en her father and some of their
neighbours, on difficult passages of Scripture and difficult points of
doctrine. She had heard the Scriptures quoted to support doctrines very
different in their nature. She had heard passages commented upon and
explained away to suit the views of the speaker, until she had come to
think, sometimes, that the most obvious meaning of a text could not
possibly be the true one; and she said to herself, what if she had been
taking comfort from these promises too soon? What if they meant
something else, or meant what they seemed to mean only to those to whom
they were spoken? What if, for some unknown, mysterious reason, she
were among those who had no part nor lot in the matter?--among those who
hearing hear not, or who fail to understand? And before she was aware,
the hopefulness of the last half-hour was vanishing away before the
troubled and doubtful thoughts that rushed upon her.

"I wish there was any one that I could ask about it! I wonder if Effie
would know? I'll see if she has brought me the book; and that will be
something. Maybe the book-man could tell me all about it. Only I don't
like to ask him."

She turned her eyes towards him, as the thought passed through her mind.
His face was plain and wrinkled and brown; but, for all that, it was a
very pleasant face to look at. It was a grave face, even when he
smiled; but it was never other than a pleasant one. There was something
in it that brought to Christie's mind her favourite verse about "the
peace that passeth all understanding."

"He has it, I do believe," she said, while she quietly watched him as he
listened or talked.

"It must be a weary life you live," Aunt Elsie was saying, "going about
from morning till night, in all weathers, with those books of yours; a
weary life and a thankless."

"Do you think so?" said Mr Craig, with a smile. "I don't think it is a
harder life than most of the people that I see are living. No harder
than the farmers have during this busy harvest-time. No harder than the
pedlars of tin-ware and dry goods have, that go about the country in all
weathers."

"But it's different with the farmer, who tills his own land. He is
working to some end. Every tree he cuts, every sheaf he reaps and
gathers in, is so much gain to him; and even these pedlars must have a
measure of enjoyment when their sales are good. They are gaining their
living by their travels."

"Well, so am I, for that