I do so wish that Flora might stay with me! This afternoon we went over to Monksburn to say farewell. Flora and Annas had a good deal to settle about our journey, and all the people and things we were leaving behind. They went into the garden, but I asked leave to stay. I did so want a talk with Lady Monksburn on two points. I thought, I hardly know why, that she would understand me. I sat for a few minutes, watching her bright needles glance in and out among the soft wools: and at last I brought out the less important of my two questions. If she answered that kindly, patiently, and as if she understood, the other was to come after. If not, I would keep it to myself. "Will you tell me, Madam--is it wrong to pray about anything? I mean, is there anything one ought not to pray about?" Lady Monksburn looked up, but only for a moment. "Dear child!" she said, with a gentle smile, "is it wrong to tell your Father of something you want?" "But may one pray about things that do not belong to church and Sunday and the Bible?" said I. "Everything belongs to the Bible," said she. "It is the chart for the voyage of life. You mean, dear heart, is it right to pray about earthly things which have to do with the body? No doubt it is. `Give us this day our daily bread.'" "But does that mean real, common bread?" I asked. "I thought people said it meant food for the soul." "People say very foolish things sometimes, my dear. It may include food for the soul, and very likely does. But I think it means food for the body first. `Your Father knoweth that ye have need of all these things.' That, surely, was said of meat and drink and clothing." I thought a minute. "But I mean more than that," I said; "things that one wishes for, which are not necessaries for the body, and yet are not things for the soul." "Necessaries for the mind?" suggested Lady Monksburn. "My dear, your mind is a part of you as much as your body and spirit. And `He careth for you,' body, soul, and spirit--not the spirit only, and not the spirit and body only." "For instance," I said, "suppose I wanted very much to go somewhere, or not to go somewhere--for reasons which seemed good ones to me--would it be wicked to ask God to arrange it so?" Lady Monksburn looked up at me with her gentle, motherly eyes.