d to live; it's a handsome house, with handsome grounds, a stable
in the rear and an iron fence in front."

"I've seen it," said Morris, in his concisest tone. "Mr. Holmes and I
walked past one day. Mayor Parks lives there now."

"Clarissa Parks' father!" cried Marjorie, in an enlightened tone. "She's
in our first class, and if she studied she would learn something. She's
bright, but she hasn't motive enough."

"Do you think Mr. Holmes, will ever come home?" he asked.

"Why not? Of course he will," she answered in astonishment.

"That depends. Prue might bring him. I want to see him finished; there's
a fine finishment for him somewhere and I want to see it. For all that
is worth anything in me I have to thank him. He made me--as God lets one
man make another. I would like to live long enough to pass it on; to
make some one as he made me."

It was too cold to walk slowly, their words were spoken in brief, brisk
sentences.

There was nothing specially memorable in this walk, but Marjorie thought
of it many times; she remembered it because she was longing to ask him
what he had brought her and was ashamed to do it. It might be due to him
after her refusal last night; but still she was ashamed. She would write
about it, she decided; it was like her not to speak of it.

"I haven't told you about our harbor mission work at Genoa; the work is
not so great in summer, but the chaplain told me that in October there
were over sixty seamen in the Bethel and they were very attentive. One
old captain told me that the average sailor had much improved since he
began to go to sea, and I am sure the harbor mission work is one cause of
it. I wish you could hear some of the old sailors talk and pray. The
_Linnet_ will be a praise meeting in itself some day; four sailors have
become Christians since I first knew the _Linnet_."

"Linnet wrote that it was your work."

"I worked and prayed and God blessed. Oh, the blessing! oh, the blessing
of good books! Marjorie, do you know what makes waves?"

"No," she laughed; "and I'm too cold to remember if I did. I think the
wind must make them. Now we turn and on the next corner is our entrance."

The side entrance was not a gate, but a door in a high wall; girls were
flocking up the street and down the street, blue veils, brown veils, gray
veils, were streaming in all directions, the wind was blowing laughing
voices all around them.

Marjorie pushed the door open:

"Good-bye, Morris,"