"Does your son, or Mr. Lathrop know?"
"I reckon they don't. I was ashamed for any one to know; but I couldn't help telling you."
"I think it is because you are ashamed that Christ don't bless you."
"I've felt I ought to get up and tell them in meeting what a sinner I've been; but I've always prided myself on being as good as them that's made a perfession, and they all know what a hard, proud wretch I am. I expect they'd say I was a hypocrite."
"I think if you confessed to your church what you have just told me, and asked them to pray for you, God would make you His child. It seems to me any petition Mr. Lathrop and Mr. Bowen would dare to present would be received and granted."
"It's hard on flesh and blood," she moaned.
I saw she was in deep distress and could not understand why she was unwilling to make the confession that might bring peace.
"I wish I'd tended to this when I was young and my heart was easier made new. It's next to impossible to make a crooked old tree turn and grow straight."
"With God nothing is impossible," I whispered encouragingly.
"Yes, the minister said that last night, and looked straight at me. Maybe he saw trouble in my face, and wanted to help me in spite of myself." She grew calmer at last. "Now I won't worry you any longer, and I believe I feel better for telling you. I mean to tell them to-night what a proud, stubborn wretch I've been, and ask them to pray for me."