She led the girl to a sunny sala overlooking the tinkling fields. Julie, as she followed, was thinking that since Father Hull had found in this woman a strength to die by, she might, in these evil times, disclose a strength for living. She had pulled herself out of very dark places. People who could so marvelously help themselves must possess force for other lives.
As they sat down, Julie exclaimed: “You see, I am unhappy! And I have a notion that I may be ill. Last night I scarcely slept at all. Something in me is wrong, and certainly everything outside of me is. Things are so black! Oh! What is to happen to all these people who have worked, and hoped? I have worked and hoped too, but it hasn’t counted—nothing counts; I am very nearly sure of that. I’ve lost my position—though I haven’t told anybody that I was thrown out—because of Nahal. It was a cut to the heart,” she brooded. “Then—I am working for an odious man.
“And Barry,” she went on restlessly. “What is to happen to him? I’ve never seen him down before. It frightens me. Are we all going down under some avalanche? Some of us have no place else to go. I don’t understand—but that’s my eternal, foolish cry. I’ve blistered my soul praying about everything. I thought you would understand. Oh! You must, for I have come to you for light. You are not blind, you are not floundering; you are safe and sure. What is it that makes your life so strong?”
“Tell me,” Mrs. Ashby said, bending toward her, “what you prayed for.”
“For Barry’s safety through the world!” Julie replied simply.
“And for nothing else?”
Julie started a trifle. “Well, for a number of things—at different times.”
Mrs. Ashby reflected a moment. “I used to pray when our money was getting short that more would come so that we might buy a fresh bottle.”
Julie gave a shiver of repugnance.