“That day was the happiest day of my life. I never knew before how happy I _could_ be. I had learned that I could be kept from being _too_ afraid.” “Only just afraid enough,” laughed Judith, glad that the laugh was not frozen in her throat. “How I scampered around that day and helped, and scampered around and didn’t help. That was years ago, and I haven’t told the story yet. That _no key_ was one of my turning-points.” “I wish I might have a turning-point,” said Judith, “only I never could bear to be afraid.” “Being afraid doesn’t hurt,” consoled Aunt Affy; “you are glad you were afraid after you get out of the wilderness.” “What did your point turn you around _to_?” questioned Judith, who had learned from her mother that something always happened next. “To knowing I would always be safe,” said Marion, “no matter how deep I get into the tangles in my wilderness.” “Yes,” responded Aunt Affy, “we only _think_ we are hurt.” “Was it all wilderness?” asked Judith. “It appeared so to me. We took a drive one day into another wilderness—Meadow Centre; that was almost more a wilderness.” “I know Meadow Centre,” said Aunt Affy; “Cephas has a cousin there, a kind of cousin by courtesy, and he is always promising that he will take me over there. His name is Richard King; he has just come to take charge of the church. Cephas says he is a splendid worker, as big as a giant and as simple-hearted as a child.” “Is he old like Uncle Cephas?” Judith inquired. “No, child, he’s young like our minister. He preached here before your brother had the call, Miss Marion; Cephas wanted him, but he wouldn’t leave that going-to-pieces church and congregation over there. Cephas told him he was staying by the ship to see it go to pieces, and he said he wanted to see it go to pieces, then.” “Meadow Centre is a part of my wilderness; I would like to see the place again. I have a very warm feeling for my wilderness.” “And now you are in the Promised Land,” said Judith; “do people have to go through the Wilderness first?” A warning voice came from across the hall: “I’d like to know if your ball is getting bigger, Judith.” Judith’s guilty fingers snatched her needle, and she began stitching a black strip to a brown strip as Aunt Rody had expressly forbidden her to do. “They don’t have to _stay_ in the Wilderness,” replied Aunt Affy, “their own naughtiness kept them there.” “H’m,” sniffed the voice across the hall. “I think some people who behave pretty well are kept in the Wilderness.” “I like wild places,” said Judith, forgetting her ball again. “And naughtiness, too,” snapped Aunt Rody. “Oh, we all like that,” laughed Marion; “Aunt Rody, I am coming in there to tell _you_ a story.” “Don’t want you,” grumbled Aunt Rody, in a relenting voice. But Marion went. “I’m sure you have a story to tell me,” Judith heard Marion say, in the tone Roger Kenney called “wheedling.” “My story is all hard work, privation, and ingratitude,” was the ready response.