Mrs Lee looked as though she did not quite understand her; but she said nothing more. She laid down the book and rocked the baby gently on her knee. Her thoughts were not very happy, Christie fancied, if she might judge by her face, which grew grave and sad as she gazed on the child. One of the little boys made a sudden movement. Christie rose to replace the coverlet on him.
“How peacefully they sleep!” said their mother. “Ah me!” she added; “if they could always be as free from care! If I could get but one glimpse into their future! And yet perhaps it is better as it is.”
“It is better to trust than to know, I once heard Effie say.” Christie spoke shyly, and with hesitation, as though she were not quite sure that she should speak at all.
Mrs Lee smiled, and said, kindly:
“I see you are very fond of your sister Effie.”
Christie’s face spoke; but she did not trust her voice.
“I suppose she is the eldest of your family?”
“Yes. She’s twenty-two. Oh, I wish you could see Effie! She is very different from what you would think from seeing me—or Annie, even.”
“How so?” asked Mrs Lee, greatly amused at the eagerness of one usually so quiet and self-restrained.
“Oh, I can hardly tell you. She looks so different—from me, I mean. Annie’s more like her. But it’s not so much her looks. She is so brave and cheerful and strong. She is not afraid. And yet she is gentle, and has patience with us all.”