as I go about, I want
to go about my Father's business."

"But he would be so enthusiastic," lamented Aunt Helen.

"And he has such a nice voice," bewailed his mother; "and I did hope to
see one of my five boys in the pulpit."

XXII.

TIDINGS.

"He giveth his beloved sleep."

Sunday in the twilight Linnet and Marjorie were alone in Linnet's little
kitchen. Linnet was bending over the stove stirring the chocolate, and
Marjorie was setting the table for two.

"Linnet!" she exclaimed, "it's like playing house."

"I feel very much in earnest."

"So do I. That chocolate makes me feel so. Have you had time to watch the
light over the fields? Or is it too poor a sight after gazing at the
sunset on the ocean?"

"Marjorie!" she said, turning around to face her, and leaving the spoon
idle in the steaming pot, "do you know, I think there's something the
matter?"

"Something the matter? Where?"

"I don't know where. I was wondering this afternoon if people always had
a presentiment when trouble was coming."

"Did you ever have any trouble?" asked Marjorie seriously.

"Not real, dreadful trouble. But when I hear of things happening
suddenly, I wonder if it is so sudden, really; or if they are not
prepared in some way for the very thing, or for something."

"We always know that our friends may die--that is trouble. I feel as if
it would kill me for any one I love to die."

"Will is safe and well," said Linnet, "and father and mother."

"And Morris--I shall find a letter for me at home, I expect. I suppose
his mother had hers last night. How she lives in him! She loves him
more than any of us. But what kind of a feeling have you?"

"I don't know."

"You are tired and want to go to sleep," said Marjorie, practically.
"I'll sing you to sleep after supper. Or read to you! We have 'Stepping
Heavenward' to read. That will make you forget all your nonsense."

"Hollis' face isn't nonsense."

"He hasn't talked to me since last night. I didn't see him in church."

"I did. And that is what I mean. I should think his trouble was about
Will, if I hadn't the letter. And Father Rheid! Do you see how fidgety
he is? He has been over here four times to-day."

"He is always stern."

"No; he isn't. Not like this. And Mother Rheid looked so--too."

"How?" laughed Marjorie. "O, you funny Linnet."

"I wish I could laugh at it. But I heard something, too. Mother Rheid was
talking to mother after church this afterno