"Yes, words _are_ living things," Miss Kirkbright answered. "God does not give us anything dead. But the life of them is his spirit, and his spirit is an instant breath. You can take them as if they were dead, if you do not inspire. Men who wrote these words, inspired. We talk about their _being_ inspired, as if it were a passive thing; and quarrel about it, and forget to breathe ourselves. It is all there, just as live as it ever was; it is given over again every time we go for it; when we find it so, we never need trouble any more about authority. We shall only thank God that He has kept in the world the records of his talk with men; and the more we talk with Him ourselves, the deeper we shall understand their speech." "Isn't all that about 'inner meanings,'--that words in the Bible stand for,--Swedenborgian, Miss Kirkbright?" "Well?" Miss Kirkbright smiled. "Are you a Swedenborgian?" Sylvie asked the question timidly. "I believe in the New Church," answered Miss Euphrasia. "But I don't believe in it as standing apart, locked up in a system. I believe in it as a leaven of all the churches; a life and soul that is coming into them. I think a separate body is a mistake; though I like to worship with the little family with which I find myself most kin. We should do that without any name. The Lord gave a great deal to Swedenborg: but when his time comes, He doesn't give all in any one place, or to any one soul; his coming is as the lightening from the one part to the other part under heaven. _Lightening_--not lightning; it is wrongly printed so, I think. He set the sun in the sky, once and forever, when He came in his Christ; since then, day after day dawns, everywhere, and uttereth speech; and even night after night showeth knowledge. I believe in the fuller, more inward dispensation. Swedenborg illustrated it,--received it, wonderfully; but many are receiving the same at this hour, without ever having heard of Swedenborg. For that reason, we may never be afraid about the truth. It is not here or there. This or that may fail or pass away, but the Word shall never pass away." "What a long talk we have had! How did we get into it?" The car was coming up the slope, half a mile off. They could see the red top of it rising, and could hear the tinkle of the bell. "I wish we didn't need to get out!" said Sylvie. "I wish I could tell it to my mother!" "Can't you?" "I'm afraid it wouldn't keep alive,--with me," Sylvie answered, with a little sigh and shadow. "Not even as these flowers will that I am taking to her. I can take,--but I can't give, and I always feel so that I ought to. Mother needs the comfort of it. Why don't you come and talk to her, Miss Kirkbright?"