heart at times burned within him to speak the words he loved best to speak to such as he could hope had the ears to hear them; for among the twelve people--a congregation he did not always have--that he said he preferred to the thousand, he could sometimes hardly believe that there was one who heard and understood. More of his reflections and resolutions, in regard to this state of affairs, we shall fall in with by and by. Meantime, my reader will believe that this visit of Lucy gave him pleasure and hope of usefulness. The next morning he was in Mr. Kitely's shop as early as he thought the little invalid would be able to see him. "Good-morning, sir," said Mr. Kitely, brusquely. "What can I do for you this morning?" If Mr. Fuller had begun looking at his books, Kitely would have taken no notice of him. He might have stayed hours, and the bookseller would never have even put a book in his way; but he looked as if he wanted something in particular, and therefore Mr. Kitely spoke. "You have a little girl that's not well, haven't you?" returned Mr. Fuller. "Oh! you're the gentleman she wanted to see. She's been asking ever so often whether you wasn't come yet. She's quite impatient to see you, poor lamb!" While he spoke, Kitely had drawn nearer to the curate, regarding him with projecting and slightly flushed face, and eyes that had even something of eagerness in them. "I would have come earlier, only I thought it would be better not," said Mr. Fuller. Mr. Kitely drew yet a step nearer, with the same expression on his face. "You won't put any nonsense into her head, will you, sir?" he said, almost pleadingly. "Not if I know it," answered Mr. Fuller, with a smile of kind humor. "I would rather take some out of it." "For you see," Kitely went on, "that child never committed a sin in her life. It's all nonsense; and I won't have her talked to as if she was a little hell-cat." "But you see we must go partly by what she thinks herself; and I suspect she won't say she never did anything wrong. I don't think I ever knew a child that would. But, after all, suppose you are right, and she never did anything, wrong--" "I don't exactly say that, you know," interposed Mr. Kitely, in a tone of mingled candor and defense. "I only said she hadn't committed any sins." "And where's the difference?" asked Mr. Fuller, quietly. "Oh! you know quite well. Doing wrong, you know--why, we all do wrong sometimes. But to commit a sin, you know--I suppose that's something serious. That comes in the way of the Ten Commandments." "I don't think your little girl would know the difference." "But what's the use of referring to her always?" "Just because I think she's very likely to know best. Children are wise in the affairs of their own kingdom." "Well, I believe you're right; for she is the strangest child I ever saw. She knows more than any one would think for. Walk this way, sir. You'll find her in the back room."