will believe in Him." And as day by day passed, and there were no tidings of Carry or the Danas, she felt a morose complacency in the confirmation of her hard thoughts of them, and in repeating, "I am not humbled yet!" "Uncle Will wants to know if he can come in to see you, Miss Ida," said Rachel, one Sabbath afternoon. Ida was dressed, and rocking herself listlessly before the fire. "Let him come," she replied, languidly. This man was her mother's steward and factotum; a hale, fine-looking negro; better educated than the generality of his caste, and devotedly pious. He brushed off a tear with the back of his hand, as his mistress greeted him. He had not seen her since she was grown, and was moved by her likeness to her mother. "You would not have known me,--would you, uncle Will?" she asked. "Yes ma'am; you are your mother's own child." "Indeed! I am called like my father." "You're like _her_, ma'am--in body, and like her in spirit, too I hope." "No, Uncle Will, you cannot expect that;--she was an angel." "Better than that, Mistis--she was a Christian!" "And how is that better?" said Ida, surprised at the reply. "She is an angel now--is she not?" "No ma'am; she is one of the spirits of the just made perfect; and according to my notion, that's better than to be a born seraph. Angels may praise and glorify the Lamb, but they haven't so much to be thankful for as we." "I do not understand you. They have been happy from all Eternity; and those who have lived in this world, have had sorrow and pain and sin--'mourning all their days.'" "They needn't, ma'am-- 'Why should the children of a King Go mourning all their days!'" said Will readily--"He holds us up under whatever trouble we have; unless we bring it upon ourselves by our transgressions, and He will deliver us then, if we call to Him. The Saviour is the Christian's glory and song--He didn't die for angels." Ida mused. "There is a question I wish to ask you," said she. "God can do as He pleases;--can He not?" "Certainly, Mistis--'He worketh according to the counsel of His own will.'" "And He is very pitiful and gracious?" she continued. "Like as a father pitieth his children, Mistis." "Then when He knows that we are miserable and sinful and helpless, why does not He take pity on us, and make us good and happy?" "He will, ma'am." "But He does not. He only waits for us to love anything, before He robs us of it. So far from liking to see us happy, it would seem that He grudged us the poor crumbs we picked up of ourselves." "Because they ain't good for us, Mistis." "Why did He allow us to take them, then? why wait, until we have tasted and found them sweet, before He snatches them away?"