t are anxious about these things. But I
don't think about dress as some girls do. I never like to talk about it.
It is not a temptation to me. It would not trouble me to wear one dress
all my life--one color, as the flowers do; it should be a soft gray--a
cashmere, and when one was soiled or worn out I would have another like
it--and never spend any more thought about it. Aunt Prue loves gray--she
almost does that--she spends no thought on dress. If we didn't have to
'take thought,' how much time we would have--and how our minds would be
at rest--to work for people and to study God's works and will."

Hollis smiled as he looked down at her.

"Girls don't usually talk like that," he said.

"Perhaps I don't--usually. What are you reading now?"

"History, chiefly--the history of the world and the history of the
church."

They walked more and more slowly as they drifted into talk about books
and then into his life in New York and the experiences he had had in his
business tours and the people whom he had met.

"Do you like your life?" she asked.

"Yes, I like the movement and the life: I like to be 'on the go.' I
expect to take my third trip across the ocean by and by. I like to mingle
with men. I never could settle down into farming; not till I am old, at
any rate."

They found Marjorie's mother standing in the front doorway, looking for
them. She glanced at Hollis, but he was fastening the gate and would not
be glanced at. Marjorie's face was no brighter than when she had set out
for her walk. Linnet was setting the tea-table and singing, "A life on
the ocean wave."

After tea the letter from Switzerland was read and discussed. Miss
Prudence, as Mrs. West could not refrain from calling her, always gave
them something to talk about. To give people something to think about
that was worth thinking about, was something to live for, she had said
once to Marjorie.

And then there was music and talk. Marjorie and Hollis seemed to find
endless themes for conversation. And then Hollis and Linnet went home.
Hollis bade them good-bye; he was to take an early train in the morning.
Marjorie's mother scanned Marjorie's face, and stood with a lighted
candle in her hand at bedtime, waiting for her confidence; but
unconscious Marjorie closed the piano, piled away the sheets of music,
arranged the chairs, and then went out to the milkroom for a glass of
milk.

"Good-night, mother," she called back. "Are you waiting for anythi