Jane Hardie sighed at this confession. "We meet in the cottages of the
poor and the sick, whom He loved and pitied when on earth; and we, His
unworthy servants, try to soothe their distress, and lead them to Him who
can heal the soul as well as the body, and wipe away all the tears of all
His people."

"Then it does you infinite credit, Jane," said Alfred, warmly. "Now, that
is the voice of true religion; and not the whine of this sect, nor the
snarl of that. And so she joins you in this good work? I am not
surprised."

"We meet in it now and then, dear; but she can hardly be said to have
joined me: I have a district, you know; but poor Mrs. Dodd will not allow
Julia to enlist in the service. She visits independently, and by fits and
starts; and I am afraid she thinks more of comforting their perishable
bodies than of feeding their souls. It was but the other day she
confessed to me her backwardness to speak in the way of instruction to
women as old as her mother. She finds it so much easier to let them run
on about their earthly troubles: and of course it is much _easier._ Ah!
the world holds her still in some of its subtle meshes."

The speaker uttered this sadly; but presently, brightening up, said, with
considerable _bonhomie,_ and almost a sprightly air: "But she is a dear
girl, and the Lord will yet light her candle."

Alfred pulled a face as of one that drinketh verjuice unawares; but let
it pass: hypercriticism was not his cue just then. "Well, Jenny," said
he, "I have a favour to ask you. Introduce me to your friend, Miss Dodd.
Will you?"