s to see you."

"Aunt Prue! I wish I could be selfish just a few minutes."

"You may. A whole hour. You may be selfish up here all by yourself until
the dinner bell rings."

Marjorie laughed and drew the lounge afghan up about her shoulders. She
was so happy that she wanted to go to sleep;--to go to sleep and be
thankful. But the dinner bell found her in the parlor talking to Linnet;
Prue and Hollis were chattering together in French. Prue corrected his
pronunciation and promised to lend him books.

The most inviting corner in the house to Marjorie was a cosey corner in
the library; she found her way thither after dinner, and there Hollis
found her, after searching parlors, dining-room, and halls for her. The
cosey corner itself was an arm-chair near the revolving bookcase; Prue
said that papa kept his "pets" in that bookcase.

Marjorie had taken a book into her hand and was gathering a thought here
and there when Hollis entered; he pushed a chair to her side, and,
seating himself, took the book from her fingers.

"Marjorie, I have come to ask you what to do?"

"About your father's offer?"

"Yes. I should have written to-day. I fancy how he watches the mail. But
I am in a great state of indecision. My heart is not in his plan."

"Is your heart in buying and selling laces?"

"I don't see why you need put it that way," he returned, with some
irritation. "Don't you like my business?"

"Do you?"

"I like what it gives me to do."

"I should not choose it if I were a man."

"What would you choose?"

"I have not considered sufficiently to choose, I suppose. I should want
to be one of the mediums through which good passed to my neighbor."

"What would you choose for me to do?"

"The thing God bids you do."

"That may be to buy and sell laces."

"It may be. I hope it was while you were doing it."

"You mean that through this offer of father's God may be indicating his
will."

"He is certainly giving you an opportunity to choose."

"I had not looked upon it in that light. Marjorie, I'm afraid the thought
of his will is not always as present with me as with you."

"I used to think I needed money, like Aunt Prue, if I would bless my
neighbor; but once it came to me that Christ through his _poverty_ made
us rich: the world's workers have not always been the men and the women
with most money. You see I am taking it for granted that you do not
intend to decide for yourself, or work for yourself."

"No; I