h word told, she gave him the story of her dark
year.

"Poor little Mousie," he said tenderly. "And you bore the dark time all
by yourself."

"That's the way I have my times. But I do not have my happy times by
myself, you see."

"Did nothing else trouble you?"

"No; oh, no! Nothing like that. Father's death was not a trouble. I went
with him as far as I could--I almost wanted to go all the way."

"And there was nothing else to hurt you?" he asked very earnestly.

"Oh, no; why should there be?" she answered, meeting his questioning eyes
frankly. "Do you know of anything else that should have troubled me?"

"No, nothing else. But girls do have sometimes. Didn't your mother help
you any? She helps other people."

"I could not tell her. I could not talk about it. She only thought I was
ill, and sent for a physician. Perhaps I did worry myself into feeling
ill."

"You take life easily," he said.

"Do I? I like to take it as God gives it to me; not before he gives it to
me. This slowness--or faith--or whatever it is, is one of my inheritances
from my blessed father. Who is it that says, 'I'd see to it pretty sharp
that I didn't hurry Providence.' That has helped me."

"I wish it would some one else," he said grimly.

"I wish it would help _every one_ else. Everything is helping me now; if
I were writing to you I could tell you some of them."

"I like to hear you talk, Marjorie."

"Do you?" she asked wonderingly. "Linnet does, too, and Mrs. Kemlo. As I
shall never write a book, I must learn to talk, and talk myself all out.
Aunt Prue is living her book."

"Tell me something that has helped you," he urged.

She looked at the goldenrod in her hand, and raised it to her lips.

"It is coming to me that Christ made everything. He made those lilies of
which he said, 'Consider the lilies.' Isn't it queer that we will not let
him clothe us as he did the lilies? What girl ever had a white dress of
the texture and whiteness and richness of the lily?"

"But the lily has but one dress; girls like a new dress for every
occasion and a different one."

"'Shall he not much more clothe you?' But we do not let him clothe us.
When one lily fades, he makes another in a fresh dress. I wish I could
live as he wants me to. Not think about dress or what we eat or drink?
Only do his beautiful work, and not have to worry and be anxious about
things."

"Do you _have_ to be?" he asked smiling.

"My life is a part of lives tha