“Yes, I think so,” Enid replied. “There is a man in it, and he probably has a wife and children at home. Just imagine how they would feel if he went out and never came back!” Celia gave a little shudder. “The sea is cruel,” she said. “It looks grey and hungry. Don’t you get tired of being always near it, Enid?” “No; I love it. It is ever changing; it always seems to have some new tale to tell. And it isn’t cruel when one remembers the protecting Providence above.” “You believe in that protecting Providence above,” said Celia, with a sigh. “I wish I had the same kind of faith.” For answer Enid sat up with her elbows resting on her knee. “Irene,” she said, turning towards her small sister, “say that little passage about the sea which Ralph taught you this morning.” The child thought a minute, and then recited in a clear voice-- “‘They that go down to the sea in ships: and occupy their business in great waters: These men see the works of the Lord: and His wonders in the deep. For at His word the stormy wind ariseth: which lifteth up the waves thereof. They are carried up to the heaven: and down again to the deep: their soul melteth away because of the trouble. They reel to and fro, and stagger like a drunken man: and are at their wits’ end. So when they cry unto the Lord in their trouble: He delivereth them out of their distress. For He maketh the storm to cease: so that the waves thereof are still. Then are they glad, because they are at rest: and so He bringeth them unto the haven where they would be.’” “What beautiful poetry!” exclaimed the girl, who had listened with interest. “Who is the author of it?” “Don’t you know?” answered Enid, with surprise. “It was written by one of your own people: it is an extract from the Book of Psalms.” “Psalm one hundred and seven,” put in Irene, who liked to be exact. “I am dreadfully ignorant of the Bible,” said Celia, half ashamed to make such a confession. “I know my Shakespeare twice as well. The Bible is not much read amongst Jewish people, except in Hebrew, which most of them can barely translate.” “How strange!” Enid rejoined. “Why, if I were a Jewess, I should claim it as my special heritage. Do you know, I have sometimes wished I were a Jewess. It must be so inspiring to think that you belong to the same race as the holy men of old--the patriarchs, the prophets, and the apostles.” Celia looked doubtful. “I don’t think you would like to give up your Christianity for Judaism,” she said. “No, of course not. But if I were a Jewess, I should be a Christian too. I can scarcely conceive of a religion that excludes Christ.”