past all helping of myself, so you may give me up as a bad job!"

"But you asked me," I went on--"did you not, to tell you why it is
that I am contented and happy? Do you really want to know?"

A vague distrust crept into her faded eyes.

"Not if it's a theory!" she said--"I should not have the brain or
the patience to think it out."

I laughed.

"It's not a theory, it's a truth"--I answered--"But truth is
sometimes more difficult than theory."

She looked at me half in wonder, half in appeal.

"Well, what is it?"

"Just this"--and I knelt beside her for a moment holding her hand--
"I KNOW that there are no external surroundings which we do not make
for ourselves, and that our troubles are born of our own wrong
thinking, and are not sent from God. I train my Soul to be calm,--
and my body obeys my Soul. That's all!"

Her fingers closed on mine nervously.

"But what's the use of telling me this?" she half whispered--"I
don't believe in God or the Soul!"