made a remark, there was a clearness and simplicity
in her way of speaking, a strength and freshness in what she said, that
often surprised as well as interested him. He did not always understand
her, and yet he could not believe that she was speaking of things too
high for her.

The thought flashed upon his mind one day, as he sat by her bed. What
if among these things which were revealed to her but hidden from him,
lay the secret of the happiness he had been so long and so vainly
pursuing? There are things hidden from the wise and prudent, and
revealed only to babes--even to such little ones as this suffering
child.

Looking up as the thought passed through his mind, he met her eyes fixed
wistfully upon him. She withdrew the gaze quickly, in some confusion,
but in a moment looked up again.

"What is it, Christie? You looked as though you were afraid. I would
read your thoughts. What grave question are you meditating now?"

Christie smiled.

"No, I was not afraid. I was wondering what could make you so kind to
me. I need not have wondered, though. I know quite well why it is."

"Do you? Well, suppose you tell me what you mean by `so kind,' and then
why it is that I am `so kind' to you. I should really like to know,"
said Mr Sherwood, laughing.

"I need not tell you the first," she said, with a smile. "You know that
very well, and it would take me too long to tell all. I think the
reason of your kindness is because God has put it into your heart to be
so. It is one of the ways He takes to help me to bear my troubles."

The last words were spoken very gravely.

"Then it seems you don't think I am one of the good people who take
delight in kind offices."

"I am sure no one could be kinder than you have been to me," she said,
eagerly.

"But you don't think it is my way to be kind to people generally; I am
not a philanthropist. Is that it?"

Christie looked puzzled and a little anxious. "Nay, you are not to look
disconsolate about it," said Mr Sherwood, laughing. "It is quite true.
I am not at all like a benevolent person in a book. I was kind to you,
as you call it, first to please my little cousin Gertrude, and then to
please myself. So now you have the secret of it all."

"Oh, but it is true for all that that God put it into your heart to come
so often," said Christie, with glistening eyes. "Your kindness gives me
double pleasure when I think of it in that way."

"Well, it may be so