“There is also another consideration,” pursued Heliet. “If I mistake not—to alter the figure—we have arrived at different points in our education. If one of us can but decline ‘puer,’ while the other is half through the syntax, is it any wonder if the same lesson be not given to us to learn? Dear Clarice, all God’s children need keeping down. I have been kept down all these years by my physical sufferings. That is not appointed to thee; thou art tried in another way. Shall we either marvel or murmur because our Father sees that each needs a different class of discipline?”
“Oh, Heliet, if I might have had thine! It seems to me so much the lighter cross to carry.”
“Then, dear, I am the less honoured—the further from the full share of the fellowship of our Lord’s sufferings.”
Clarice shook her head as if she hardly saw it in that light.
“Clarice, let me tell thee a parable which I read the other day in the writings of the holy Fathers. There were once two monks, dwelling in hermits’ cells near to each other, each of whom had one choice tree given him to cultivate. When this had lasted a year, the tree of the one was in flourishing health, while that of the other was all stunted and bare. ‘Why, brother,’ said the first, ‘what hast thou done to thy tree?’ ‘Now, judge thou, my brother,’ replied the second, ‘if I could possibly have done more for my tree than I have done. I watched it carefully every day. When I thought it looked dry, I prayed for rain; when the ground was too wet, I prayed for dry weather; I prayed for north wind or south wind, as I saw them needed. All that I asked, I received; and yet look at my poor tree! But how didst thou treat thine? for thy plan has been so much more successful than mine that I would fain try it next year.’ The other monk said only, ‘I prayed God to make my tree flourish, and left it to Him to send what weather He saw good.’”
“He has sent a bitter blast from the north-east,” answered Clarice, with trembling lips.
“And a hedge to shelter the root of the tree,” said Heliet, pointing to Rose.
“Oh, my little Rosie!” exclaimed Clarice, kissing the child passionately. “But if God were to take her, Heliet, what would become of me?”
“Do not meet trouble half way, dear,” said Heliet, gently. “There is no apparent likelihood of any such thing.”
“I do not meet it—it comes!” cried poor Clarice.