ew minutes both were silent; but perhaps
their thoughts were not very unlike.

"I wish, under your leave, Father," said Avice at length, "that somebody
would say a word to Aunt Filomena. I am afraid both she and Uncle Dan
are very ignorant. Truly, so am I: and it should be some one who knows
better. I doubt if he quite means all he says; but he thinks too ill of
women,--and indeed, with five such as he has at home, who can wonder at
it? He has no peace from morning to night; and he is naturally a man
who loves peace and quiet--as you are yourself, holy Father, unless I
mistake."

"Thou art not mistaken, my daughter," said Father Thomas. Something
inside him was giving him a sharp prick or two. Did he love quiet too
much, so as to interfere with his duties to his fellow-men? And then
something else inside the priest's heart rose up, as it were, to press
down the question, and bid the questioner be silent.

"I wonder," said Avice, innocently, quite unaware of the course of her
companion's thoughts, "whether, if Aunt Filomena knew her duty better,
she might not give poor Uncle Dan a little more rest. He is good, in
his way, and as far as he knows. I wish I knew more! But then," Avice
concluded, with a little laugh, "I am only a woman."

"Yet thou art evidently one of the few whom he likes and respects,"
answered the priest. "Be it thine, my daughter, to show him that women
are not all of an evil sort. Do thy best, up to the light thou hast;
and cry to God for more light, so that thou mayest know how to do
better. `Pour forth thy prayers to Him,' as saith the Collect for the
First Sunday after the Epiphany, `that thou mayest know what thy duty
requires of thee, and be able to comply with what thou knowest.' It is
a good prayer, and specially for them that are perplexed concerning
their duty." [See Note 2.]

"But when one does know one's duty," asked Avice with simplicity, "it
seems so hard to make one's self do it."

"Didst thou ever yet do that? Daughter, dost thou believe in the Holy
Ghost?"

Avice's immediate answer was what would be the instinctive unthinking
response of most professing Christians.

"Why, Father, of course I do!"

"Good. What dost thou believe?"

Avice was silent. "Ah!" said the priest. "It is easy to think we
believe: but hard to put our faith into plain words. If the faith were
clearer, maybe the words would follow."

"It is so difficult to get things clear and plain!