“I don’t think Saint Paul was ever tried this way,” said Christie in her simplicity. “And his sister’s son knew where he was, and could get at him. They weren’t as ill off as me and Father.”
“Poor old Jacob did not know where Joseph was,” suggested Pandora.
“Well, ay,” admitted Christie. “But Jacob was an old man; he wasn’t a little maid. And Joseph came all right, after all. Beside, he was a lad, and could stand things. Aunt Alice isn’t strong. And she hasn’t been nobody’s white child (favourite) as Joseph was; I am sure Uncle Edward never made her a coat of many colours. Mistress Pandora, is it very wicked of me to feel as if I could not bear to look at Uncle Edward, and hope that he will never, never, never come to see us any more?”
“’Tis not wicked to hate a man’s sinful deeds, dear heart; but we have need to beware that we hate not the sinner himself.”
“I can’t tell how to manage that,” said Christie. “I can’t put Uncle Edward into one end of my mind, and the ill way he hath used dear Aunt Alice into the other. He’s a bad, wicked man, or he never could have done as he has.”
“Suppose he be the very worst man that ever lived, Christie—and I misdoubt if he be so—but supposing it, wouldst thou not yet wish that God should forgive him?”
“Well; ay, I suppose I would,” said Christie, in a rather uncertain tone; “but if Uncle Edward’s going to Heaven, I do hope the angels will keep him a good way off Aunt Alice, and Father, and me. I don’t think it would be so pleasant if he were there.”
Pandora smiled.
“We will leave that, sweet heart, till thou be there,” she said.
And just as she spoke Mrs Collenwood returned to the parlour. She chatted pleasantly for a little while with Christie, and bade her not lose heart concerning her Aunt Alice.