“Oh, Fanny, I wish I had been with you! I love the country so much. You went by tram, I suppose?” “Yes; and then I walked a long way. I think it was the beautiful fields that made me feel queer.” “Queer? How do you mean, Fanny?” “They made me sorry I am so bad, and they made me feel as if I want to be better.” “Yes; that is just how they make me feel. Some day, Fanny, not on Sunday though—perhaps next Saturday afternoon, if you can spare the time—I should like so much to go into the country with you. Would you be willing?” “Yes; I should like it ever so much.” “Then we will go together, if nothing happens to prevent. I was glad to see you listening to the Salvation Army. Did you ever go to Sunday-school?” “Yes; when I was a little thing I used to go sometimes. There is a Mission-school, you know, just round the corner, where me and the others went.” “And why did you leave?” “Oh, we didn’t like the teacher for one thing; and, for another, it was hot and close; and I like to walk about the streets much better. I wish I hadn’t left, though, now.” “You can go back again; I am sure they would be glad to see you. Why do you wish you had not left?” “Because, perhaps, if I had stayed I should have known more. I want to know things. I know nothing. I could not even understand what the Salvation man said.” She paused a moment, and then her eyes suddenly flashed into the grave, kind face before her, and she said impetuously, “Oh, do tell me if it is all real—religion, I mean, and God, and Jesus Christ, and heaven, and all that they talk so much about!” “Oh, yes, Fanny! It is quite real. I am more sure of that than ever.” “Then please will you tell me all about it?” The lady thus appealed to had surprised herself by the dogmatic manner in which she had asserted the reality of the Christian faith. The truth was that she had often doubted, and sometimes been inclined to believe nothing; yet now that a soul looked to her for light all the doubts seemed strangely to vanish, and all the old lessons came back to her, as she told the story of the Christ, and His beautiful life, and the great kingdom which He came to set up. It was longer than a sermon, but Fanny listened, with her eyes on the face that kindled with joyous earnestness, and it never occurred to her to yawn or feel tired. “And I am sure,” she said at last, “that if only we do what He wants us to do, and are not selfish and wicked, but are true and kind, that is the best way to be happy. And He will show us all the rest.” And then a warm impulse moved her, and she put her arm suddenly around Fan’s waist and drew her to her knees, and spoke softly to the Father in heaven for both of them, and asked the living, loving Saviour to reveal His grace to the girl by her side. It was done in the most natural manner, and only occupied one or two minutes; but when they arose, Fan was secured as a loyal disciple for ever.