No one could tell him to make him understand, could they? So no one could make anyone understand in words what love is. Just as light comes from the sun, and we can only see it with our eyes, so love comes from God, who is Love, and we can only be conscious of it in our hearts. Isn’t it St. John, Auntie, who says we have passed from death unto life when we love the brethren? Then just as eyes which cannot see the light are called blind, mustn’t it be that hearts which do not love are dead?" "It seems to follow naturally your line of reasoning, Carol, though I cannot say the thought ever occurred to me before. There is one marked trait in all little children, they are so full of love." "Yes, Auntie, especially darling Rosebud. She loves everyone. Do you remember when I was ill, and you lifted her on the bed, how she said: ’I do ’ove ’ou so welly much, Tarol’?" "Yes, dear, I remember. Rosebud often makes me think of a line of one of the poets: ’For a smile of God, thou art.’" "That is just beautiful, Auntie, and it explains why little children know what love is, before they know anything else, before they even walk or talk." "Yes, Carol, all great poets seem able to grasp some momentous truth, and give it to the world in a beautiful line or verse." "Cousin Alicia has given Eloise a copy of _Science and Health_ just like the one she gave me, Auntie. Eloise showed it to me, and offered to lend it to me. But it would not be right for me to read it until Uncle Raymond gives me permission, would it? Do you think he may when he knows of Eloise’s healing?" "He does know, dear. I was talking to him last night about it. He attributes it to the change into Devonshire, or--or some other reason. I think he suggested hypnotism." "But they took her to Germany some time ago, and that change made no difference, nor the great German doctor she was under." "That is so, dear, still Uncle Raymond will not listen. I think it will be unwise to talk any more on the subject to him." "Do you think then, Auntie, he will not be willing for me to have the book again until--until I am a man?" "I fear that may be so, dear." "Oh, Auntie!" For a moment the grave eyes filled with tears. The next instant they were dashed away. "What am I thinking of? Error, error, begone! Love _can_ find a way, and Love _will_ find a way. It is quite all right, Auntie," clasping both arms around her neck. "Just wait and see! If we are not standing ’porter at the door of thought’ every moment, what a lot of wrong thoughts come trooping in." CHAPTER XXIII.--A LONG-DELAYED LETTER. That was an eventful week to Carol. Three or four days after the return of Mrs. Burton and Eloise it was his turn to open the post-bag. The daily task of receiving the post-bag, unlocking it, sorting, and then distributing the contents, was always such a pleasure to the elder children that they had agreed to take it by turns.