Simple words enough; I suppose even Dorothy, though her cheeks glowed, and her eyes were bright with joy, did not recognize the tremendous import of their meaning; and Louise was surprised at their effect on Mr. Butler. He was a young minister, you will remember; and while he had not been doing all that he could, he had scarcely realized that he could do more—at least not until very lately. This was really his first experience in greeting a new-born soul among his flock. It came to him with all the joy of a glad, an almost overwhelming, surprise. True, he had prayed that he might have "souls for his hire." Yet he had prayed, as many another does, without realizing that possibly his prayer would be answered, and actually souls would come into the kingdom, whom he could welcome to his Father's table!
There was an instant flush over his handsome face, an eager flash in his eyes, and he turned to Dorothy again, and held out his hand.
"Welcome!" he said.
Not a word more, but the quiver in his voice told that words were beyond him just then; and Dorothy turned from him with the belief that it certainly meant a great deal to the minister to have a person "decide for Christ." She was very much surprised, and not a little confused. It had not occurred to her that others, outside of Lewis and Louise, would ever know about her new hopes and intentions. I am not sure that it had before occurred to her that any one would care! She had seen very little demonstration of this sort in her life. So it was another surprise to her when Deacon Belknap shook her hand heartily, as he said,—
"So you have experienced religion, have you? Well, now, that's good, that's good!"
And his face shone, and he shook the hand until it ached.
Poor Dorothy did not really know whether to laugh or cry. She had always been a good deal afraid of Deacon Belknap; he was a solemn-faced, slow-toned man, and she had not known that his face could shine, or that he believed anything anywhere was good. Moreover, she was not sure that she had "experienced religion;" indeed, she was by no means sure what those words meant. It was true that she had decided for Christ, or—no, was that it? It almost seemed to Dorothy that, instead, it should be said that Christ had decided for her! How wonderfully he had called her. How almost she had heard his voice. How tenderly he had waited. How he loved her. And how sure was she that she loved him. But to "experience religion" was some wise and solemn thing that it did not seem to her she understood. But Deacon Belknap had something further to say,—
"You are very happy now, I suppose? Yes. Well, young converts always are. But I want to warn you: you mustn't expect to have that feeling last. It is like 'the morning cloud and the early dew.' You must expect trials and crosses and disappointments and unhappiness. It is a hard world. Some people expect to be 'carried to the skies on flowery beds of ease.' But I tell you it is a 'straight and thorny road, and mortal spirits tire and faint."
And Deacon Belknap either forgot, or had never learned, the very next line in that grand old hymn; but with an assurance that the sooner she realized that this world was full of troubles and conflicts the easier it would be for her, went away to his waiting class.
Then Dorothy's brow clouded; she was troubled. She felt so innocently glad and happy, so sure of a Friend, so certain that he loved her and that she loved him. Was it possible that she must lose this feeling, and be lonely and dreary and unsatisfied, as she had been ever since she could remember? Was that what was the trouble with Christians, that the feeling didn't last? Almost Dorothy felt as though, somehow, she had been deceived! Her face was not nearly so bright as before when Carey Martyn came toward her.