"Yes, I _will_ kiss you, for you look good and pretty. Did my
mother send you here?"
"She is a strange child, Miss Glen," I heard Evelyn whisper. "Don't mind
her--she often asks such questions."
"Very natural and affecting ones," Miss Glen observed, quietly, and the
tears sprang to her violet eyes, at which I wondered. Yet, understanding
not her words, I remembered them for later comprehension; a habit of
childhood too little appreciated or considered, I think, by older
people.
She had not replied to my question, so I repeated it eagerly. "Did my
dear mother send you to me?" I said. "And where is she now?"
"No, tender child! I have not seen your mother. She is in heaven, I
trust; where I hope we shall all be some day--with God. _He_ sent me to
you, probably--I fancy so, at least."
"Then God has got good again. He was very bad last week--very wicked;
he killed our mother," whispering mysteriously.
"He is never bad, Miriam, never wicked; you must not say such things--no
Christian would."
"But I am _not_ a Christian, Mrs. Austin says; only a Jew. Did you ever
hear of the Jews?"
Evelyn laughed, Mrs. Austin frowned, but Miss Glen was intensely grave,
as she rejoined:
"A Jew may be very good and love God. That is all a little child can
know of religion. Yet we must all believe God and His Son were one.
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