"Do you mean that if—if I saw a trouble coming—and if I prayed that it might not come, and felt quite sure it would not—do you mean that that would keep it off?" A rather odd expression crossed Mrs. Landor's face. "You couldn't do it, child." Euphrasia's look fell. "Such a prayer in itself would be presumptuous, unless prayed in submission, and then, of course, the mode of answer would be doubtful. If you resolved wilfully to pray that the trouble might at all hazards be kept off, you could not make yourself believe that it inevitably 'would' be kept off." "I thought, sometimes, people were so sure about getting an answer." "People may be absolutely sure, always, about getting an answer, but not about getting the particular answer which they would choose for themselves . . . I don't say there are no exceptional cases. Sometimes a trouble threatens to come, and the child turns to his Father for help; and an instant assurance is whispered to him that the trial shall not come. Then it does not come . . . But I doubt if such assurance is ever given to one wilfully insisting in prayer on having—'Not Thy will but mine.' It is not for us to dictate to God: only to ask." "Then I don't see the good of praying," Euphrasia broke out passionately. "One might just as well let it alone." She gazed again with rebellious eyes, expecting to see signs of indignation, but she could detect nothing beyond pity. "Poor child!" the elder lady said softly. "Wait a little while, till you know Him better! Then you will find the difference between bearing your own burden and putting it off into His hands." Something of the same thought came to Euphrasia that had come to her mother. "If Mrs. Landor expected to lose everything, would she feel so, 'then?'" The question found half-expression in a murmured, "It is easy to talk—" "For people who have not the trouble themselves. Yes, I dare say it seems so. It must, naturally. You know your own troubles, and you don't know mine. Perhaps you would even say that I had none. If it were so, my dear, remember that the highest honour God can put upon one of His children is, perhaps, to 'leave' that child in the dark, that he may trust without being able to see." Euphrasia's glance was uncomprehending. "Try at least to think what a splendid thing it is to have such a Friend as Christ to hold one's hand, and to shape one's life. If He includes some pain in the shaping, it is because we need the pain. Better to accept what He brings, bravely and without murmuring. I don't mean for a moment that we may not pray against coming trouble. We ought to pray, and to be confident of an answer. Only we may not dictate the manner of answer." "I can't see the good of praying if the trouble is to come just the same."