"Look in the fire, and I'll try to show you."

The old lady obediently turned her spectacles that way; and Christie
said in a tone half serious, half playful:

"Do you see those two logs? Well that one smouldering dismally away
in the corner is what my life is now; the other blazing and singing
is what I want my life to be."

"Bless me, what an idee! They are both a-burnin' where they are put,
and both will be ashes to-morrow; so what difference doos it make?"

Christie smiled at the literal old lady; but, following the fancy
that pleased her, she added earnestly:

"I know the end is the same; but it does make a difference how they
turn to ashes, and how I spend my life. That log, with its one dull
spot of fire, gives neither light nor warmth, but lies sizzling
despondently among the cinders. But the other glows from end to end
with cheerful little flames that go singing up the chimney with a
pleasant sound. Its light fills the room and shines out into the
dark; its warmth draws us nearer, making the hearth the cosiest
place in the house, and we shall all miss the friendly blaze when it
dies. Yes," she added, as if to herself, "I hope my life may be like
that, so that, whether it be long or short, it will be useful and
cheerful while it lasts, will be missed when it ends, and leave
something behind besides ashes."

Though she only half understood them, the girl's words touched the
kind old lady, and made her look anxiously at the eager young face