d better not talk about Christian grace, girls. That isn't a
matter of opinion."

"Oh, isn't it!" cried St. Clair, half rising up in her bed. "What is
it, then?"

Nobody answered.

"I say!--Macy, what _is_ Christian grace--if you know! If you _don't_
know, I'll put you in the way to find out."

"How shall I find out?"

"Will you do it, if I show it you?"

"Yes."

"Ask Randolph. That's the first step. Ask her,--yes! just ask her, if
you want to know. I wish Mme. Ricard was here to hear the answer."

"Nonsense!" said Macy.

"Ask her! You said you would. Now ask her."

"What is Christian grace, Daisy?" said Miss Bentley.

I heard, but I would not answer. I hoped the storm would blow over,
after a puff or two. But Blackeyes, without any ill-nature, I think,
which was not in her, had got into the gale. She slipped out of bed
and came to my side, putting her hand on my shoulder and bringing her
laughing mouth down near my ear. A very angry impulse moved me before
she spoke.

"Daisy!"--she said, laughing, in a loud whisper,--"come, wake up!
you're not asleep, you know. Wake up and tell us;--everybody knows
_you_ know;--what _is_ Christian grace? Daisy!--"

She shook me a little.

"If you knew, you would not ask me,"--I said in great displeasure. But
a delighted shout from all my room-mates answered this unlucky speech,
which I had been too excited to make logical.

"Capital!" cried St. Clair. "That's just it--we _don't_ know; and we
only want to find out whether she does. Make her tell, Lansing--prick
a little pin into her--that will bring it out."

I was struggling between anger and sorrow, feeling very hurt, and at the
same time determined not to cry. I kept absolutely still, fighting the
fight of silence with myself. Then Lansing, in a fit of thoughtless
mischief, finding her shakes and questions vain, actually put in practice
St. Clair's suggestion, and attacked me with a pin from the dressing
table. The first prick of it overthrew the last remnant of my patience.

"Miss Lansing!"--I exclaimed, rousing up in bed and confronting her.
They all shouted again.

"Now we'll have it!" cried St. Clair. "Keep cool, Blackeyes; let's
hear--we'll have an exposition now. Theme, Christian grace."

Ah, there rushed through my heart with her words a remembrance of
other words--a fluttering vision of something "gentle and easy to be
entreated"--"first pure, then peaceable"--"gentleness, goodness,
meekness."--But t