"Well—that is it," said Matilda. "I belong to the Lord Jesus; and I love Him, and I know He loves me; and He takes care of me, and will take care of me; and whatever I want I ask Him for, and He hears me."
"And does He give you whatever you ask for?" said the lady, in a tone again changed.
"If He don't, He will give me something better," was the answer.
Maybe Mrs. Laval might have taken up the words from some lips. But the child on her lap spoke them so quietly, her face was in such a sweet rest of assurance, and one little hand rose and fell on the window-sill with such an unconscious glad endorsement of what she said, that the lady was mute.
"And this makes you happy?" she said, at length.
"Sometimes it does," answered Matilda. "I think it ought always."
"But, my dear little creature, is there nothing else in all the world to make you feel happy?"
Matilda's words were not ready.
"I don't know," she said. "Sometimes I think there isn't. They're all away."
The last sentence was given with an unconscious forlornness of intonation which went to her friend's heart. She clasped Matilda close at that, and covered her with kisses.