Then, between one worry and another, and having had so much on my mind, I turned queer and ill again, worse than the day before. Mother helped me upstairs, and made me lie down on my bed. She was kind as could be, and did all I needed; only there wasn't the tenderness I was used to, and I did miss it. I couldn't go downstairs again that afternoon nor evening. I couldn't, partly because I felt bad, and partly because I dreaded what father would say. Mother let me do as I wished. She didn't press me either way. And father never came to my room at all. It was the first time I could remember father not coming to see how I was, when I had not been well. Next morning I had breakfast in bed, for I couldn't sleep much; and I didn't hurry going down after, so father was off first. Half-way through the morning Mr. Armstrong came in. He had heard from father something of what had happened, and he said he had called to ask me all about it. Mother just said, "Yes, thank you, sir. Kitty 'll take you into the parlour." I didn't like that, but I had to go. Mr. Armstrong was very gentle, and never spoke hard words; but all the same—perhaps all the more because of the gentleness—I cared a deal more for what he said than for most people. He had been a kind friend to me all my life, and he had prepared me for Confirmation only two years sooner. Somehow when he sat down near me, I couldn't help thinking of the time I had seen him alone just before my Confirmation, and how he had spoken of the life I was to lead as a "servant of Jesus Christ;" and how I was to obey Him, and love Him, and set myself to please Him in everything I did. I had little thought then how soon I was to be led into a crooked path of deceit. It was curious the remembrance of that time coming just then into my head. I expected Mr. Armstrong to begin asking me a lot of questions, and I was determined I wouldn't let out more than I could help about Walter Russell. But instead of beginning with questions, Mr. Armstrong kept silence a minute, as if he wanted to give me time. And then he said— "'My duty towards my neighbour is—to be true and just in all my dealings—to keep my tongue from lying!'" I knew those words well enough, of course. Mother had taught me the Catechism through and through from almost my babyhood, and I knew my way about in it blindfold, if one may speak so. As I say, I was thinking already of my Confirmation, and all the teaching I'd had before; and these words seemed to bring back a great wave-like of the feelings I'd had then, and how I had longed and resolved always to do right and to please God. "I think you have forgotten that lately, Kitty," says Mr. Armstrong. I whispered a "Yes." "Forgotten everything except just having your own will," says he. "Nothing surer to land one in evil than putting first how to please self. If the thought of pleasing God comes second, it soon ends by being nowhere." And I said "Yes" again, for I knew it was true.