"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.
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