Celia was so concerned on her sister's account that her own affairs were quite a secondary consideration to her now. Lulu was quick to notice this, and her really kind heart swelled with sympathy and affection as, throwing her arms impulsively around Celia's neck, she kissed her tear-stained face.
"Perhaps it won't be so bad as you fear," she whispered consolingly. "Doctors are very clever nowadays, and make wonderful cures—I've heard father say so—and—and God can do what no one else can, can't He? We'll pray for Joy. We can do that, Celia.
"I can't pray properly," Celia sighed. "I used to, but since I've been at the Moat House my mind has been so full of—of things that I couldn't speak to God about."
"Oh, I know what you mean!" Lulu cried, with ready understanding. "You mean things that don't matter, such things as money, and fine clothes."
"Yes," Celia acknowledged.
There was a short silence, then Lulu spoke, somewhat shyly:
"Don't you think we should be happier if tried to think more of the things that do matter?" she asked. "Father said this morning that he had spoilt me by mistaken kindness, but I mean to show him he hasn't—quite! I'm going to turn over a new leaf, and try to please him for the future. I won't ever deceive him again—at least, I'll try not to, and I mean to ask God to help me to be a better girl—more unselfish, and not so set on my own way. I've never been very happy yet, have you?"
"No," Celia admitted, after a few moments' reflection.
"Because you've been selfish, like me, and have wanted the best of everything for yourself. Joy is happier than either of us, even now."
Celia knew that Lulu with her shrewdness of observation had discovered the truth. She realized that Joy's happiness had foundation in a faith as simple as it was perfect. She trusted Jesus, and was content. No one understood better than Celia how great a blow it was to her sister to know that there was a strong possibility that she might be crippled for life. Vanished were the little girl's plans for the future. Her ambition to become a great pianist must be set aside. Yet, even now, when life was holding a cup of sorrow and disappointment to her lips, her name did not appear in the light of a mockery to her. She was "Joy" still.