“Oh, we do remember, indeed, Aunt Judy; we have been so miserable,” was the answer; and the speaker added, shoving her little chair close up to her sister’s:—
“I said if you were not to get better, I shouldn’t want to get better either.”
“Hush, hush, No. 6!” exclaimed Aunt Judy, quite startled by the expression; “it was not right to say or think that.”
“I couldn’t help it,” persisted No. 6. “We couldn’t do without you, I’m sure.”
“We can do without anything which God chooses to take away,” was Aunt Judy’s very serious answer.
“But I didn’t want to do without,” murmured No. 6, with her eyes fixed on the floor.
“Dear No. 6, I know,” replied Aunt Judy, kindly; “but that is just what you must try not to feel.”
“I can’t help feeling it,” reiterated No. 6, still looking down.
“You have not tried, or thought about it yet,” suggested her sister; “but do think. Think what poor ignorant infants we all are in the hands of God, not knowing what is either good or bad for us; and then you will see how glad and thankful you ought to be, to be chosen for by somebody wiser than yourself. We must always be contented with God’s choice about whatever happens.”
No. 6 still looked down, as if she were studying the pattern of the rug, but she saw nothing of it, for her eyes were swimming over with the tears that had filled into them, and at last she said:—