on, but Robert Gray
found it hard to answer.

"No," he said, after a moment's hesitation, "not truth itself, but we
may get wrong ideas of it. But, Winnie," he added, with real sorrow in
his voice, "I hope you do not mean to tell us that you will not
hereafter try to worship God, since the past has been so unsatisfactory
to you?"

"Oh, no, Father," said Winifred quickly, with rising courage as her
experience of the night before came vividly to her. "I have more to
tell. I was very unhappy about it all last night, and--I prayed--she
blushed, for it was new to speak of such things--I prayed, and it came
to me that there was a way to come to God just as I was, and He would
make me a true worshiper; and I came."

Winifred's embarrassment could not quite cover her joy as she made her
confession. The father looked relieved.

"I am thankful,--very thankful, Winnie," he said. "You did nobly.
That was quite right--quite right. But now I do not see that you need
give up your singing, but that you might go on sincerely where you have
failed before."

He looked a little anxious, for her singing in the church was very dear
to him.

Winifred's brow clouded. "I fear I cannot, Father. Not now, at least."

"No? Well, we'll talk about it later," he said kindly, and they left
the breakfast table.

In the hall Hubert waited for Winifred with his own form of benediction:

"You're a brick, Winnie," he said, and planted a kiss upon her fair
forehead.

She smiled and returned his kiss with an affectionate caress. Hubert's
slangy praise was dearer to her than any polished compliment from
another source.

Hubert did not understand why he hated the world and things a little
less as he walked to business that morning, the stone walk answering to
his usual sharp, decisive step. He did not know that it was a gleam of
something pure and true, of a religion not in word but in deed, that
had flashed across his path and mitigated its darkness.

Winifred had a long talk alone with her father in the library later in
the day. She had thought out her reasons, and understood better,
herself, the instinctive feeling that led her not to resume her place
in the choir under the altered conditions.

"I am just beginning to worship, Father," she said, "and I feel I could
do so better out of sight--for awhile, at least. You do not know the
temptation it would be to fall back into the old way. I am afraid I
could not stand it. I woul