By and by they began their homeward way, and as they walked along the lane, Arthur said:
“Tell me what it was your father used to talk about. I believe I know partly.”
“Well, if you know, what is the use of my telling?”
“Because I don’t quite know. And, Edgar, was it not about heaven, and the way to get there?”
“Yes,” said Edgar in a low voice; “but I don’t think grandmamma agreed with him. Any way, I know that when she talked, it made me miserable.”
“You seem to have had a great many troubles, Edgar,” said Arthur, “even more than I have.”
“Oh, Arthur,” said Edgar, “I don’t think any one knows how unhappy I have been! Look here,” and Edgar spoke in a lower voice; “I don’t mind telling you, because you are different from the rest; but, do you know, I have always been in a fright about something or other. Sometimes, in the winter nights, all by myself at home, I have had such horrid thoughts, and I have fancied all sorts of things; and even in the summer evenings, when the sky had that red look, it always made me think about the moon being turned into blood, and about judgment and punishment; and I used to think about the great white throne, and myself standing before it, and God judging me, and that papa and mamma would be on one side, and I should be on the other.”
“Well, I have had thoughts like that, I think; but then I always thought of the Lord Jesus Christ; and how could I be afraid then?”
“But He will judge people, won’t He?”
“Oh, Edgar, He is our Saviour!” said Arthur earnestly. “It is only when people will not have Him for their Saviour that He is their Judge. Why, I am not afraid of the Lord Jesus. How could I be?”