"And you are right. Why, bless you, my child, religion doesn't do us much good until we learn to know our Lord as 'good and tender-hearted,' and so near, too, that we can speak to him, whenever we wish, as the disciples did in old times. So don't be one bit discouraged; see, I'll fasten your horse right here in the shade, and by and by I'll have him fed, for you must spend the day with us, and not go back until the cool of the evening. It hasn't seemed hospitable that you should have stood so long here under the trees; and I didn't mean that you should, but things never turn out as we expect." "It is often well they don't," thought Ida, as she looked around the quiet and quaintly beautiful spot, to which a kind Providence had brought her. It seemed as if her burden already were beginning to grow lighter. "Now come in, my child, and tell me all your trouble." "Please, Mr. Eltinge, may I not go back with you into the garden?" "Yes, why not? We can talk there just as well;" and he led her to a rustic seat in a shady walk, while from a tool-house near he brought out for himself a chair that had lost its back. "I'll lean against this pear-tree," he said. "It's young and strong, and owes me a good turn. Now, my child, tell me what you think best, and then I'll tell you of One whose word and touch cures every trouble." But poor Ida had sudden and strong misgivings. As she saw the old gentleman surrounded by his flowers and fruits, as she glanced hesitatingly into his serene, quiet face, from which the fire and passion of youth had long since faded, she thought. "So Adam might have looked had he never sinned but grown old in his beautiful garden. This aged man, who lives nearer heaven than earth, can't understand my wicked, passionate heart. My story will only shock and pain him, and it's a shame to pollute this place with such a story." "You spoke as if you were alone and friendless in the world," said Mr. Eltinge, trying to help her make a beginning. "Are you an orphan?" "No," said Ida, with rising color, and averting her face. "My parents are both living." "And yet you cannot go to them? Poor child! That is the worst kind of orphanage." "Oh, Mr. Eltinge, this place seems like the garden of Eden, and I am bringing into it a heart full of trouble and wickedness." "Well, my child," replied the old gentleman, with a smile. "I've brought here a heart full of trouble and wickedness many a time, so you need not fear hurting the garden." "But I fear I shall pain and shock you." "I hope you will. I'm going to feel with and for you. What's the good of my sitting here like a post?"