"And it's telling me that there's some big, rough boys waiting around the corner, just on purpose to make us afraid and angry," said Frances, looking grimly down the street.
"Then if the opposite of all this is true, I s'pose I've got to know that I'm not angry," said Marie, slowly. "Of course I know it's only mortal mind that says I am; but it seems awfully real." She caught herself. "No, it don't seem real. It isn't real. Mortal mind can't tell me anything, for it isn't real itself. It can't tell me that I'm angry. I won't listen to it. I'm not, I'm not, I'm not! Love is the opposite of hate, and I do love everybody, everybody there is, and mortal mind can't make me think any different." Marie was doing her work out loud, and was doing it well and with zeal.
"And what's the opposite of being afraid?" asked Bertha, clutching her sister's hand tighter, as she saw a red cap appear around the corner of the fence.
Marie bent over and kissed the little one. "It's trust, dearie. Trust in God, that he
