"But, dearie, I'm not so sure that we _shall_ all be equally happy in heaven, any more than on earth. I never could believe that just because your body died you were going to wake up a perfected saint. We've got to learn our lessons, and perhaps happiness isn't the quickest way. I can't argue--never could; the dear boys found that out, and used to lay traps for me, asking me to explain; but life is only a little voyage--a trial trip, as the papers say. You may have fine weather, or you may have storms; the only thing that matters is to get safe to the haven. Sometimes when we've been down here for the summer it has rained persistently; 1861 was one year--the time Pat broke his leg! We've been cross and disappointed, and at the time it has seemed hard, but looking back after a few years it has faded into nothing. `Wasn't it wet?' we say, and laugh. It was only for a month--such a little time! Who would think of looking back and grizzling over a little disappointment twelve years old! And perhaps, dear, just because we couldn't go out in the sunshine to pick the dear flowers, because we had to stay indoors and be quiet and patient, we learnt something, found out something, that helped us along, and made us fitter for the haven. I'm very stupid--I can't explain--" "Dear Miggles, you are very wise! I am fortunate to have you. Be patient with me, and love me a little bit in spite of my naughty words." "A little bit! Indeed, my dear, I have grown to love you with all my heart. After Jean, I really believe you are my dearest on earth." After Jean! That stung. Jean had so much. She might surely have spared the first place in one old woman's heart; and what a sweetness it would have been to come first to just one person in the world! Vanna's sense of justice pointed out that it was not reasonable to expect a few months' devotion to eclipse the association of a lifetime; but though reason may convince the brain, it leaves the heart untouched. Jean had Robert; Miggles had a whole family of adopted children; Mrs Rendall had her son; Piers had--a sharp stab of pain penetrated through the dull misery of her mood, a stab which had pierced her at every recollection of Jean's light words--"Always at the Van Dusens'--such a pretty daughter--I believe he is in love." Was it true? and if so, how did it affect herself? Vanna went out into the garden and seated herself in her favourite seat, at the edge of the cliff, whence the winding steps cut out in the face of the chalk descended steeply to the shore. The tide was out, and a few village children scrambled barefoot over the slippery boulders, searching for treasures in the pools between; the sound of their happy voices floated up to her ears.