"Olive, my little one," said she, sitting down on the side of my bed, "what hast thou been saying? Thou wouldst not surely say anything ungrateful against the dear Lord and Saviour?" Whereupon I buried my face in the bed-clothes, and sobbed so that the bed shook under me. She took my hand, and bending over me, said tenderly,-- "Poor little one! Thou must not break thy heart. The good Lord will forgive, Olive, will forgive all. Tell me what it is, darling, and don't be afraid." Still I sobbed on, when she said,-- "If thou canst not tell me, tell the dear Saviour. He is gentler than poor Aunt Gretel, and knows thee better. Only do not be afraid of Him, nothing grieves Him like that, sweet heart; anything but that." Then I grew a little calmer, and moaned out,-- "Indeed, Aunt Gretel, I did not mean anything wicked. But it is so hard to understand. There are so many things I cannot make out. And oh, if I should be on the wrong side of the tree after all! If I should be on the wrong side of the tree!" And at the thought my sobs burst forth afresh. Aunt Gretel was sorely perplexed. She said-- "What tree, little one? Where is thy poor brain wandering?" "The tree with God at the beginning," said I, "and with heaven at one end and hell at the other, and no way to cross over if once you get wrong, and God never seeming to mind." "A very wicked tree," said Aunt Gretel. "I never heard of it. The only tree in the Bible is the Tree of Life. And of that the Blessed Lord will give freely to every one who comes--the fruit for life and the leaves for healing. Never mind the other, sweet heart." "If there were only a way across!" said I, "and if I could be sure God did care!" "There is a way across, my lamb," said she. "Only it is not a way. It is but a step. It is a look. It is a touch. For the way across is the blessed Saviour Himself. And He is always nearer than I am now, if you could only see." "And God does care," said I, "whether we are lost or saved?" "Care! little Olive," said she. "Hast thou forgotten the manner and the cross? That comes of trying to see back to the beginning. _He_ was in the beginning, sweet heart, but not thou or I! He is the beginning every day and for ever to us. Look to Him. His face is shining on you now, watching you tenderly as if it were your mother's, my poor motherless lamb. Whatever else is dark, that is plain. And you never meant to grieve or question Him! You did not mean to say the darkness was in Him, Olive! You never meant that. Put the darkness anywhere but there, sweet heart--anywhere but there. There is darkness enough, in good sooth. But in Him is no darkness at all." And then she murmured, half to herself, "It is very strange, Dr. Luther made it all so plain, more than a hundred years ago. And it seems as if it all had to be done over again." "Didst thou say thy prayers, my lamb?" she added.