“Yes, I thought of that. It would have made a difference in somebody’s life.”
“In his own,” replied her mother, “and other people’s. I did not intend to speak my thought aloud.”
The sunset was in the room: it was over Judith, and over her mother.
“Was he sorry he did not come here?” Judith persisted.
“I think he was. He said we would have made him so comfortable. He would have taken his meals with Mrs. Kindare.”
“No—not exactly. If it were a mistake, it will be taken care of—it is very queer to trust God with our sins and not with our mistakes.”
“I made a ‘mistake’ that night he was here, mother; I did not mean to make a sin.”
“I thought I would never tell. I was afraid it would worry you. But I cried after I went to bed. You will think me naughty and silly.”
“Yes, oh, yes,” smiled Judith, “you always do every time I am.”
“I could not lie down in peaceful sleep to-night if I believed that my little daughter kept a thought in her heart she would rather not tell her mother.”
“But I shouldn’t keep silly thoughts in my heart.”
“That is what mothers are for—to hear all the silly things.”
“Then I’ll tell you,” decided Judith, bringing herself from a lounging posture, upright, and yet not touching her mother’s knees; “that night Lottie said there was a good way to find out what would happen to you next—to wish for a thing and shut your eyes and open the Bible and put your hand on a verse, and if it said _And it came to pass_ you would certainly have it. We both did it, and she got her wish and I didn’t get mine. My heart was heavy, for I was afraid you wouldn’t like it as soon as I did it.”
“I do not like it. But I am glad you did it.”
“Because I can talk to you about something I might never have thought about.”
“I like _that_,” said Judith, comforted; “I hope Cousin Don’s mistake will be good for him.”
“It is already. What do you want to know about yourself?”
“Things that will happen, grown-up things. I make castles about grown-up things. When I make an air-castle I am never a little girl, but a big girl, fifteen or eighteen, and that kind of things happen; the kind of things that happen to girls in books. Is that silly?”
“No; it is only not wise. It spoils to-day, and to-day is too good to be spoiled. God has made to-day for us, and we slight his gift by passing it by and trying to find out the things that will happen to us to-morrow. Suppose you would not read the children’s books Cousin Don sent you, but coax him to give you grown-up books.”