llow out the truth to the glory.

The first bright years of my childhood I will pass. They were
childishly bright. They lasted till my eleventh summer. Then the light
of heavenly truth was woven in with the web of my mortal existence;
and whatever the rest of the web has been, those golden threads have
always run through it all the rest of the way. Just as I reached my
birthday that summer and was ten years old, I became a Christian.

For the rest of that summer I was a glad child. The brightness of
those days is a treasure safe locked up in a chamber of my memory. I
have known other glad times too in my life; other times of even higher
enjoyment. But among all the dried flowers of my memory, there is not
one that keeps a fresher perfume or a stronger scent of its life than
this one. Those were the days without cloud; before life shadows had
begun to cast their blackness over the landscape. And even though such
shadows do go as well as come, and leave the intervals as sunlit as
ever; yet after that change of the first life shadow is once seen, it
is impossible to forget that it may come again and darken the sun. I
do not mean that the days of that summer were absolutely without
things to trouble me; I had changes of light and shade; but, on the
whole, nothing that did not heighten the light. They were pleasant
days that I had in Juanita's cottage at the time when my ankle was
broken; there were hours of sweetness with crippled Molly; and it was
simply delight I had all alone with my pony Loupe, driving over the
sunny and shady roads, free to do as I liked and go where I liked. And
how I enjoyed studying English history with my cousin Preston. It is
all stowed away in my heart, as fresh and sweet as at first. I will
not pull it out now. The change, and my first real life shadow came,
when my father was thrown from his horse and injured his head. Then
the doctors decided he must go abroad and travel, and mamma decided
that it was best that I should go to Magnolia with Aunt Gary and have
a governess.

There is no pleasure in thinking of those weeks. They went very
slowly, and yet very fast; while I counted every minute and noted
every step in the preparations. They were all over at last; my little
world was gone from me; and I was left alone with Aunt Gary.

Her preparations had been made too; and the day after the steamer
sailed we set off on our journey to the south. I do not know much
about that journey. The things