“I think not, Anne; I think they cannot voice their joy,” said Mrs. Berkley, gravely.
Anne sighed and lay out at full length on the floor.
“I s’pose not. But maybe they go singing in their hearts—— Why, Mother, that’s a hymn, isn’t it, mother? Is that a sin? I didn’t mean it; honest to goodness, I never meant that hymn! Is it a sin, Mother?”
Once more Anne was excitedly erect.
“You have been told many times, Anne, that you cannot do wrong unless you mean to, sin is choosing to do wrong when you know what is right,” said this conscientious mother. “How did your beetle happen to be in this room, Anne?”
“I brought him in, Mother,” answered the child. “I turned him over out of doors, but I wanted to sit down and watch him flop. I s’pose I do upset him a little weeny bit sometimes! It’s a great temptation, but then I’m right here to set him going again, and that’s my vocation.”
“It’s really a beautiful vocation, Anne,” said her mother. “To put someone on his feet and help him to walk, only I wouldn’t confine it altogether to black beetles.”
“People?” asked Anne. “Figuravely? Don’t you mean that to be—— What are those stories? You know! All-all glory, or something?”
“Allegories. And figuratively, Anne. Yes, dear. It would be a beautiful vocation to help people to walk, wouldn’t it? And it’s sure to be yours if you’re a good woman, as I pray you will be. One way or another all good women put people on their feet.”
Mrs. Berkley hastily got her needle where it could do no harm, for she saw what was coming.