Alicia did not answer the question directly, but, after a pause, said a little bitterly,— “Was it wrong in me to wish to make my husband’s home look pretty?” “No, my daughter,” said the missionary very gently; “your object was not in itself wrong, but it was, perhaps, not pursued in quite a right way.” “I do not understand,” said Alicia. “I will try to explain myself better. Was my daughter not aware that she was risking the loss of her health by working for many hours in a place exceedingly damp?” “One cannot be always thinking about health,” said Alicia, with the slightest touch of impatience in her tone. “Do you not think that our mortal frames belong to the Lord as well as our intellectual powers? Have we a right to injure the instrument given us to be employed in this work?” “Oh, dear Mr. Hartley, I think that you are hardly the one to give reproof on this subject!” cried Alicia, looking at the wasted form beside her. “It is because my conscience reproves me as being a defaulter that I am the more able to point out to others the places where my own foot has slipped,” was the meek rejoinder. “I came to India, Alicia, a vigorous, agile man, quite as strong as your Harold is now; you see me, at the age of little more than fifty, an old man, compassed with infirmities, which, alas! hinder my work.” “But you have worn out your health in the Lord’s service, dear father,” said Alicia. “By no means altogether so, my child. I was proud of my agility and strength; I liked to show my powers and my daring; I scorned what I thought womanish precautions; what you said just now was often on my lips—‘One cannot always be thinking about health.’ Now with something like repentance I look back on useless, perhaps vainglorious exertions, by which I wasted God-given strength. That strength, if _only_ employed on God’s work, might have made me a vigorous labourer still.” “It is said, _Better wear out than rust out_,” observed Alicia. “That proverb is perfectly true, but it does not quite bear on the subject before us,” was the quiet reply. “The choice is not between wearing and rusting, but between careless, wilful neglect of common precautions (perhaps in the pursuit of amusement), and a conscientious reserving of one’s strength for daily duties. I have known a missionary bring on sunstroke, because she could not resist the pleasure of gathering flowers in the heat of the day, and could not hold up an umbrella whilst wielding the garden-scissors. Another felt that society did her good by refreshing her spirits after hard work. ‘Sitting up late does not mean rising late,’ she observed. So my friend sat up night after night till past eleven, then bravely went to her work at six. Nature could not bear the double strain, and the result was that a valuable missionary had to rest for six months in the Hills, leaving her important station without a single worker.”