"I only know, my Lord was pleased with her," said Miss Cardigan softly; "and I always think I should like to have Him pleased with me too."
I was silent, looking at the picture and thinking.
"You know what made that poor widow give her two mites?" Miss Cardigan asked presently.
"I suppose she wanted to give them," I said.
"Ay," said my hostess, turning away,—"she loved the Lord's glory beyond her own comfort. Come, my love, and let us have some tea. She gave all she had, Miss Daisy, and the Lord liked it; do ye think you and me can do less?"
"But that is what I do not understand," I said, following Miss Cardigan to the little tea-table, and watching with great comfort the bright unruffled face which promised to be such a help to me.
"Now you'll sit down there," said my hostess, "where you can see my flowers while I can see you. It's poor work eating, if we cannot look at something or hear something at the same time; and maybe we'll do the two things. And ye'll have a bit of honey—here it is. And Lotty will bring us up a bit of hot toast—or is bread the better, my dear? Now ye're at home; and maybe you'll come over and drink tea with me whenever you can run away from over there. I'll have Lotty set a place for you. And then, when ye think of the empty place, you will know you had better come over and fill it. See—you could bring your study book and study here in this quiet little corner by the flowers."
I gave my very glad thanks. I knew that I could often do this.
"And now for the 'not understanding,'" said Miss Cardigan, when tea was half over. "How was it, my dear?"