And I am sure you have
helped educate your mother and father."
Marjorie pulled to pieces the green leaf that had floated in upon her lap
and as she kept her eyes on the leaf she pondered.
Her companion was "talking over her head" purposely to-day; she had a
plan for Marjorie and as she admitted to herself she was "trying the
child to see what she was made of."
She congratulated herself upon success thus far.
"That children do educate their mothers is the only satisfactory reason I
have found when I have questioned why God does give children to _some_
mothers."
"Then what becomes of the children?" asked Marjorie, alarmed.
"The Giver does not forget them; he can be a mother himself, you know."
Marjorie did not know; she had always had her mother. Had she lost
something, therefore, in not thus finding out God? Perhaps, in after life
she would find his tenderness by losing--or not having--some one else. It
was not too bad, for it would be a great pity if there were not such
interruptions, but at this instant Linnet's housewifely face was pushed
in at the door, and her voice announced: "Dinner in three minutes and a
half! Chicken-pie for the first course and some new and delicious thing
for dessert."
"Oh, splendid!" cried Marjorie, hopping up. "And we'll finish everything
after dinner, Miss Prudence."
"As the lady said to the famous traveller at a dinner party: 'We have
five minutes before dinner, please tell me all about your travels,'" said
Miss Prudence, rising and laughing.
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