'Gyda is quite right,' said Dane turning again to Wych Hazel. 'They are little better than heathen, and do not know much more. You remember our first visit here? A party of the children had made a plan to throw stones at our horses as we passed through the Hollow on our return. There is no danger of that now. But what would you do with such a community?' '_I_ could not do much,' said the girl gravely. 'I suppose, if I were you—You should ask people who know what they are talking about, Mr. Rollo. Not me.' 'But I ask you. What occurs to you, as a good first step?' 'It did not "occur" to me,' said Hazel,—'you made me think of it. I suppose, then—if I knew what you know, Mr. Rollo; if I felt as you feel; I should want to tell them _that_, first of all. I should set them the lesson you set me,' she added, her voice changing a little. 'And—very much as you set it for me.' A swift deprecating glance begged him not to think that she was either criticising his work, or assuming that she knew what it was; or in general, that she knew anything about anything! 'And when and where would you do this?' said Dane, his manner quite grave and quiet, his powerful eyes nevertheless absorbing every indication of the changes in hers. 'I should think they would come any time when you wanted them,' she said, making revelations in her unconscious way.—'Sundays, I suppose they would have most time. And Sundays, too, they would be a little more dressed up and ready for the best things you could tell them.'—The words came simply, but very soberly, as if she remembered all the while that in such plans she had nothing to do. 'Well,' said Dane, 'our thoughts lie sufficiently near together. That is just what I have proposed to do, Wych.' 'Yes. I knew you would.' 'Do you think,' said he slowly, as he was helping her to something, 'do you think one ought to wait for anything _but_ an opportunity— before telling good news to people whom it concerns?' 'But I did not think you had waited.' 'No,' said Rollo gravely. 'I started a general proposition.' 'Opportunity is only the sand-paper,' said Hazel in her quick way. 'Of no earthly use without a match.' Rollo's eye danced; nevertheless he answered as demurely as possible—'What do you consider a match?' 'Hidden fire. The complement of the opportunity,—waiting for it,—ready for it. I suppose I meant that—' she said, retreating into herself again. 'I suppose you did,' said Rollo smiling, 'for it is a sharp truth. But Hazel, there is also hidden fire in the good news we carry; and if we cannot make it catch, perhaps God will. Suppose you have nothing to give but the naked truth in your naked hand—won't you take it to the people whose lives it may light up for ever?'