nd there was little
David anointed when his brothers were refused."

Miss Prudence's tone was most serious, but her eyes were full of fun. She
was turning the partial mother's weapons against herself.

"But David and Jacob and Joseph were different from the others," returned
the mother, gravely, "and in this case, the elder is as good as the
younger."

It almost slipped off Miss Prudence's tongue, "But she will not take the
education Marjorie will," but she wisely checked herself and replied that
both the girls were as precious as precious could be.

"And now don't you go home to-night, stay all night and I'll talk to
father," planned Mrs. West, briskly; "as Marjorie would say, Giant
Despair will get Diffidence his wife to bed and they will talk
the matter over. She doesn't read _Pilgrim's Progress_ as much as she
used to, but she calls you Mercy yet. And you are a mercy to us."

With the tears rolling down her cheeks the mother stooped over and kissed
the lover of her girls.

"Mr. Holmes is coming to see Marjorie to-night, he hasn't called since
her accident, and to talk to father, he likes to argue with him, and it
will be pleasanter to have you here. And Will Rheid is home from a
voyage, and he'll be running in. It must be lonesome for you over there
on the Point. It used to be for me when I was a girl."

"But I'm not a girl," smiled Miss Prudence.

"You'll pass for one any day. And you can play and make it lively. I am
not urging you with disinterested motives."

"I can see through you; and I _am_ anxious to know how Mr. West will
receive my proposal."

"He will see through my eyes in the end, but he always likes to argue a
while first. I want you to taste Linnet's cream biscuit, too. She made
them on purpose for you. There's father, now, coming with African John,
and there _is_ Will Rheid coming across lots. Well, I'm glad Linnet did
make the biscuits."

Miss Prudence arose with a happy face, she did not go back to the girls
at once, there was a nook to be quiet in at the foot of the kitchen
garden, and she felt as if she must be alone awhile. Mrs. West, with her
heart in a tremor that it had not known since Marjorie was born, tucked
away her knitting behind the school-books on the dining-room table, tied
on her blue checked apron, and went out to the kitchen to kindle the fire
for tea, singing in her mellow voice, "Thus far the Lord hath led me on,"
suddenly stopping short as she crammed the stove wit