Faith went slowly towards the bedroom door, she opened it and shut it behind her; she cared nothing for the punishment of going without her supper, she was glad to be away from her father, glad to be alone with the dreadful, dreadful weight which rested on her heart.  Her father had said that she was a very, very wicked girl, that no one could even guess how angry God was with her.  Yes, she believed her father; she had done wrong.  It was most certainly wrong to disobey, she had disobeyed her father's strictest command.  Tears burned in her eyes, but lay too heavy there to roll down her cheeks; she sat on the floor, a little bent-up bundle of misery, and forgot Roy and every one else in the anguish of being under God's displeasure.  And she had been having such a happy time.  How sweet that Sunday-school was! how kind the teacher, who had welcomed the timid child standing at the door! then how gentle and good were her words--all, all about Jesus and His love--all about the tender care the great Heavenly Father takes of His little ones.  Faith listened, and when all was over, with her heart quite full of her great question, she lingered behind the other scholars.