As she listened Christie felt as if she was climbing up from a solitary valley, through mist and shadow toward a mountain top, where, though the way might be rough and strong winds blow, she would get a wider outlook over the broad earth, and be nearer the serene blue sky.  For the first time in her life religion seemed a visible and vital thing; a power that she could grasp and feel, take into her life and make her daily bread.  Not a vague, vast idea floating before her, now beautiful, now terrible, always undefined and far away.

She was strangely and powerfully moved that day, for the ploughing had begun; and when the rest stood up for the last hymn, Christie could only bow her head and let the uncontrollable tears flow down like summer rain, while her heart sang with new aspiration: 

    “Nearer, my God, to thee,
    E’en though a cross it be
    That raiseth me,
    Still all my song shall be,
    Nearer, my God, to thee. 
    Nearer to thee!”

Sitting with her hand before her eyes, she never stirred till the sound of many feet told her that service was done.  Then she wiped her eyes, dropped her veil, and was about to rise when she saw a little bunch of flowers between the leaves of the hymn book lying open in her lap.  Only a knot of violets set in their own broad leaves, but blue as friendly eyes looking into hers, and sweet as kind words whispered in her ear.  She looked about her hoping to detect and thank the giver; but all faces were turned the other way, and all feet departing rapidly.

Christie followed with a very grateful thought in her heart for this little kindness from some unknown friend; and, anxious to recover herself entirely before she faced Mrs. Wilkins, she took a turn in the park.

The snow was gone, high winds had dried the walk, and a clear sky overhead made one forget sodden turf and chilly air.  March was going out like a lamb, and Christie enjoyed an occasional vernal whiff from far-off fields and wakening woods, as she walked down the broad mall watching the buds on the boughs, and listening to the twitter of the sparrows, evidently discussing the passers-by as they sat at the doors of their little mansions.

Presently she turned to walk back again and saw Mr. Power coming toward her.  She was glad, for all her fear had vanished now, and she wanted to thank him for the sermon that had moved her so deeply.  He shook hands in his cordial way, and, turning, walked with her, beginning at once to talk of her affairs as if interested in them.

“Are you ready for the new experiment?” he asked.

“Quite ready, sir; very glad to go, and very much obliged to you for your kindness in providing for me.”

“That is what we were put into the world for, to help one another.  You can pass on the kindness by serving my good friends who, in return, will do their best for you.”

“That’s so pleasant!  I always knew there were plenty of good, friendly people in the world, only I did not seem to find them often, or be able to keep them long when I did.  Is Mr. Sterling an agreeable old man?”