"But please, sir," says I, "if I do go to church, what the better shall I be?
I want to have my sins blotted out, and to feel that they are remembered no more against me, and that the love of God is shed abroad in my heart; and if I can get no good by reading my Bible an' saying my prayers at home, what good shall I get by going to church ?"' '"The church," says he, "is the place appointed by God for His worship.
It's your duty to go there as often as you can.

If you want comfort, you must seek it in the path of duty,"-- an' a deal more he said, but I cannot remember all his fine words.

However, it all came to this, that I was to come to church as oft as ever I could, and bring my prayer-book with me, an' read up all the sponsers after the clerk, an' stand, an' kneel, an' sit, an' do all as I should, and take the Lord's Supper at every opportunity, an' hearken his sermons, and Maister Bligh's, an' it 'ud be all right: if I went on doing my duty, I should get a blessing at last.
'"But if you get no comfort that way," says he, "it's all up." '"Then, sir," says I, "should you think I'm a reprobate ?" '"Why," says he--he says, "if you do your best to get to heaven and can't manage it, you must be one of those that seek to enter in at the strait gate and shall not be able." 'An' then he asked me if I'd seen any of the ladies o' th' Hall about that mornin'; so I telled him where I had seen the young misses go on th' Moss Lane;--an' he kicked my poor cat right across th' floor, an' went after 'em as gay as a lark: but I was very sad.

That last word o' his fair sunk into my heart, an' lay there like a lump o' lead, till I was weary to bear it.
'Howsever, I follered his advice: I thought he meant it all for th' best, though he _had_ a queer way with him.

But you know, Miss, he's rich an' young, and such like cannot right understand the thoughts of a poor old woman such as me.