he been discussing the subject with you?"
"Oh, no. But he doesn't seem to believe that God cares anything about him, and when he speaks of his mother he never does so as though he hopes to see her again, and yet I know he loves her. Oh, no wonder he is so wretched, sometimes, poor Uncle Guy! What should I feel if I thought I should never meet my mother more? Oh, I believe my heart would break!"