timate friendships among them. And then there were letters from
Aunt Prue, and childish, affectionate notes from dear little Prue.

Marjorie's life was not meagre; still she was not "happy enough." She
wrote to Aunt Prue that she was not "satisfied."

"That's a girl's old story," Mrs. Holmes said to her husband. "She must
_evolve_, John. There's enough in her for something to come out of her."

"What do girls want to _do_?" he asked, looking up from his writing.

"Be satisfied," laughed his wife.

"Did you go through that delusive period?"

"Was I not a girl?"

"And here's Prue growing up, to say some day that she isn't satisfied."

"No; to say some day that she is."

"_When_ were you satisfied?"

"At what age? You will not believe that I was thirty-five, before I was
satisfied with my life. And then I was satisfied, because I was willing
for God to have his way with me. If it were not for that willingness, I
shouldn't be satisfied yet."

"Then you can tell Marjorie not to wait until she is half of three score
and ten before she gives herself up."

"Her will is more yielding than mine; she doesn't seek great things for
herself."

The letter from Switzerland about being "satisfied" Marjorie read again
and again. There was only one way for childhood, girlhood, or womanhood
to be satisfied; and that one way was to acknowledge God in every thing,
and let him direct every step. Then if one were not satisfied, it was
dissatisfaction with God's will; God's will was not enough.

Hollis had made short visits at home twice since she had left school. The
first time, she had been at her grandfather's and saw him but half an
hour; the second time, they met not at all, as she was attending to some
business for Mrs. Holmes, and spending a day and night with Mrs.
Harrowgate.

This twenty-first summer she was not happy; she had not been happy for
months. It was a new experience, not to be happy. She had been born
happy. I do not think any trial, excepting the one she was suffering,
would have so utterly unsettled her. It was a strange thing--but, no, I
do not know that it was a strange thing; but it may be that you are
surprised that she could have this kind of trial; as she expressed it,
she was not sure that she was a Christian! All her life she had thought
about God; now, when she thought about herself, she began to fear and
doubt and tremble.

No wonder that she slept fitfully, that she awoke in the night to weep,