"Especially what?" asked John kindly, guessing by his little sister's manner that she was very much in earnest. "I was trying to do something for Him, you know, John, and it seemed so horrid of me to be vexed and cross over that." "I understand," said John. "I was making--but I will show you all about it." Minnie went to the cupboard, and drew out the odds and ends which had attracted John's attention. "See here," she said, spreading them out on the table, "I have been collecting all the matchboxes for months, and now I have bought these two dozen little china dolls, and Agnes gave me some white wadding; and I am going to cover the boxes with this paper, and put little ornaments at the bottom and top--so; and then--but here is one quite finished." Minnie opened a bright little box, and there inside, on a bed of whitest, softest wool, a little china doll reposed, clothed in a wrapper of pink silk; under her head a little roll of wadding served as a pillow. "Doesn't she look cosy?" asked Minnie, patting her complacently. "And what's it for? How can it be for the Lord Jesus?" "Why, don't you remember how we mended those toys before Christmas, and sent them to the children's ward of the hospital?" John nodded. "So that's just what I'm going to do now; here will be two dozen little presents, and it will make two dozen little children happy for a whole day, I shouldn't wonder." "It is a very good thought," said John. "And that's why I was sorry I'd been cross over _that_." "Yes," answered John thoughtfully; "but I believe, Minnie, if we were more anxious to please Him, we should be far more careful than we are about _everything_. All that we do is really working for Him, and I do believe--I'm saying it to myself, and not to you, Minnie--that if we watched more, and realized His loving presence more, we should live very differently from what we do." Minnie slowly shut up her boxes, and when John had finished speaking she said softly, "We must try more than ever." "And get Him to help us more than ever," added John. [Illustration] [Illustration] CHAPTER XXIII. _THE END OF THE JOURNEY._ Yes, they came home. The three months did pass away at length, and the last part of it flew much quicker than the beginning. "We shall arrive, 'God willing,' about the end of March, as we sail by the _Sardinia_ on the 15th; but you will get a telegram from Liverpool when we land," wrote their father. John could understand that "God willing" better now than he did when they went away; for he had taken that "will of God" as the one object of his life. It might be--it would be--with many failures, but "What wilt Thou?" was now his one question, and to do it his one desire.