"What do I look like?"
"A peaceful, pious nun, just now."
"Oh! that is owing to my pretty shawl. I put it on in honor of the
day, though it is a trifle warm, I confess." And Christie stroked
the soft folds about her shoulders, and settled the corner that lay
lightly on her hair. "I do feel peaceful to-night, but not pious. I
am afraid I never shall do that," she added soberly.
"Why not?"
"Well, it does not seem to be my nature, and I don't know how to
change it. I want something to keep me steady, but I can't find it.
So I whiffle about this way and that, and sometimes think I am a
most degenerate creature."
"That is only human nature, so don't be troubled. We are all
compasses pointing due north. We get shaken often, and the needle
varies in spite of us; but the minute we are quiet, it points right,
and we have only to follow it."
"The keeping quiet is just what I cannot do. Tour mother shows me
how lovely it is, and I try to imitate it; but this restless soul of
mine will ask questions and doubt and fear, and worry me in many
ways. What shall I do to keep it still?" asked Christie, smiling,
yet earnest.
"Let it alone: you cannot force these things, and the best way is to
wait till the attraction is strong enough to keep the needle steady.
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