"Now, John," said Madam Passmore, before the Squire could speak, "I won't have the child teased and made unhappy, in particular when she has only just come home. She meant to do right, and she did right as far as she knew. You must pocket your politics for once." "Well, well, child," confessed the Squire at last, "we none of us do right at all times, I reckon, and thou art a good child in the main, and I forgive thee. I suppose there may be a few Tories who will manage to get into Heaven." "I hope so," replied Celia, gravely. "So do I, child--so do I; though I am a crusty old Whig at the best of times. But I do think they will have to leave their Toryism on this side." When Celia went up-stairs, to give a longer and fuller greeting to old Cicely Aggett than she had the opportunity of doing before, she heard the unusual sound of voices proceeding from Cicely's little room. She soon found that Cicely and Patient were in close converse on a point of theology, and paused a moment, not wishing to interrupt them. "Well, truly, I ben't so much troubled with pride as some other things," Cicely was saying. "You see, Mrs. Patient, I hasn't got nothing to be proud of. That's where it is. If I was a well-favored young damsel with five hundred pounds in my pocket, and a silk gown, and a coach for to ride in, well, I dare say I should be as stuck-up as a peacock. But whatever has an old sinner like me to be proud of? Why, I'm always doing somewhat wrong all day long." "I am afraid I am a greater sinner than you, Mrs. Cicely," said Patient Irvine's quiet voice in answer. "You have nothing to be proud of, and you are not proud. I have nothing to be proud of, and I am." "Well, surely, a white devil is the worst devil," responded Cicely. "Aye, he is so," answered Patient. "If He was 'meek and lowly in heart'[1] which 'did no sin, neither was guile found in His mouth,'[2] what should we be who are for ever sinning? I tell you, Mrs. Cicely, some of the worst bouts of pride that ever I had, have been just the minute after I had been humbling myself before the Lord. Depend upon it, there is no prouder man in all the world than the man who is proud of his humility." There was no audible answer from Cicely. Celia came softly forward. "Eh, my dear!" cried old Cicely, looking up at her. "I am so fain to see you back as never was! Sit ye down a bit, Mrs. Celia, dear heart, and tell me how it has gone with you this long time." "Very well, dear Cicely, as concerns the Lord's dealings with me, and very ill as concerns my dealings with Him." "That's a right good saying, my dear. Ah! the good between Him and us is certain sure to be all on His side. We are cruel bad, all on us. And did you like well, sweetheart?" "That she did not," said Patient, when Celia hesitated. "She has not had a bit of her own way since she left you." Celia laughed, and then grew serious. "My own way is bad for me, Patient."