aight into his, while her head turned
slowly and very slightly to one side. As he concluded, she replied,
"Oh! very, very, _very_ much indeed," with a degree of energy that made
both her parents laugh.

"Ah, my darling! would that my lazy men were endued with some of your
spirit," said Stanley, patting the child's head.

"Is Prince a lazy man, papa?" inquired Edith anxiously.

"No, certainly, Prince is not. Why do you ask?"

"Because I love Prince."

"And do you not love all the men?"

"No," replied Edith, with some hesitation; "at least I don't love them
_very_ much, and I hate one."

"Hate one!" echoed Mrs Stanley. "Come here, my darling."

Eda slipped from her father's knee and went to her mother, feeling and
looking as if she had said something wrong.

Mrs Stanley was not one of those mothers who, whenever they hear of
their children having done anything wrong, assume a look of intense,
solemnised horror, that would lead an ignorant spectator to suppose that
intelligence had just been received of some sudden and appalling
catastrophe. She knew that children could not be deceived by such
pieces of acting. She expressed on her countenance precisely what she
felt--a slight degree of sorrow that her child should cherish an evil
passion, which, she knew, existed in her heart in common with all the
human race, but which she expected, by God's help and blessing, to
subdue effectually at last. Kissing Eda's forehead she said
kindly,--"Which of them do you hate, darling?"

"Gaspard," replied the child.

"And why do you hate him?"

"Because he struck my dog," said Eda, while her face flushed and her
eyes sparkled; "and he is always rude to everybody, and very, _very_
cruel to the dogs."

"That is very wrong of Gaspard; but, dearest Eda, do you not remember
what is written in God's Word,--`Love your enemies?' It is wrong to
_hate_ anybody."

"I know that, mamma, and I don't wish to hate Gaspard, but I can't help
it. I wish if I didn't hate him, but it _won't_ go away."

"Well, my pet," replied Mrs Stanley, pressing the child to her bosom,
"but you must pray for him, and speak kindly to him when you meet him,
and that will perhaps put it away. And now let us talk of the far-off
country that papa was speaking about. I wonder what he has to tell you
about it."

Stanley had been gazing out of the window during the foregoing colloquy,
apparently inattentive, though, in reality, deeply interested in wh