the love of the
Son, just as the Son came to make known to the world the wonderful love
of the Father."

"But 'be filled,'" said Evadne. "That looks as if we had something to do
with it."

"So we have, dear child. Suppose a man owned one hundred acres of land
and gave you the right of way through it from one public road to
another,--that would leave him many acres for his own use on which you
have no right to trespass. I think we treat Jesus so. We are willing
that he should have the right of way through our hearts, but we forget
that every acre must be the King's property. There must be no rights
reserved, no fenced corners. Jesus must be an absolute monarch."

Mrs. Everidge spoke the last words softly and Evadne, looking at her
uplifted face, shining now with the radiance which always filled it when
she spoke of her Lord, saw again that glowing face which she had watched
across the gate at Hollywood and heard the strange, exultant tones, 'He
is my King!' Ah, that was beautiful! That was what Aunt Marthe meant,
and Pompey and Dyce.

"Jesus must come to abide, not merely as a transient guest," Aunt Marthe
continued in her low tones. "We must give him full control of our
thought and will. We must hand him the keys of the citadel. We must give
the all for the all,--that is only fair dealing. You see, dear child,
Christ cannot fill us until we are willing to be emptied of self. He
must have undivided possession. There is a vast amount of heartache,
little one, in this old world, and self is at the bottom of it all, when
we stop to analyze it. We want to be first, to be thought much of, to be
loved best. No wonder that the selfless life seems impossible to most
people. Think what a continuous self-sacrifice Christ's life was! So
utterly alone and lonely among such uncongenial surroundings with
people uncouth and totally foreign to his tastes. Ah! we don't realize
it. We look at him doing the splendid things amidst the plaudits of the
multitude, but think of the monotonous, weary days, going up and down
the sun-baked streets surrounded by a crowd of noisy beggars full of all
sorts of loathsome disease, and the humdrum life in Nazareth; and all
the time the great heart aching with that ceaseless sorrow,--'His own
received him not!' Oh, what a waste of love! We do not realize that it
is in these footsteps of his that we are called to follow. We are
willing to do the great things, with the world looking on, but not for
the