I endeavoured, as well as I was able, to explain to her the nature of the soul, its endless duration, and responsibility to God for the actions done in the flesh; its natural depravity and need of a Saviour; urging her, in the gentlest manner, to lose no time in obtaining forgiveness of her sins, through the atoning blood of Christ.

The poor girl looked at me with surprise and horror.  These things were all new to her.  She sat like one in a dream; yet the truth seemed to flash upon her at once.

“How can I speak to God, who never knew Him?  How can I ask Him to forgive me?”

“You must pray to him.”

“Pray!  I don’t know how to pray.  I never said a prayer in my life.  Mother; can you teach me how to pray?”

“Nonsense!” said Mrs. Joe, hurrying forward.  “Why should you trouble yourself about such things?  Mrs. Moodie, I desire you not to put such thoughts into my daughter’s head.  We don’t want to know anything about Jesus Christ here.”

“Oh, mother, don’t speak so to the lady!  Do Mrs. Moodie, tell me more about God and my soul.  I never knew until now that I had a soul.”

Deeply compassionating the ignorance of the poor girl, in spite of the menaces of the heathen mother—­for she was no better, but rather worse, seeing that the heathen worships in ignorance a false God, while this woman lived without acknowledging a God at all, and therefore considered herself free from all moral restraint—­I bid Phoebe good-bye, and promised to bring my bible, and read to her the next day.

The gratitude manifested by this sick girl was such a contrast to the rudeness and brutality of the rest of the family, that I soon felt a powerful interest in her fate.

The mother did not actually forbid me the house, because she saw that my visits raised the drooping spirits of her child, whom she fiercely loved, and, to save her life, would cheerfully have sacrificed her own.  But she never failed to make all the noise she could to disturb my reading and conversation with Phoebe.  She could not be persuaded that her daughter was really in any danger, until the doctor told her that her case was hopeless; then the grief of the mother burst forth, and she gave way to the most frantic and impious complainings.

The rigour of the winter began to abate.  The beams of the sun during the day were warm and penetrating, and a soft wind blew from the south.  I watched, from day to day, the snow disappearing from the earth, with indescribable pleasure, and at length it wholly vanished; not even a solitary patch lingered under the shade of the forest trees; but Uncle Joe gave no sign of removing his family.

“Does he mean to stay all the summer?” thought I.  “Perhaps he never intends going at all.  I will ask him, the next time he comes to borrow whiskey.”

In the afternoon he walked in to light his pipe, and, with some anxiety, I made the inquiry.