“Ida, dearest,” said Mabel, “shall I tell you what Uncle Augustine said of you to-day when you left the room after prayers? He said, ‘Ida is a noble girl, and has no fault except that of being too good.’ Papa smiled and shook his head gently; Mrs. Aumerle gave her odious, little shrug!”
“Uncle Augustine does not know my heart,” said Ida.
“But I know it if any one does, and I am sure that uncle himself cannot think more highly of you than I do.”
“You are partial,” replied her sister with a smile.
“I only wish that I were like you! I know I’m a proud, wayward girl, and shall never reach heaven unless I am better. I often make good resolutions, but somehow”—Mabel looked down sadly as she spoke,—“somehow they break away like thread in the flame! I wonder if I shall ever be really holy.”
Ida laid down the muslin which she was working, and drawing closer to her young sister, said in a gentle tone, “You speak, dearest, of being holy and reaching heaven; of making good resolutions and not being able to keep them,—as if the impression were on your mind that you have to form, as it were, a ladder of good works, by which to reach a certain difficult height, beyond which lie the regions of glory.”
“That’s just it,” said Mabel sadly, “and I am discouraged because I always find that my ladder is too short; that climb as I may, I never can reach the height that you do.”
“I threw away my ladder long ago,” said Ida clasping her hands; “I found that every round in it was broken!”
“O Ida, what do you mean? I am certain that you have never ceased to do good works daily.”
“I would no more use them,” exclaimed Ida, “as _a means of reaching heaven_, than I would hope, by aid of yonder fragile clematis, to climb to the bright sun or stars! No,” she continued, her lip trembling with emotion as she spoke, “I would put those works which you call good, to the only use for which they are fit; if the fire of love kindle the broken, imperfect fragments, I may humbly offer upon them a sacrifice of thanksgiving to Him through whom alone I have hope of reaching the heavenly heights.”
“But, Ida, I can hardly yet see how _every round_ on the ladder of good works is broken. I am sure that some—at least of _yours_, must be very pleasing to God.”