"Mr. Linden," said Faith, her colour a little raised and her voice changing somewhat,—"I want to ask you something—if you are not busy about anything."
"I am not but you might ask just as freely if I were."
"I couldn't," said Faith. She drew her hand out of her stocking and put her thimble on the table.
"Mr. Linden," she said without looking at him,—"a while ago, when you were speaking of faith and a cloudy day, and I told you I wasn't like that,—you said I must read the Bible then, and do what that said. I have been trying to do it."—
Shading his eyes with his hand, he looked at her—as if waiting to hear more.
"And I don't understand it," she said.—"I don't know how to get on."
"Do you mean, with the Bible? Is it that you do not understand?"
"I don't understand some things—I don't know exactly what I ought to do."
"In what respect?—where is the difficulty? Some things in the Bible you never will understand, perhaps, in this world, and others you must learn by degrees."
"I don't understand exactly what makes a Christian—and I want to be one."