"My dear child, never, never believe that God hates you,—no, not even if you feel that you have been ever so naughty," said Cousin Deborah. "He sent his dear Son to die for us because we were sinners, and for no other reason. It was therefore we stood in need of his death, because we were sinners. Sinner though you may be, God still loves you, and desires that you may repent and return to him; and the moment you do so, he is ready to receive and forgive you and treat you as his dear child once more. Sometimes our heavenly Father sees fit to punish his children, and so he sends some trouble upon them, even upon those who are trying to follow him the most faithfully; but that is no sign he does not love them, any more than it would be a sign I did not love you because I saw reason to reprove you for some fault. Will you remember this, my child?" "Yes, Cousin Debby," whispered Lucy, hiding her face on her cousin's breast. "Now, I want to talk to you about something else, Lucy," said Cousin Deborah, after a little silence. "I have received a letter from my cousin Paulina, who, you know, lives in Exeter and keeps a girls' school. She wishes me to come and see her, that she may advise with me about some matters of importance connected with her present enterprise. There are some reasons why I do not wish to take you at present; though I mean you shall go with me some day. And, if I leave you at home, will you be very steady, and do all your tasks, and be obedient to Anne?" "I will try, Cousin Debby." "I shall be gone a day or two,—not longer, I think," continued Cousin Deborah. "And if I hear a good account of you on my return, and see that you have tried to give me pleasure by being faithful and industrious, I shall be very much gratified; because it will show that you are a trustworthy little girl." "Yes, Cousin Debby," murmured Lucy, again. "Very well, my love. Then I shall venture to take this little journey, having confidence that you will not fall into any mischief because I am not here to watch you. I trust you, Lucy." "When shall you go, Cousin Deborah?" asked Lucy, feeling—oh, so small and mean in her own estimation, as the thought crossed her mind that Cousin Deborah's going away would remove all hindrances to her meeting the gipsy-woman. "I cannot tell until I see Mattison and find out what horse there is for me to ride. It is something of a journey,—twenty good miles; and I am not so good a horsewoman as I was thirty years ago, when I rode from Exeter to London on the mare that all the men were afraid of."