“But you’re sorry,” she whispered.  “You would undo the bad things if you could.”

“God knows I would!” he said.

“Perhaps He will undo them for you,” she murmured softly.  “Have you asked Him?”

“There are some things that can’t be undone,” groaned Piers.  “It would be too big a job even for Him.”

“Nothing is that,” said Jeanie with conviction.  “If we are sorry and if we pray, some day He will undo all the bad we’ve ever done.”

“I haven’t prayed for six years,” said Piers.  “Things went wrong with me.  I felt as if I were under a curse.  And I gave it up.”

“Oh, Piers!” she said, holding him closer.  “How miserable you must have been!”

“I’ve been in hell!” he said with bitter vehemence.  “And the gates tight shut!  Not that I was ever very great in the spiritual lines,” he added more calmly.  “But I used to think God took a friendly interest in my affairs till—­till I went down into hell and the gates shut on me; and then—­” he spoke grimly—­“I knew He didn’t care a rap.”

“But, dear, He does care!” said Jeanie very earnestly.

“He doesn’t!” said Piers moodily.  “He can’t!”

“Piers, He does!” She raised her head and looked him straight in the eyes.  “Everyone feels like that sometimes,” she said.  “But Aunt Avery says it’s only because we are too little to understand.  Won’t you begin and pray again?  It does make a difference even though we can’t see it.”

“I can’t,” said Piers.  And then with swift compunction he kissed her face of disappointment.  “Never mind, my queen!  Don’t you bother your little head about me!  I shall rub along all right even if I don’t come out on top.”

“But I want you to be happy,” said Jeanie.  “I wish I could help you, Piers,—­dear Piers.”

“You do help me,” said Piers.

There came the sound of voices on the stairs, and he got up.

Jeanie looked up at him wistfully.  “I shall try,” she said.  “I shall try—­hard.”

He patted her head and turned away.

Mr. Lorimer and Miss Whalley entered the room.  The former raised his brows momentarily at the sight of Piers, but he greeted him with much geniality.

“I am quite delighted to welcome you to the children’s Christmas party,” he declared, with Piers’ hand held impressively in his.  “And how is your grandfather, my dear lad?”

Piers contracted instinctively.  “He is quite well, thanks,” he said.  “I haven’t come to stay.  I only looked in for a moment.”

He glanced towards Miss Whalley whom he had never met before.  The Vicar smilingly introduced him.  “This is the Squire’s grandson and heir, Miss Whalley.  Doubtless you know him by sight as well as by repute—­the keenest sportsman in the county, eh, my young friend?” His eyes disappeared with the words as if pulled inwards by a string.

“I don’t know,” said Piers, becoming extremely blunt and British.  “I’m certainly keen, but so are dozens of others.”  He bowed to Miss Whalley with stiff courtesy.  “Pleased to meet you,” he said formally.