"My dear—some of God's saints have taken fifty years to learn that lesson perfectly." "To learn that things are right—because—" "To learn that, whatever our conditions may be, those conditions are the best that can be for us—in view of the future. It means a great deal. It means—knowing God, knowing Christ, with a personal intimate knowledge—as man knows man—and trusting His love and wisdom—as friend trusts friend. We begin with infantine knowledge. We go on to that." "And Winnie has got to that, you think!" "I don't know how far Winnie has got. I don't suppose she knows herself. She is learning—we are all learning. Some are more willing to be taught than others. And our Father puts us, each one, into just that class in His earthly school where we can best be taught." "Then one ought never to wish for change?" "One ought never to give in to a spirit of discontent. Natural 'wishing' is a different matter—if we keep our hold on the reins. But always remember—He loves—and He knows best." Doris kept silence so long that he went back to his work, and presently lost himself in it, forgetting all else. She would not interrupt him again, but after watching a little while, she went out; and the Squire soon came in her stead. He too stood gazing. For the Rector with his tools was a sight worth looking at; a picture of power and perfect content. Sermon-writing had hung fire, and in despair he had escaped hither. Often he could not command his brain to work; but always he could command his hands. "Morning—" he murmured in response to a movement. "Sit down, please. I'll attend—two minutes." Mr. Stirling obeyed, using the one chair. He knew that the two minutes would expand, for Mr. Winton at work had no consciousness of time. But for once it was the latter who spoke. "I say—what has put into that child's wanting to get away?" "Doris's?" "Aye." "Why not let her go?" The Rector looked up, shook his head, and gazed at the lectern. "You think she could not be spared." "Can't afford it." "But if her expenses were undertaken? "That's not likely. And after all—the child is well. Her turn will come some day. No need yet." "Well, if an offer does come—and I have a notion that it may—don't refuse, that is all. A few weeks or months abroad would do her no end of good." "Not months." But the Rector had grown thoughtful. Mr. Stirling, satisfied to have set the stone rolling, went to the Rectory garden, and there came across Doris, busy with her pigeons. She wore a pink blouse and a holland skirt; and her pretty face, with its dusky hair and deep-set eyes, broke into smiles at the sight of him. The pigeons rose with their startled swish, and her mind reverted to Winnie Morris. Here was an opportunity! True, Winnie had asked her not to speak; but she had confidence in her own judgment; and of course she would not let slip that which she had promised not to mention.