, were heathen."

"Yes," said Lois simply, going on with her drawing.

"There are no heathen now,--not here."

"I suppose that makes no difference. It is the party which will not
obey and serve Christ; and which is working against him. In that day
they worshipped idols of wood and stone; now they worship a different
sort. They do not worship _him;_ and there are but two parties."

"No neutrals?"

"No. The Bible says not."

"But what is being 'yoked together'? what do you understand is
forbidden by that? Marriage?"

"Any connection, I suppose," said Lois, looking up, "in which two
people are forced to pull together. You know what a 'yoke' is?"

"And you can smile at that, you wicked girl?"

Lois laughed now. "Why not?" she said. "I have not much fancy for
putting my head in a yoke at all; but a yoke where the two pull
different ways must be very miserable!"

"You forget; you might draw somebody else to go the right way."

"That would depend upon who was the strongest."

"True," said Mrs. Barclay. "But, my dear Lois! you do not suppose that
a man cannot belong to the world and yet be what you call a Christian?
That would be very uncharitable."

"I do not want to be uncharitable," said Lois. "Mrs. Barclay, it is
_extremely_ difficult to mark the foliage of different sorts of trees!"

"Yes, but you are making a very good beginning. Lois, do you know, you
are fitting to be the wife of just one of that world you are
condemning-cultivated, polished, full of accomplishments and graces,
and fine and refined tastes."

"Then he would be very dangerous," said Lois, "if he were not a
Christian. He might have all that, and yet be a Christian too."

"Suppose he were not; would you refuse him?"

"I hope I should," said Lois. But her questioner noticed that this
answer was soberly given.

That evening she wrote a letter to Mr. Dillwyn.

"I am enjoying the most delightful rest," the letter said, "that I have
known for a very long time; yet I have a doubt whether I ought to
confess it; whether I ought not to declare myself tired of Shampuashuh,
and throw up my cards. I feel a little like an honest swindler, using
your money, not on false pretences, but on a foregone case. I should
_never_ get tired of the place or the people. Everyone of them, indeed
almost every one that I see, is a character; and here, where there is
less varnish, the grain of the wood shows more plainly. I have had a
most original carpenter