"Perhaps, my dear. The Lord may come first; I hope so." "Oh dear!" said Rhoda. "But that means the world may come to an end." "Yes. The sooner the better," replied the old lady. "But you don't _want_ the world to end, Mrs Dolly?" "I do, my clear. I want the new heavens and the new earth, wherein dwelleth righteousness." "Oh dear!" cried Rhoda again. "Why, Mrs Dolly, I can't bear to think of it. It would be an end of everything I care about." "My dear," said the old lady, gravely and yet tenderly, "if the Lord's coming will put an end to everything you care about, that must be because you don't care much for Him." "I don't know anything about Him, except what we hear in church," answered Rhoda uneasily. "And don't care for that?" softly responded her old friend. Rhoda fidgeted for a moment, and then let the truth out. "Well, no, Mrs Dolly, I _don't_. I know it sounds very wicked and shocking; but how can I, when 'tis all so far off? It doesn't feel real, as you do, and Madam, and all the other people I know. I can't tell how you make it real." "_He_ makes it real, my child. 'Tis faith which sees God. How can you see Him without it? But I am not shocked, my dear. You have only told me what I knew before." "I don't see how you knew," said Rhoda uncomfortably; "and I don't know how people get faith." "By asking the Lord for it," said Mrs Dolly. "Phoebe, my child, is it a sorrowful thing to thee to think on Christ and His coming again?" "Oh no!" was Phoebe's warm answer. "You see, Madam, I haven't anything else." "Dear child, thank God for it!" replied Mrs Dorothy softly. "`Ton sort n'est pas a plaindre.'" "I declare, if 'tis not four o'clock!" cried Rhoda, springing up, and perhaps not sorry for the diversion. "There, now! I meant you to finish your story, and we haven't time left. Come along, Phoebe! We are going to look in a minute on Mrs Marcella, and then we must hurry home." CHAPTER FIVE. GATTY'S TROUBLES. "And I come down no more to chilling praise, To sneers, to wearing out of empty days, But rest, rejoicing in the power I've won, To go on learning, though my crying's done." _Isabella Fyvie Mayo_. As the two girls turned into the little garden of Number Three, the latch of the door was lifted, and Mrs Jane came out. "Good evening!" said she. "Come to see my sister, are you? I and my Deb are doing for her to-day, for her Nell has got a holiday--gone to see her mother--lazy slut!" "Which is the lazy slut, Mrs Jane?" asked Rhoda, laughing. "Heyday! they're all a parcel together," answered Mrs Jane. "Nell and her mother, and her grandmother before them. And Marcella, too, she's no better. Go in, if you want a string of complaints. You can come out when you've had plenty." "How many complaints are plenty, Mrs Jane?" "One," said Mrs Jane, marching off. "Plenty for me." Rhoda lifted the latch, and walked in, Phoebe following her. She tapped at the inner door.