ABOUT four o'clock my uncle came in from his business, and we had each a bun and somewhat else—at least we young ones did—for my uncle never ate between dinner and supper. He greeted me kindly, asked how I had passed my day, looked at and commended my work and that of his daughters, and asked them if they had somewhat to repeat to him. Whereat Katherine recited the twenty-third psalm in English, and Avice a part of the hundred and nineteenth. "And what can my little niece say for me?" he asked. "I can say the penitential psalms in Latin," I answered; "but I do not know them in English." "Then you shall read a little for me instead," said he; and drawing me to his side he took from his desk a bound book, and turning over the leaves, he pointed out a passage, which I read. It was new and strange to me, for it talked of God's care for flowers and little fowls, and bade men consider that, as they were worth much more than these things, so our Heavenly Father would provide for all our needs. It ended thus: "Care not therfore for the daye foloynge. For the daye foloynge shall care ffor yt sylfe. Eche dayes trouble ys sufficient for the same silfe day." "Do you know whose words these are?" asked my uncle, as I finished. "No, uncle," I answered. "They are our dear Lord's own words," said he, "and spoken for our comfort. Do not you forget them." "I suppose Our Lady made Him say them!" I ventured to remark. "No, dear child. Our Lord needs no one to make Him send us comfort and help, since He himself loves us, and died to redeem us. Never doubt his love, my child. That never fails those who seek him, and even though he leads them through dark and troubled waters—nay, even through the very fiery furnace—it is but to guide them to his rest at last." I saw my aunt sigh at these words, as if they had some meaning more than met the ear. For my own part, they filled me with amazement. I had always been taught to think of our Lord as a harsh and severe judge, who relented toward us—when he did relent—only at the intercession, or rather commands, of Our Lady, his mother. It seemed very strange; but I was presently diverted from the consideration thereof by my uncle's next words. "Did my Lady Peckham send me no letter by you, dear child?"