s."

"Why, Maria," I said, "I did not know there were so many people at
Magnolia that cared about the Bible."

"What has 'um to care for, chile, I should like fur to know? Dere
ain't much mo' in _dis_ world."

"But I thought there were only very few," I said.

"'Spose um fifty," said Maria. "Fifty ain't much, I reckon, when
dere's all de rest o' de folks what _don't_ care. De Lord's people is
a little people yet, for sure; and de world's a big place. When de
Lord come Hisself, to look for 'em, 'spect He have to look mighty
hard. De world's awful dark."

That brought to my mind my question. It was odd, no doubt, to choose
an old coloured woman for my adviser, but indeed, I had not much
choice; and something had given me a confidence in Maria's practical
wisdom, which early as it had been formed, nothing ever happened to
shake. So, after considering the fire and the matter a moment, I
brought forth my doubt.

"Maria," said I, "what is the best way--I mean, how can one let one's
light shine?"

"What Miss Daisy talkin' about?"

"I mean--you know what the Bible says--'Let your light so shine before
men that they may see your good works and glorify your Father which is
in heaven.'"

"For sure, I knows dat. Ain't much shining in dese yere parts. De
people is dark, Miss Daisy; dey don' know. 'Spect dey would try to
shine, some on 'em, ef dey knowed. Feel sure dey would."

"But that is what I wanted to ask about, Maria. How ought one to let
one's light shine?"

I remember now the kind of surveying look the woman gave me. I do not
know what she was thinking of; but she looked at me, up and down, for
a moment, with a wonderfully tender, soft expression. Then turned
away.

"How let um light shine?" she repeated. "De bestest way, Miss Daisy,
is fur to make him burn good."

I saw it all immediately; my question never puzzled me again. Take
care that the lamp is trimmed; take care that it is full of oil; see
that the flame mounts clear and steady towards heaven; and the Lord
will set it where its light will fall on what pleases Him, and where
it will reach, mayhap, to what you never dream of.

CHAPTER VI.

WINTER AND SUMMER.

From the Christmas holidays I think I began slowly to mend. My aunt
watched me, and grumbled that kitchen amusements and rides with Darry
should prove the medicines most healing and effectual; but she dared
stop neither of them. I believe the overseer remonstrated on the
danger of