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 writing, singing—that was all the simple schooling came to; and the reading was all out of one book—the Bible; the singing was all of fine old hymns.

For Eva had never lost or outgrown the gentle faith of her girlhood; or rather, perhaps, she had grown into it. Had she gone on existing under the easy conditions of home, very likely she would never have entered half so deeply into the living spirit of her religion, or that living spirit into her. The profession of her creed would probably have become merely a graceful conventionality with her, at deepest a gentle dilettante pietism. But here, amid loneliness, trial, and failure, it turned existence into life. Its difficult dogmas presented no difficulty to her, its darkest sayings raised no doubts; for her seeking soul had penetrated far beyond these, and found a sure abiding place at its innermost springs of truth and light. To Eva, without the shadow of a doubt, one Divine Friend there was, Who understood all her troubles, Who, even, for some wise purpose, had ordained them, and Who loved her and hers with an everlasting love. If perhaps it is one of the weak points of this particular creed that its expression in words sounds so self-centred as almost to mean selfishness, on the other hand it is one of its chief bulwarks that its expression in terms of conduct is a selflessness almost perfect; and its ineffable consolations who would have the heart to grudge so sorrowful a life? For Eva, her Saviour shared with her the desolate hills; He walked on yonder far-away and sundering sea; He knew her terrors, her griefs He bore with her; and—He had given her Paulie.

And then—He took Paulie away. There came