Miss Prudence | Page 9

glad he didn't. Linnet, I haven't any
'experience' to talk about."
"You are not old enough," said Linnet, wisely.
"Are you?"
"Yes, I have a little bit."
"Shall you tell him about it?" asked Marjorie curiously.
"I don't know."
"I wish I had some; how do you get it?"
"It comes."
"From where?"
"Oh, I don't know."
"Then you can't tell me how to get it," pleaded Marjorie.
"No," said Linnet, shaking her sunshiny curls, "perhaps mother can."
"When did you have yours?" Marjorie persisted.
"One day when I was reading about the little girl in the Sandwich
Islands. Her father was a missionary there, and she wrote in her journal
how she felt and I felt so, too,"

"Did you put it in your journal?"
"Some of it."
"Did you show it to mother?"
"Yes."
"Was she glad?"
"Yes, she kissed me and said her prayers were answered."
Marjorie looked very grave. She wished she could be as old as Linnet
and have "experience" to write in her journal and have her mother kiss
her and say her prayers were answered.
"Do you have it all the time?" she questioned anxiously as Linnet
hurried in from the kitchen with a small platter of sliced ham in her
hand.
"Not every day; I do some days."
"I want it every day."
"You call them to tea when I tell you. And you may help me bring
things in."
When Marjorie opened the parlor door to call them to tea she heard Mr.
Woodfern inquire:
"Do all your children belong to the Lord?"
"The two in heaven certainly do, and I think Linnet is a Christian," her
mother was saying.
"And Marjorie," he asked.
"You know there are such things; I think Marjorie's heart was changed
in her cradle."

With the door half opened Marjorie stood and heard this lovely story
about herself.
"It was before she was three years old; one evening I undressed her and
laid her in the cradle, it was summer and she was not ready to go to
sleep; she had been in a frolic with Linnet and was all in a gale of
mischief. She arose up and said she wanted to get out; I said 'no,' very
firmly, 'mamma wants you to stay.' But she persisted with all her might,
and I had to punish her twice before she would consent to lie still; I was
turning to leave her when I thought her sobs sounded more rebellious
than subdued, I knelt down and took her in my arms to kiss her, but she
drew back and would not kiss me. I saw there was no submission in her
obedience and made up my mind not to leave her until she had given up
her will to mine. If you can believe it, it was two full hours before she
would kiss me, and then she couldn't kiss me enough. I think when she
yielded to my will she gave up so wholly that she gave up her whole
being to the strongest and most loving will she knew. And as soon as
she knew God, she knew--or I knew--that she had submitted to him."
"Come to tea," called Marjorie, joyfully, a moment later.
This lovely story about herself was only one of the happenings that
caused Marjorie to remember this day and evening: this day of small
events stood out clearly against the background of her childhood.
That evening in the church she had been moved to do the hardest,
happiest thing she had ever done in her hard and happy eleven years. At
the close of his stirring appeal to all who felt themselves sinners in
God's sight, Evangelist (he would always be Evangelist to Marjorie)
requested any to rise who had this evening newly resolved to seek
Christ until they found him. A little figure in a pew against the wall,
arose quickly, after an undecided, prayerful moment, a little figure in a
gray cloak and broad, gray velvet hat, but it was such a little figure, and
the radiant face was hidden by such a broad hat, and the little figure
dropped back into its seat so hurriedly, that, in looking over the church,
neither the pastor nor the evangelist noticed it. Her heart gave one great
jump when the pastor arose and remarked in a grieved and surprised
tone: "I am sorry that there is not one among us, young or old, ready to

seek our Saviour to-night."
The head under the gray hat drooped lower, the radiant face became for
one instant sorrowful. As they were moving down the aisle an old lady,
who had been seated next to Marjorie, whispered to her, "I'm sorry they
didn't see you, dear."
"Never mind," said the bright voice, "God saw me."
Hollis saw