"Nothing. She didn't understand it, she said." "And, Di, how did you feel?" "I don't think I felt anything, mother." "How come that about?" "I don't know. I believe it seems to me as if the fashion of this world never passed away; it's the same thing, year in and year out." "What ails you, Diana?" her old friend asked after a pause. "Nothing. I'm sort o' tired. I don't see how folks stand it, to live a long life." "But life has not been very hard to you, honey." "It needn't be _hard_ for that," Diana answered, with a kind of choke in her voice. "Perhaps the hardest of all would be to go on an unvarying jog-trot, and to know it would always be so all one's life." "What makes life all of a sudden so tiresome to you, Di?" "Something I haven't got, I suppose," said the girl drearily. "I have enough to eat and drink." "You ain't as bright as you used to be a year ago." "I have grown older, and have got more experience." "If life is good for nothin' else, Di, it's good to make ready for what comes after." "I don't believe that doctrine, mother," said Diana energetically. "Life is meant to be life, and not getting ready to live. _'Tisn't_ meant to be all brown and sawdusty here, that people may have it more fresh and pleasant by and by." "No; but to drive them out o' this pasture, maybe. If the cows found always the grass long in the meadow, when do you think they'd go up the hill?" A quick, restless change of position was the only answer to this; an answer most unlike the natural calm grace of Diana's movements. The old lady looked at her wistfully, doubtfully, two or three times up and down from her knitting, before speaking again. And then speaking was prevented, for the other door opened and the minister came in. Basil was always welcome, whatever house or company he entered; he could fall in with any mood, take up any subject, sympathize in anybody's concerns. That was part of his secret of power, but that was not all. There was about him an _aura_ of happiness, so to speak; a steadfastness of the inner nature, which gave a sense of calm to others almost by the force of sympathy; and the strength of a quiet will, which was, however, inflexible. All that was restless, uncertain, and unsatisfied in men's hearts and lives, found something in him to which they clung as if it had been an anchor of hope; and so his popularity had a very wide, and at first sight very perplexing range. The two women in Mrs. Bartlett's cottage were glad to see him; and they had reason. Perhaps, for he was very quick, he discerned that the social atmosphere had been somewhat hazy when he came in; for through all his stay his talk was so bright and strong that it met the needs of both hearers. Even Diana laughed with him and listened to him; and when he rose to take leave, she asked if he came on horseback to-day? "No, I am ease-loving. I borrowed Mr. Chalmers' buggy." "Which way are you going now, sir, if you please?"