erest to the highest degree; and the disappointment
was great. But that it should have failed to come on this particular
night was harder still to bear.

"If God only hears half our prayers, and that the half we care least
about, what is the use of praying at all? Oh, dear! I thought I had
found something at last!"

"Christie," said her sister, laying her hand on her shoulder, "why are
you crying in that way? Surely you have had tears enough for once?
What ails you, child? Speak to me, Christie."

"Oh, you _might_ have brought it!" she exclaimed, through her sobs.
"You almost promised."

"No, Christie, I didna promise. I didna forget it. But I am afraid--
indeed, I am sure--that the reading of the book would do you no good,
but harm; and so I didna bring it to you. You are wrong to be so vexed
about it."

"Is it a bad book?" asked Christie.

"I am not sure that it is a _bad_ book. But I think it might do you
harm to read it. I am afraid your imagination is too full of such
things already."

This had been said to her in far sharper words many a time before; and
Christie made no answer.

"You know yourself, Christie, when you get a book that interests you,
you are apt to neglect other things for the pleasure of reading it.
Almost always Aunt Elsie has to find fault with you for it."

"Aunt Elsie always finds fault with me!" sighed Christie.

"But you give her reason to find fault with you when you neglect your
duties for such reading, as you must confess you do; even to-day, you
know."

"I believe it grieves Aunt Elsie's heart to see me taking pleasure in
anything," said Christie, turning round passionately. "She never heeds
when Annie or Sarah takes a book; but if I look the way of one, she's at
me. I believe she would be glad if there was no such thing as a book in
the house."

"Hush, Christie! You are wrong to speak in that way. It is not true
what you are saying. Aunt Elsie is fond of reading; and if she doesna
object to Annie and Sarah taking a book, it is because they don't very
often do so. They never neglect their work for reading, as you too
often do."

All this was true, as Christie's conscience told her; but she was by no
means willing to confess as much; so she turned away her face, and said,
pettishly:

"Oh, well, I hear all that often enough. There's no use in saying
anything more about it."

Effie rose, and went to the other side of the room. When she returned,
she ca