During these five weeks Betty has grown to love her dear good Grannie as she never loved anyone before, for, week by week, day by day, Grannie has been bringing her nearer and nearer to God.
"Last night, dear child, you gave your heart into the Lord's keeping," says Grannie softly, laying a loving hand on the girl's shoulder, "and He is with those who trust Him always, wherever they may go."
"Yes, I know, Grannie; and while I'm with you it seems so easy to do right—and though you are so wise and good, you never get cross with me when I make mistakes, or answer too sharply—but, Oh, it is so different—so very different at home! Whatever shall I do without you?"
And Betty flings her arms round the old woman's neck, and clings to her as though she would never let her go.
"Your home is God's gift to you, Betty," says Grannie, gravely.
"My home? Grannie, it's horrid at home sometimes! The rooms are so stuffy, and dark, and untidy, and I hate untidy rooms! The children are always quarrelling, and they shout and stamp until my head aches and aches, and mother never seems to care. If only it were pretty and clean and fresh like this place—if only mother were like you!"
But Grannie's face grows graver still.
"Hush, hush, Betty! Indeed, you must not allow yourself to run on in this way. Remember, you have given yourself to God now, and you must do the work He puts into your hands bravely and well.
"Of course, it is easier to be cheerful and good when there is nothing to try us. Of course, it is easier to carry a light burden than a heavy one. Your father is poor, and there are many little ones. Your mother has struggled through long years of weary work and anxiety. It is your part to be their help and comfort, Betty."
"I will try, indeed, I will; and I'll try to remember all you've told me, all the dear beautiful talks we've had together, and—and last night, Gran."