I do not think, however, there is half as much real irreverence in saying that the Lord expects us to look out for ourselves and keep out of mischief as there is in teaching that he made a whole world full of people so weak and miserable that they couldn't look after themselves, and had to be lifted along all the time." Mr.Allen shook his head, and sighed.

When Mercy was in this frame of mind, it was of no use to argue with her.

He returned to the subject of her poetry.
"If you will keep on reading and studying, Mercy, and will compel yourself to write and rewrite carefully, there is no reason why you should not have a genuine success as a writer, and put yourself in a position to earn money enough to buy a great many comforts and pleasures for yourself, and your mother also," he said.
At the mention of her mother, Mercy started, and exclaimed irrelevantly,-- "Dear me! I never once thought of mother." Mr.Allen looked, as well he might, mystified.

"Never once thought of her! What do you mean, Mercy ?" "Why, I mean I never once thought about telling her about the money.

She wouldn't like it." "Why not?
I should think she would not only like the money, but be very proud of your being able to earn it in such a way." "Perhaps that might make a difference," said Mercy, reflectively: "it would seem quite different to her from taking in sewing, I suppose." "Well, I should think so," laughed Mr.Allen.