"How little can we judge!" replied her father. "Every heart knoweth its own bitterness, and the outer surface is not always the index to the inner emotions or passions."
"Do you think, dear uncle," said Jennie, "that one can ever learn so to bear the ills of his lot, as always to present a cheerful and happy exterior to the world?"
"Not always, my child," said her uncle, "there is often a weakness of the flesh, when the spirit without its depressing influence, would be strong to endure; yet we may cultivate such a feeling of confidence in the will of God as never to murmur at His decrees, and even to welcome His chastisements, as blessings in disguise."
"That seems so difficult," said Carrie, "I am afraid I could never learn to welcome a sorrow."
"Not simply as a sorrow, my dear child," returned Mr. Halberg; "but as a means to a future good which could not be attained without it; there is a great deal that is hard for our sinful natures to comprehend; but there are spiritual aids of which we may all avail ourselves. Do not let us slight them, my dear children," continued he, rising from his seat, and gathering the three in one embrace as they stood by the window. The golden light was sprinkled upon the landscape, and the whole face of nature seemed to glow with an unusual radiance, as that little band of loving hearts beat in such grateful and perfect unison. Yet was there a sigh in the midst of it all, for the absent and sinning one:
Worlds like to this
Mingle sorrow and bliss.
CHAPTER XXVIII.
Mrs. Dunmore and Jennie were busy in talking over the past, and forming plans for the future, when Mr. Colbert was announced.
"I trust you will excuse my early call," said he, as they arose to greet him. "I have to leave the village at noon, which is my only apology for intruding upon your morning hours."