Audrey went to the cupboard, and took down a tumbler. "I am going to take up mother's glass of milk now," she said. There was a new note in her voice, a new light in her eye. Irene's encouragement had filled her heart and brain again with the joy of creating something with her own hand and pen; with the hope of helping others in the way in which help was so greatly needed--and by her own work too. But what added most of all to her new pleasure in her work--though she was not yet old enough to realise it--was the zest of contrast, and the happy, satisfying feeling that the time and the opportunity were her own, and not being taken at the expense of others. "Audrey, I will take up the milk to mother. You look tired already." "I am rather," sighed Audrey, "and I haven't half done yet. Irene and I are going to make cakes." Faith seized the tray with the tumbler on it, and, anxious to help, dashed upstairs with it. By the time she reached her mother's room a considerable quantity of the milk was spilled over the nice clean tray-cloth. "Oh, bother!" she cried impatiently, as, in opening the door, she upset a lot more, "it is such nonsense having tray-cloths and all those faddy things. If I had brought it in my hand, without any tray at all, it wouldn't have mattered." "Would it not? What do you think I drink milk for, Faith?" "Why for nourishment, of course. To make you strong." "Well then, does it not matter if you deprive me of a third of my nourishment, of my strength?" "Oh, mother!" Faith looked shocked, "of course it does." "And, apart from that, if you had brought it in your hand, and spilled it, you would have ruined the stair carpets, and you know how very, very hard it would be to get new ones." "Oh! I hadn't thought of that. I suppose that is why one uses trays. The cloth doesn't matter--that will wash--but I am very sorry I wasted the milk, mother." "But, darling, the cloth does matter. Everything matters in some way. Someone will have to wash, and starch, and iron it--all extra work--and someone will have to pay for the soap, and the starch, and the fire for heating the water, and the irons. Don't you see, dear, what big consequences our tiniest actions often have?" Faith sighed. "I wonder if I shall ever learn to be careful," she said, hopelessly. "Not until you really want to, dear." "I do want to, mummy. I do! I do!" "You think you do. Well, to realise that you are not so, is a step forward," and with a soft laugh Mrs. Carlyle put her arm around her little daughter, and drew her to her. "Dear, each of us has a hill to climb, and there has to be a first step; but if we do not quickly take another step forward, we are very apt to slip to the bottom again. If we want to reach the top we _must_ keep on going."