"Won't you come, too, and see that I don't put any nonsense into her head?" "I must mind the shop, sir," objected Kitely, seeming a little ashamed of what he had said. Mr. Fuller nodded content, and was passing on, when he bethought himself, and stopped. "Oh, Mr. Kitely," he said, "there was just one thing I was going to say, but omitted. It was only this: that suppose you were right about your little girl, or suppose even that she had never done anything wrong at all, she would want God all the same. And we must help each other to find Him." If Mr. Kitely had any reply ready for this remark, which I doubt, Mr. Fuller did not give him time to make it, for he walked at once into the room, and found Mattie sitting alone in a half twilight, for the day was cloudy. Even the birds were oppressed, for not one of them was singing. A thrush hopped drearily about under his load of speckles, and a rose-ringed paroquet, with a very red nose, looked ashamed of the quantity of port-wine he had drunk. The child was reading the same little old book mentioned before. She laid it down, and rose from the window-sill to meet Mr. Fuller. "Well, how do you do, sir?" she said. "I am glad you are come." Any other child of her age Mr. Fuller would have kissed, but there was something about Mattie that made him feel it an unfit proceeding. He shook hands with her and offered her a white camellia. "Thank you, sir," said Mattie, and laid the little transfiguration upon the table. "Don't you like flowers?" asked Mr. Fuller, somewhat disappointed. "Isn't it beautiful now?" "Well, where's the good?" answered and asked Mattie, as if she had been a Scotchwoman. "It will be ugly before to-morrow." "Oh, no; not if you put it in water directly." "Will it live forever, then?" asked Mattie. "No, only a few days." "Well, where's the odds, then? To-morrow or next week--where's the difference? It _looks_ dead now when you know it's dying." "Ah!" thought Mr. Fuller, "I've got something here worth looking into." What he said was, "You dear child!" "You don't know me yet," returned Mattie. "I'm not dear at all. I'm cross and ill-natured. And I won't be petted." "You like the birds, though, don't you?" said Mr. Fuller. "Well, yes. Mr. Kitely likes them, and I always like what he likes. But they are not quite comfortable, you know. They won't last forever, you know. One of them is dead since I was taken ill. And father meant it for Miss Burton." "Do you like Miss Burton, then?" "Yes, I _do_. But she'll live forever, you know. I'll tell you something else I like." "What is that, my child?" "Oh, I'm no such a child! But I'll tell you what I like. There." And she held out the aged little volume, open at the hymn about blind Bartimeus. "Will this live forever, then?" he asked, turning the volume over in his hand, so that its withered condition suggested itself at once to Mattie.