“That is not true. Such things do happen still. Not frequently, but when God has a purpose to accomplish, a blessing to convey.”
“Tell me something that has happened lately,” said Frederica, forgetting all else in her eagerness for a story.
And so she did, and sometimes Frederica was interested, and sometimes she was amused. She heard of lame people who had been made to walk, of pictures which had spoken, of images which had wept, and many more of the same kind.
“But I don’t quite see the good of it, even if these things were all true,” she said at last.
“My child,” said Miss Agnace gravely, “they are true. We have for their truth the authority of men to whom a lie is impossible. Do not say, ‘If they are true.’”
“And does it make you happy to believe these things?” asked Frederica.
“Happy?” repeated Miss Agnace; “can any one be happy who does not believe? Are you happy? Were you happy when you were so ill, when you thought you might die? Were you not afraid?”
“Was I so ill as that?” asked Frederica, startled. “I never thought of dying. If I had, I daresay I should have been afraid. Did mama think so, and Selina? How sorry they must have been! And papa went away all the same.”
She had no heart for any more wonderful stories that day. She lay quite silent for a long time after that, but she was not resting or at ease, for her face was flushed, and she grew restless and impatient; nothing pleased her, and she thought the day would never be done. She had all the impatience to herself, however, for Miss Agnace was as gentle and helpful as ever, and bathed her hot hands and head, and soothed her till she lost the sense of her troubles in sleep.
But another day came after that, and many days that had to be got through somehow. Her mother could not be much with her, and her brothers tired her. The cold March winds made it not safe for her to drive out, and poor Fred longed for Tessie, and would have given half her treasures to be transported to Mistress Campbell’s garret for a single day. And thus thinking of Eppie, and of “the days of her youth,” of which she used to tell her, it came into Frederica’s mind to wonder what had happened to Miss Agnace when she was a child. For though she had talked much with her, both by night and by day, she had a way of falling back on one theme—the good deeds which the saints had done, and which all people ought to strive to do: and all this grew tedious when it was repeated over and over again, and Frederica longed for something else, and so she asked her,—