"It seems the most glorious thing to me, aunt Caxton, to tell the love of Christ to those that don't know it. I wish I could do it."
"My love, you do."
"I do very little, ma'am. I wish I could do a thousand times more!"
The conversation stopped there. Both ladies remained very gravely thoughtful a little while longer and then separated for the night. But the next evening when they were seated at tea alone, Mrs. Caxton recurred to the subject.
"You said last night, Eleanor, that you wished you could do a great deal more work of a certain kind than you do."
"Yes, ma'am."
"Did your words mean, my love, that you are discontented with your own sphere of duty, or find it too narrow?"
Eleanor's eyes opened a little at that. "Aunt Caxton, I never thought of such a thing. I do not remember that I was considering my own sphere of duty at all. I was thinking of the pleasure of preaching Christ—yes, and the glory and honour—to such poor wretches as those we were talking of, who have never had a glimpse of the truth before."
"Then for your part you are satisfied with England?"
"Why yes, ma'am. I am satisfied, I think,—I mean to be,—with any place that is given me. I should be sorry to choose for myself."