u if you
can't. I shall stop on the way to inquire about Helen, and I am afraid
to, too.

"School, Noon Recess. I met Hollis on the walk as I stood in front of
Helen's--there was no need to ask. Black and white ribbon was streaming
from the bell handle. I have permission to go home. I have cried all the
morning. I hope I shall find Miss Prudence there. She must be so tired
and worn out. Hollis looked like a ghost and his voice shook so he could
scarcely speak.

"With ever so much love to all,

"YOUR SISTER LINNET.

"P. S. Hollis said he would not write this week and wants you to tell his
mother all about it."

* * * * *

The next letter is dated in the early part of the following month.

"_In my Den, Dec_. 10, 18--,

"MY FRIEND PRUDENCE:

"My heart was with you, as you well know, all those days and nights in
that sick chamber that proved to be the entrance to Heaven. She smiled
and spoke, lay quiet for awhile with her eyes closed, and awoke in the
presence of the Lord. May you and I depart as easily, as fearlessly. I
cannot grieve as you do; how much she is saved! To-night I have been
thinking over your life, and a woman's lot seems hard. To love so much,
to suffer so much. You see I am desponding; I am often desponding. You
must write to me and cheer me up. I am disappointed in myself. Oh how
different this monotonous life from the life I planned! I dig and
delve and my joy comes in my work. If it did not, where would it come in,
pray? I am a joyless fellow at best. There! I will not write another
word until I can give you a word of cheer. Why don't you toss me
overboard? Your life is full of cheer and hard work; but I cannot be like
you. Marjorie and Morris were busy at the dining-room table when I left
them, with their heads together over my old Euclid. We are giving them a
lift up into the sunshine and that is something. What do you want to send
Marjorie to school for? What can school do for her when I give her up to
you? Give yourself to her and keep her out of school. The child is not
always happy. Last communion Sunday she sat next to me; she was crying
softly all the time. You could have said something, but, manlike, I held
my peace. I wonder whether I don't know what to say, or don't know how to
say it. I seem to know what to say to you, but, truly Prudence, I don't
know how to say it. I have been wanting to tell you something, fourteen,
yes, fourteen years, and have n