"Then, what shall I do?" asked Lucy, in a despairing tone. "As soon as ever I come to do my task of sewing, the thimble will be missed." "Hark! There is Mrs. Corbet calling you," said Anne. "Go down now,—there's a dear,—and I will think the matter over and see what can be done." "You have been a long time," said Cousin Deborah. "What hindered you?" "Anne had to sew a new tucker in my bodice," said Lucy. "Anne must learn to have your things ready beforehand. But never mind, now. Come and read the psalm." It was rather hard for Lucy to bring her mind to the task, but she did really wish to please Cousin Deborah: so she took pains, and succeeded tolerably well. Cousin Deborah went back and repeated one of the last verses:— "'If I regard wickedness in my heart, the Lord will not hear me,'" said she. "Do you know what that means, Lucy?" Lucy had never been much accustomed to think about what she read, and she had no answer ready. "Let us see if we cannot find a meaning in it," said Cousin Deborah. "How can any one regard wickedness in his heart?" "By wanting to do what is wrong, I suppose," replied Lucy, after some thought. "Yes,—by wishing and intending to do what is wrong. If you were to pray to God for his blessing, while all the time you were wishing and meaning to do something wicked, God would not regard your prayer. You would not have any right to expect it. It would be no reason for his not hearing you, that you had already done even a very wicked thing, if you were truly sorry for your wickedness and asked your Father in heaven to forgive you for his dear Son's sake. But if you meant to do the same thing right over again as soon as you had a chance, you could not expect him to hear you. You know he sees all your thoughts and feelings, whether you speak them out or not. I can only guess, at the best, what you are thinking about; but the Lord knows the very thoughts of all our hearts." These words, as you may suppose were any thing but comfortable to poor Lucy. She had heard enough of God before,—and more than enough; for Aunt Bernard used to frighten her, many a time, by telling her that he was angry with her and would destroy her. But Cousin Debby spoke in a very different way,—as if she feared him and loved him too. Polly Burgess, too, spoke of loving him, and said he was like her own father, only a great deal better and kinder. He had delivered her dear papa from the French prison and brought him safely home to her, and had given her dear, good Cousin Debby to take care of her,—so Polly said. And she prayed with Cousin Debby every morning and night that God would take care of papa in the war and bring him safe home again.