"You are so kind to me, Cousin Mildred," she said one day; "you have never neglected anything that could add to my comfort, and have always shown so much sympathy for my invalidism; far more than ever my own mother did," she added, in a bitter tone. "Mother is very good and pious, but she has never taken any care of her children's health; she is duly anxious about our souls, but neglects our bodies. I must acknowledge that I came here strongly prejudiced against you, simply because I had heard you were very pious, and the way I have been brought up had made me hate piety, hate the Bible and prayer."
"O Flora! and you the child of a Christian mother!" cried Mildred, in a shocked tone.
"Yes, I believe mother is a real Christian, and I don't wonder you are shocked at what I have said. But if she had brought me up as you do your children, I am sure I should have felt quite differently. Is it any wonder I hate the Bible when, instead of being entertained when good with beautiful stories out of it, I was always punished when particularly naughty by being forced to read a certain number of chapters in proportion to the extent of my delinquency, and commit so many verses to memory; besides being prayed over—a long tedious prayer, half of which I did not understand?"
"I have always tried to make the Bible a delight to my children," said Mildred, "and I think it is. O Flora, I feel very sorry for you that you do not appreciate its beauty and sweetness! Are you not old enough now to put away your unfortunate prejudice and learn to love it as God's own word given to teach us how to obtain eternal life—telling the old, old story, the sweet, sweet story of Jesus and His love?"
"I have begun to like it better since I came here," Flora answered, with an abashed look. "I have really enjoyed the Bible stories I have overheard you telling the children; and somehow religion seems a lovelier thing as I see it exhibited in your life and the lives of Cousin Charlie and your parents and sisters, than as my mother practises it."
"It grieves me to hear a daughter speak so of her mother," Mildred said gently.
"I don't mean to be unkind or disrespectful toward her," replied Flora, "but I wish to make you understand how I came to feel such a prejudice against piety, and against you because I had been told you were very pious.
"I am quite sure mother is good and sincere, and not at all puffed up and self-righteous; but I think she makes great mistakes which prejudice people against her religion.
"Now, my father is not a pious man, and some things mother does, and her refusal to do some other things, have so turned him against religion that he never goes inside of a church-door.
"For one thing, mother won't dress like other ladies. He wants to see her well dressed, but she makes it a part of her religion to go looking old-fashioned and really dowdy. Father buys her handsome things, and she won't wear them; she gives them away or cuts them up for the children, and I don't wonder he won't go to church with her. I am pretty sure he might have become a regular attendant if she would only have dressed to suit him.