ignorance of life and
life-work.

"What should we do without the Bible?" she asked.

"Do without it! Why I have done without it all my days, Mrs.
Landholm."

"You are mistaken even in that," she said; "but, Miss
Elizabeth, do you think you have lived a blameless life all
your life till now? -- have you never done wrong?"

"Why no, I don't think that, -- of course I have," Elizabeth
answered gravely, and not without a shade of displeasure at
the question.

"Do you know that for every one of those wrong doings your
life is forfeit?"

"Why no!"

"And that you are living and sitting there, only because Jesus
Christ paid his blood for your life? -- Your time is bought
time; -- and he has written the Bible to tell you what to do
with it."

"Am I not to do what I like with my own time?" thought
Elizabeth. The thought was exceeding disagreeable; but before
she or anybody had spoken again, the door of the big bed-room
opened gently, and Miss Cadwallader's pretty face peeped out.

"Are they all gone to bed? -- are they all gone to bed?" she
said; -- "may I come, Mrs Landholm?"

She was in her dressing-gown, and tripping across the floor
with the prettiest little bare feet in the world, she took a
chair in the corner of the fireplace.

"They got so cold," she said, -- "I thought I would come out and
warm them. How cosy and delightful you do look here. Dear Mrs.
Landholm, do stop working. What are you talking about?"

There was a minute's hesitation, and then Elizabeth said,

"Of reading the Bible."

"The Bible! oh why should one read the Bible?" she said,
huddling herself up in the corner. "It's very tiresome!"

"Do you ever read it, Miss Rose?"

"I? -- no, indeed I don't. I am sorry, I dare say you will
think me very wrong, Mrs. Landholm."

"Then how do you know it is tiresome?"

"O I know it is -- I have read it; and one hears it read, you
know; but I never want to."

Her words grated, perhaps on both her hearers; but neither of
them answered.

"There was a man once," said Mrs. Landholm, "who read it a
great deal; and he said that it was sweeter than honey and the
honey-comb."

"Who was that?"

"You may read about him if you wish to," said Mrs. Landholm.

"But Mrs. Landholm," said Elizabeth, "do you think it is an
_interesting_ book?"

"Not to those who are not interested in the things, Miss
Elizabeth."

"What things?"

Mrs. Landholm paused a bit.

"A friend to go with you through life'