The three ladies were sewing, and Dora sat beside Margaret with a catechism in her hand, learning the Acts.
"Aunt Margaret," whispered the child, "what do you think God told me when I said, 'O my God! I firmly believe'? Says he,' Oh! what a lying little girl you are!'"
"Why should he say that?" was the grave inquiry.
"Because I told him that I believed all the sacred truths; and how can I believe when I don't know 'em? This is what I did; I said, 'Please don't listen to me now, O Lord! I'm not talking to you. I'm only learning my lesson.'"
"Come to bed now, my dear," said Margaret, "and we will talk about it."
"I did not expect Mr. Southard to show so much feeling," Mrs. Lewis said, when the two had gone out. "He received the news of Mr. Granger's change of religion with such silent displeasure that I supposed he would discard even his memory. He shows courage, too, in still speaking of him as a friend; for some of his people will be displeased."
"I'm sure, aunt," Aurelia replied rather hastily, "no one can say that Mr. Southard ever lacked the courage to utter his sentiments."
"No," Mrs. Lewis said in a very moderate tone, but looked sharply into her niece's drooping face.
Aurelia had not looked up in speaking, and seemed to be engrossed in her work; but there was a glistening of tears through the thick lashes, and the delicate rose in her cheeks had grown crimson-hearted. She seldom spoke with spirit; but when she did, it always woke that rich bloom.