Not only did she take Marjoire's letters to
her old father and mother, but she more than a few times carried them in
her pocket when she visited Mrs. Rheid, that she might read them aloud to
her. Miss Prudence's work was also on the table, pretty sewing for Prue
and her writing materials, for it was the night for her weekly letter to
John Holmes. Mr. Holmes did not parade his letters before the neighbors,
but none the less did he pore over them and ponder them. For whom had he
in all the world to love save little Prue and Aunt Prue?
Marjorie had closed the chemistry with a sigh, reserving astronomy for
the fresher hour of the morning. With the burden of the unlearned lesson
on her mind she opened her Bible for her usual evening reading, shrinking
from it with a distaste that she had felt several times of late and that
she had fought against and prayed about. Last evening she had compelled
herself to read an extra chapter to see if she might not read herself
into a comfortable frame of mind, and then she had closed the book with a
sigh of relief, feeling that this last task of the day was done. To-night
she fixed her eyes upon the page awhile and then dropped the book into
her lap with a weary gesture that was not unnoticed by the eyes that
never lost anything where Marjorie was concerned. It was something new to
see a fretful or fretted expression upon Marjorie's lips, but it was
certainly there to-night and Miss Prudence saw it; it might be also in
her eyes, but, if it were, the uneasy eyelids were at this moment
concealing it.
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