he left home?

The weariness had crept into Marjorie's face since she closed her books;
it was not when she opened the Bible. Was the child enduring any
spiritual conflicts again? Linnet had never had spiritual conflicts; what
should she do with this too introspective Marjorie? Would Prue grow up to
ask questions and need just such comforting, too? Miss Prudence's own
evening's work had begun with her Bible reading, she read and meditated
all the hour and a quarter that Marjorie was writing her letter (they had
supper so early that their evenings began at half-past six), she had read
with eagerness and a sense of deep enjoyment and appreciation.

"It is so good," she had exclaimed as she laid the Bible aside, and
Marjorie had raised her head at the exclamation and asked what was so
good. "Peter's two letters to the Church and to me."

Without replying Marjorie had dipped her pen again and written: "Miss
Prudence is more and more of a saint every day."

"Marjorie, it's a snow storm."

"Yes," said Marjorie, not opening her eyes.

Miss Prudence looked at the bronze clock on the mantel; it was ten
o'clock. Marjorie should have been asleep an hour ago.

Miss Prudence's fur-trimmed slippers touched the toe of Marjorie's
buttoned boot, they were both resting on the register.

"Marjorie, I don't know what I am thinking of to let you sit up so late;
I shall have to send you upstairs with Prue after this. Linnet's hour was
nine o'clock when she was studying, and look at her and Nannie Rheid."

"But I'm not getting through to be married, as Linnet was."

"How do you know?" asked Miss Prudence.

"Not intentionally, then," smiled Marjorie, opening her eyes this time.

"I'm not the old maid that eschews matrimony; all I want is to choose for
you and Prue."

"Not yet, please," said Marjorie, lifting her hands in protest.

"What is it that tires you so to-night? School?

"No," answered Marjorie, sitting upright; "school sits as lightly on my
shoulders as that black lace scarf you gave me yesterday; it is because I
grow more and more wicked every night. I am worse than I was last night.
I tried to read in the Bible just now and I did not care for it one bit,
or understand it one bit; I began to think I never should find anything
to do me good in Malachi, or in any of the old prophets."

"Suppose you read to me awhile--not in the Bible, but in your
Sunday-school book. You told Prue that it was fascinating. 'History of
t