CHAPTER XII.
THE WONDERFUL FIRE.
olly, my dear,' said grandmother the next day, as she was washing the babies, 'I didn't forget what you asked me to do last night; but I'm afraid, my dear, I'm very much afraid.'
'What are you afraid of, granny?' asked Poppy's mother.
'Why, I'm afraid of getting cold and hard again, my dear,' she said; 'it's all very well for Poppy, but I've been putting off so long, I'm afraid of slipping into all the bad, old ways again. Why, my dear, I've tried to pray and to read my Bible scores of times before, but my mind has soon gone a-wandering away to my chickens, or to my butter or to the bit of washing I do for the Hall, and all such like things. Now, my dear, how do I know it won't be like that again?'
'Ye can't get cold and hard, granny, if the fire burns bright; and the Lord will keep it alight. He will indeed.'
'What do you mean by the fire, my dear?'
'Why, granny, I saw it at the Mothers' Meeting, Miss Lloyd showed us it, such a pretty picture! I've often thought of it since.'
'Tell me about it, my lass, if it won't bring the cough on.'
'No, I feel so much easier to-day, granny, it doesn't hurt me to talk like it did last week. I'll stop if it tires me. Well, there was a fire in the picture, burning on the hearth, a bright, cheerful, little fire, like I used to make of an evening when John Henry came home. And in front of the fire, granny, was a man throwing buckets full of water on it to put it out; but the fire was blazing away, and did not seem a bit the worse for it.'