l day?" His
tone seemed to say, "How lovely for you!"

He directed most of his remarks to Enid and, as always, avoided
looking at Claude except when he definitely addressed him.

"You are farming this year, Claude? I presume that is a great
satisfaction to your father. And Mrs. Wheeler is quite well?"

Mr. Weldon certainly bore no malice, but he always pronounced
Claude's name exactly like the word "Clod," which annoyed him. To
be sure, Enid pronounced his name in the same way, but either
Claude did not notice this, or did not mind it from her. He sank
into a deep, dark sofa, and sat with his driving cap on his knee
while Brother Weldon drew a chair up to the one open window of
the dusky room and began to read Carrie Royce's letters. Without
being asked to do so, he read them aloud, and stopped to comment
from time to time. Claude observed with disappointment that Enid
drank in all his platitudes just as Mrs. Wheeler did. He had
never looked at Weldon so long before. The light fell full on the
young man's pear-shaped head and his thin, rippled hair. What in
the world could sensible women like his mother and Enid Royce
find to admire in this purring, white-necktied fellow? Enid's
dark eyes rested upon him with an expression of profound respect.
She both looked at him and spoke to him with more feeling than
she ever showed toward Claude.

"You see, Brother Weldon," she said earnestly, "I am not
naturally much drawn to people. I find it hard to take the proper
interest in the church work at home. It seems as if I had always
been holding myself in reserve for the foreign field,--by not
making personal ties, I mean. If Gladys Farmer went to China,
everybody would miss her. She could never be replaced in the High
School. She has the kind of magnetism that draws people to her.
But I have always been keeping myself free to do what Carrie is
doing. There I know I could be of use."

Claude saw it was not easy for Enid to talk like this. Her face
looked troubled, and her dark eyebrows came together in a sharp
angle as she tried to tell the young preacher exactly what was
going on in her mind. He listened with his habitual, smiling
attention, smoothing the paper of the folded letter pages and
murmuring, "Yes, I understand. Indeed, Miss Enid?"

When she pressed him for advice, he said it was not always easy
to know in what field one could be most useful; perhaps this very
restraint was giving her some spiritual discipline t