"Where is the dear Lord in your life?" questioned Agatha. "Outside? Far away. Up yonder in Heaven, or inside and close? Inside the heart which He has made and bought back for Himself?" "Oh," murmured Adrienne, "you are probing too deeply, too quickly may I say. I hardly know how to answer you." "But you will answer me later on, when you come again; you will think, and use all the thinking powers that the Good God has given you." Adrienne bowed her head, and felt the tears rise to her eyes. In two minutes this small sick girl had filled her soul with tumult and confusion. Never had anyone come to such close quarters with her. Godfrey had often talked to her on serious topics, but he had always taken it for granted that she with him had the highest ideals and purposes within her. Little Agatha seemed quite unaware of having said anything unusual; she lay back on her cushions with a radiant smile upon her face. As Adrienne glanced at her, she was almost startled at the radiance in her eyes. She had all the joyousness of a child, combined with the deep, glowing joy of an adult. "You look so happy!" she could not help saying. "And am I not? How could I fail to be?" responded little Agatha quickly. "Don't you know that we Christians must be—we cannot help ourselves—the very happiest creatures in God's creation?" "But you," faltered Adrienne—"you lie here, year in, and year out, don't you? You never have any change of scene?" "No change, Mademoiselle?" Agatha waved her hand outside: "Have you ever thought of it? The Good God has no duplicates. He never makes two leaves, or blades of grass, no insect, bird, or animal alike! No human being, and each with a different soul. How then should His days be similar? I look at the sky and find fresh beauty every fresh day, and I see visitors—oh, so many—and all with different lives and difficulties and joys. To-day will be a fresh joy to me. I have made acquaintance with you, and all day after you leave me, I will be thinking of you and talking to my Father about you." Adrienne was touched. "'This is the day which the Lord has made,'" went on Agatha, "'we will rejoice and be glad in it!' Every morning I say that to myself. And if we have clouds, and sweeping storms, they come from Him; and if this sweet, sweet sunshine, then also it belongs to Him. And when we have God's sunshine in our hearts, nothing in the world can touch us, or bring anything evil to our souls." "I suppose," said Adrienne, looking at her a trifle wistfully, "that you have been good all your life, that praying and reading the Bible comes natural to you." "I never pray," said Agatha serenely. Adrienne stared at her. "To pray is to beg, to beseech. There is no need to do that. I talk, ah!—I talk to my Father all the day long. I never want anything for myself; does not David say, 'The Lord is my Shepherd, I shall not want'? And when I want for others, I tell my Father, and leave it to Him."