Part 55 (1/2)
”Yes,” she had replied, ”Will says we are _heirs together_ of the grace of life.”
XXI.
MORRIS AGAIN.
”Overshadow me, O Lord, With the comfort of thy wings.”
Marjorie stood before the parlor grate; it was Sat.u.r.day afternoon, and she was dressed for travelling--not for a long journey, for she was only going home to remain over Sunday and Monday, Monday being Was.h.i.+ngton's Birthday, and a holiday. She had seen Linnet those few days that she visited them on her return from her voyage, and her father and mother not once since she came to Maple Street in September. She was hungry for home; she said she was almost starving.
”I wish you a very happy time,” said Miss Prudence as she opened Marjorie's pocketbook to drop a five-dollar bill into its emptiness.
”I know it will be a happy time,” Marjorie affirmed; ”but I shall think of you and Prue, and want to be here, too.”
”I wish I could go, too,” said Prue, dancing around her with Marjorie's shawl strap in her hand.
There was a book for her father in the shawl strap, ”The Old Bibie and the New Science”; a pretty white cap for her mother, that Miss Prudence had fas.h.i.+oned; a cherry-silk tie for Linnet; and a couple of white ap.r.o.ns for Annie Grey, her mother's handmaiden, these last being also Miss Prudence's handiwork.
”Wait till next summer, Prue. Aunt Prue wants to bring you for the sea bathing.”
”Don't be too sure, Marjorie; if Uncle John comes home he may have other plans for her.”
”Oh, _is_ he coming home?” inquired Marjorie.
”He would be here to-day if I had not threatened to lock him out and keep him standing in a snowdrift until June. He expects to be here the first day of summer.”
”And what will happen then?” queried Prue. ”Is it a secret?”
”Yes, it's a secret,” said Miss Prudence, stepping behind Marjorie to fasten her veil.
”Does Marjorie know?” asked Prue anxiously.
”I never can guess,” said Marjorie. ”Now, Kitten, good-bye; and sing to Mrs. Kemlo while I am gone, and be good to Aunt Prue.”
”Marjorie, dear, I shall miss you,” said Miss Prudence.
”But you will be so glad that I am taking supper at home in that dear old kitchen. And Linnet will be there; and then I am to go home with her to stay all night. I don't see how I ever waited so long to see her keep house. Will calls the house Linnet's Nest. I'll come back and tell you stories about everything.”
”Don't wait any longer, dear; I'm afraid you'll lose the train. I must give you a watch like Linnet's for a graduating present.”
Marjorie stopped at the gate to toss back a kiss to Prue watching at the window. Miss Prudence remembered her face years afterward, flushed and radiant, round and dimpled; such an innocent, girlish face, without one trace of care or sorrow. Not a breath of real sorrow had touched her in all her eighteen years. Her laugh that day was as light hearted as Prue's.
”That girl lives in a happy world,” Mrs. Kemlo had said to Miss Prudence that morning.
”She always will,” Miss Prudence replied; ”she has the gift of living in the suns.h.i.+ne.”
Miss Prudence looked at the long mirror after Marjorie had gone down the street, and wished that it might always keep that last reflection of Marjorie. The very spirit of pure and lovely girlhood! But the same mirror had not kept her own self there, and the self reflected now was the woman grown out of the girlhood; would she keep Marjorie from womanhood?
Miss Prudence thought in these days that her own youth was being restored to her; but it had never been lost, for G.o.d cannot grow old, neither can any of himself grow old in the human heart which is his temple.