I could not help smiling as I thought of Felicia. I told Betty I did not believe there was any place in the world where there was not plenty of provocation of one sort or another. "There wont be any in heaven, I suppose," said she, wistfully. "No," I told her. "Everything will be good and peaceful there." "But I am afraid I shall never go to heaven!" she continued, sadly. "Only good girls go to heaven, and I am not good, though I do try to be!" she added, earnestly. "Nobody knows how hard I try to be good, sometimes!" "Your Father in heaven knows," said I. "He knows all your hindrances, too, and will help you. Now lie still and try to sleep, and I will sing for you." She dropped asleep presently, for she was very tired, and I sat still by her side, holding her hands. My head was very full of thoughts. "Only good girls go to heaven!" Then what am I to do? I am not good, I know very well. Surely I must be better than I am, if I am to escape at last. Lady Betty waked when the bell rung for chapel, and Mary came with her supper. She said she did not want any, rather fretfully at first, and then, as if recollecting herself, she added: "But I will try to eat something, Mary." "That is a good little lady!" returned Mary, who is always kind and patient. "Eat your supper, and let Mrs. Margaret go to chapel." "But you will do what I asked you, wont you, Margaret?" asked Lady Betty. "I can't go to sleep to-night unless you do." I promised her that I would do my best, and having arranged my dress, I went down to chapel. It being Friday, Mr. Penrose preached a short sermon. I don't recollect the verse of Scripture, but the real text was poor Betty's, "You can't go to heaven unless you are good." He spoke much of the duties of fasting and mortification, and of our making satisfaction for our sins by repentance and good works. I am sure I never heard such a sermon from my father, but papa's discourses were generally very simple and plain. Mr. Penrose is a good speaker, when one is used to his voice, and certainly he seems very much in earnest, especially when he spoke of the horrors of perdition and the anger of God against sinners. His sermon made me miserable—if that does one any good. I did not forget my promise to poor Betty, and waited for my Lord as he came in to supper. He had slept, by the way, all through the sermon. He looked pleasant enough, and seeing me standing there, he stopped and said, in his usual cheerful, jovial voice: "Well, Mistress Merton, what can I do for you?" I told him my errand, adding that Lady Betty was very unhappy, thinking that he was angry with her. He stared as if he had forgotten all about the matter, then said, as if he were a little ashamed, as well as sorry, I thought: "Oh, poor thing, does she think so much of my words as that? Tell her I am not angry with her, only she must be a good girl, and not do so any more."