"We have to _do_ what God _thinks_, though," returned Marjorie quickly.

"Child, you are your father all over again; he always wanted to wait and
see; but mine was the faith that acted."

"But now can we act, until we wait and see?" persisted Marjorie. "I want
to be sure that God means for us to do things."

"Many a thing wouldn't have happened if I hadn't pushed through--why,
your father would have been willing for Linnet to be engaged years
and years."

"So would I," said Marjorie seriously.

A week later, one afternoon towards dusk, Marjorie was walking home from
her grandfather's. Her happy face was shaded by a brown straw hat, her
hands were sunburned, and her fingers were scratched with numerous
berrying expeditions. There was a deepened color in the roundness of
her cheeks; she was a country maiden this afternoon, swinging an empty
basket in her hand. She was humming to herself as she walked along,
hurrying her steps a little as she remembered that it was the mail for
her long, foreign letter. This afternoon she was as happy as she wanted
to be. Within half a mile of home she espied a tall figure coming towards
her,--a figure in a long linen duster, wearing a gray, low-crowned, felt
hat. After an instant she recognized Hollis and remembered that to-day he
was expected home. She had not thought of it all day.

"Your mother sent me to meet you," he said, without formal greeting.
Instantly she detected a change in his manner towards her; it was as
easy as if he were speaking to Linnet.

"I've been off on one of my long walks."

"Do you remember our walk together from your grandfather's--how many
years ago?"

"When I appealed to your sympathies and enlisted you in my behalf?"

"You were in trouble, weren't you? I believe it is just seven years ago."

"Physiologists tell us we are made over new every seven years, therefore
you and I are another Hollis and another Marjorie."

"I hope I am another Hollis," he answered gravely.

"And I am _sure_ I am another Marjorie," she said more lightly. "How you
lectured me then!"

"I never lectured any one."

"You lectured me. I never forgot it. From that hour I wanted to be like
your cousin Helen."

"You do not need to copy any one. I like you best as yourself."

"You do not know me."

"No; I do not know you; but I want to know you."

"That depends upon yourself as well as upon me."

"I do not forget that. I am not quick to read and you are written in m