et up and go? Did you ever do anything, my child, just
because Jesus told you to do it?"

Mary did not answer immediately. She thought awhile. Then she spoke.

"Yes, father," she said, "I think so. Two nights ago, George was very
rude to me--I don't mean anything bad, but you know he is very rough."

"I know it, my child. And you must not think I don't care because I
think it better not to interfere. I am with you all the time."

"Thank you, father; I know it. Well, when I was going to bed, I was
angry with him still, so it was no wonder I found I could not say my
prayers. Then I remembered how Jesus said we must forgive or we should
not be forgiven. So I forgave him with all my heart, and kindly, too,
and then I found I could pray."

The father stretched out his arms and drew her to his bosom, murmuring,
"My child! my Christ's child!" After a little he began to talk again.

"It is a miserable thing to hear those who desire to believe themselves
Christians, talking and talking about this question and that, the
discussion of which is all for strife and nowise for unity--not a
thought among them of the one command of Christ, to love one another. I
fear some are hardly content with not hating those who differ from
them."

"I am sure, father, I try--and I think I do love everybody that loves
him," said Mary.

"Well, that is much--not enough though, my child. We must be like
Jesus, and you know that it was while we were yet sinners that Christ
died for us; therefore we must love all men, whether they are
Christians or not."

"Tell me, then, what you want me to do, father dear. I will do whatever
you tell me."

"I want you to be just like that to the Lord Christ, Mary. I want you
to look out for his will, and find it, and do it. I want you not only
to do it, though that is the main thing, when you think of it, but to
look for it, that you may do it. I need not say to you that this is not
a thing to be _talked_ about much, for you don't do that. You may think
me very silent, my love; but I do not talk always when I am inclined,
for the fear I might let my feeling out that way, instead of doing
something he wants of me with it. And how repulsive and full of offense
those generally are who talk most! Our strength ought to go into
conduct, not into talk--least of all, into talk about what they call
the doctrines of the gospel. The man who does what God tells him, sits
at his Father's feet, and looks up in his Father's