e is nothing to be troubled about. He is comforted for it now.
Don't you want to go down and see his mother?"

"I'm afraid to see her."

"She will comfort you. She is sure now that God loves her. I have been
trying to teach her, and now God has taught her so that she can rejoice
in his love. Whom the Lord loveth, she says, he chastens; and he knows
how he has chastened her. If it were not for his love, Marjorie, what
would keep our hearts from breaking?"

"Papa died, too," said Prue.

Marjorie went down to the parlor. Mrs. Kemlo was sitting at the grate,
leaning back in her steamer chair. Marjorie kissed her without a word.

"Marjorie! The girls ought to know. I don't believe I can write."

"I can. I will write to-night."

"And copy this letter; then they will know it just as it is. He was with
you so long they will not miss him as we do. They were older, and they
loved each other, and left him to me. And, Marjorie--"

"Yes'm."

"Tell them I am going to your mother's as soon as warm weather comes,
unless one of them would rather take me home; tell them Miss Prudence has
become a daughter to me; I am not in need of anything. Give them my love,
and say that when they love their little ones, they must think of how
I loved them."

"I will," said Marjorie, "You and mother will enjoy each other so much."

Marjorie wrote the letters that evening, her eyes so blinded with tears
that she wrote very crookedly. No one would ever know what she had lost
in Morris. He had been a part of herself that even Linnet had never been.
She was lost without him, and for months wandered in a new world. She
suffered more keenly upon the anniversary of the day of the tidings of
his death than she suffered that day. Then, she could appreciate more
fully what God had taken from her. But the letters were written, and
mailed on her way to school in the morning; her recitations were gone
through with; and night came, when she could have the rest of sleep. The
days went on outwardly as usual. Prue was daily becoming more and more a
delight to them all. Mrs. Kemlo's sad face was sweet and chastened; and
Miss Prudence's days were more full of busy doings, with a certain
something of a new life about them that Marjorie did not understand. She
could almost imagine what Miss Prudence had been twenty years ago.
Despite her lightness of foot, her inspiriting voice, and her _young_
interest in every question that pertained to life and work and stud