ey
make it better?"

"Cis, don't say such ugly words!"

"Isn't it best to call ugly things by their right names?"

"Well, any way, it won't be my fault: it'll be theirs who made me do
it."

"Theirs and yours too, Will, if you let them make you."

"I tell you, Cissy, I can't stand it!"

"Father stood more than that," said Cissy in that low, firm voice.

"Oh, don't be always talking about Father! He was a man and could bear
things. I've had enough of it. God Almighty won't be hard on me, if I
do give in."

"Hard, Will! Do you call it hard when people are grieved to the heart
because you do something which they'd lay down their lives you shouldn't
do? The Lord did lay down His life for you: and yet you say that you
can't bear a little hunger and a few stripes for Him!"

"Cis, you don't know what it is. You're a maid, and I dare say they
don't lay on so hard on you. It's more than a little, I can tell you."

Cissy knew what it was far better than Will, for he was a strong boy, on
whom hardships fell lightly, while she had to bear the blows and the
hunger with a delicate and enfeebled frame. But she only said,--

"Will, don't you care for me?"

"Of course I do, Cis."

"I think the only thing in the world that could break my heart would be
to see you or Nell `giving in', as you call it. I couldn't stand that,
Will. I can stand anything else. I hoped you cared for God and Father:
but if you won't heed them, I must see if you will listen to me. It
would kill me, Will."

"Oh, come, Cis, don't talk so."

"Won't you go on trying a bit longer, Will? Any day the tide may turn.
I don't know how, but God knows. He can bring us out of this prison all
in a minute. You know He keeps count of the hairs on our heads. Now,
Will, you know as well as I do what God said,--He did not say only,
`Thou shalt not worship them,' but `Thou shalt not bow down to them.'
Oh Will, Will! have you forgotten all the texts Father taught us?--are
you forgetting Father himself?"

"Cis, I wish you wouldn't!"

"I wish _you_ wouldn't, Will."

"You don't think Father can hear, do you?" asked Will uncomfortably
glancing around.

"I hope he can't, indeed, or he'll be sore grieved, even in Heaven, to
think what his little Will's coming to."

"Oh, well--come, I'll try a bit longer, Cis, if you--But I say, I do
hope it won't be long, or I _can't_ stand it."

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