"Ha! It takes the good God to teach that."
"I should not think it wanted much teaching."
"Let my Damoiselle bear with her servant. The good God has been teaching it to me for seventy years, and I dare not make so bold as to say I have learned it yet."
"Why, Margot, thou art as quiet, and calm, and patient as a stone."
"Ah! not here," she said, laying her hand upon her bosom. "Perhaps here,—and here,"—touching her eyes and lips. "But down there,—no!"
"But for what, or for whom, art thou waiting, Margot?" I asked, rather amused.
"Ha!—it ought to be only whom. But it is too often what. We are like the little children, waiting for the father to come home, but thinking more of the toys and bonbons he may bring than of himself. And then there is another thing: before we can learn to wait, we must learn to trust."
"To trust what, Margot?"
"I believe we all trust in something, if my Damoiselle pleases. A great many trust in themselves; and a great many more trust in circumstances,—fate, or chance, or luck,—as they call it. Some few trust in other human creatures; and their waking is often the saddest of all. But it seems as if the one thing we found it hardest to do was to trust the good God. He has to drive us away, often, from every other trust, before we will learn to trust Him. Oh, how we must grieve His heart, when He has done so much for us, and yet we will not trust Him!"
I wonder what she means. I feel as if I should like to know, and could not tell how to begin.