"The child is very weary to-night," Miss Prudence thought,
and wondered if she were allowing her, in her ambition, to take too much
upon herself. Music, with the two hours a day practicing that she
resolutely never omitted, all the school lessons, reading and letters,
and the conscientious preparation of her lesson for Bible class, was most
assuredly sufficient to tax her mental and physical strength, and there
was the daily walk of a mile to and from school, and other things
numberless to push themselves in for her comfort and Prue's. But her step
was elastic, her color as pretty as when she worked in the kitchen at
home, and when she came in from school she was always ready for a romp
with Prue before she sat down to practice.
When summer came the garden and trips to the islands would be good for
both her children. Miss Prudence advocated the higher education for
girls, but if Marjorie's color had faded or her spirits flagged she would
have taken her out of school and set her to household tasks and to walks
and drives. Had she not taken Linnet home after her three years course
with the country color fresh in her cheeks and her step as light upon the
stair as when she left home?
The weariness had crept into Marjorie's face since she closed her books;
it was not when she opened the Bible. Was the child enduring any
spiritual conflicts again? Linnet had never had spiritual conflicts; what
should she do with this too introspective Marjorie? Would Prue grow up to
ask questions and need just such comforting, too? Miss Prudence's own
evening's work had begun with her Bible reading, she read and meditated
all the hour and a quarter that Marjorie was writing her letter (they had
supper so early that their evenings began at half-past six), she had read
with eagerness and a sense of deep enjoyment and appreciation.
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