nd then somehow I always feel as though he
had said to me: 'Wait a little longer Jean, I'm not ready quite yet,' so
I'm waiting, Olive."

Such perfect unquestioning faith, was something that Olive could not
understand; and many times, when Jean spoke in such a simple trusting
way, of how she talked to God, and told Him her little wants and
worries, the elder sister would feel, with a thrill of fear, that
perhaps God was going to take onto Himself, the child, who, all her
short life had seemed to breath the air of Heaven more than of earth;
and that up above, she would be united to the sister, who seemed lost to
them below.

They wrote home nearly every day, and Olive's letters were such
blessings, for were they not filled, from beginning to end, with news of
Jean! How she was growing strong and well, and would, perhaps, walk
before Fall; how every one, from Uncle Ridley down, were devoted to her,
and what a little dream of luxury her life was now, with every want or
wish gratified, and everything that heart could wish. "And she is so
sweet and unselfish," writes Olive. "A very little angel she seems to
me, mama, and every hour that I spend with her, helps me in some way.
There is a little lesson for me in all her childish words, and I'm not
ashamed to tell you that I wish I could be more like her, though I never
can. She seems apart some way, and is a constant study, that becomes
more precious to me every day. When I pray, it seems to me like an
important extra thing, that I must make some preparation for and be
precise about; and then I cannot help feeling, that perhaps I'm not
heard after all, which I know is wrong; but it is so different with
Jean. She goes to God, as she would to you or papa, and never seems to
doubt that every word is heard, and interested in. She is perfectly
confident that Ernestine is coming back, and it gives me hope just to be
near such perfect faith."

After having given them several days of uninterrupted talk, Mr. Congreve
began to lay claims to more of their time. He said he was lonesome for
Jean, and that he was not getting any better acquainted with Olive, than
as if she had staid at home; and that he thought they might talk to him,
five minutes a day, at least; so after that, Jean spent her usual time
with him, and Olive brought bits of sewing, or a little sketch she might
be working on, down to the library, and they spent hours together. It
was a pleasing study, to see how this compa