"_He_ is a Christian when
he speaks to a dog."
"Don't you want to go upstairs and see Morris' mother? She was excited a
little, and I promised her that she should not come down-stairs
to-night."
"But I don't know her," said Marjorie rising.
"I think you do. And she knows you. She has come here to learn how good
God is, and I want you to help me show it to her."
"I don't know how."
"Be your sweet, bright self, and sing all over the house all the
comforting hymns you know."
"Will she like that?"
"She likes nothing so well. I sung her to sleep last night."
"I wish mother could talk to her."
"Marjorie! you have said it. Your mother is the one. I will send her to
your mother in the spring. Morris and I will pay her board, and she
shall keep close to your happy mother as long as they are both willing."
"Will Morris let you help pay her board?"
"Morris cannot help himself. He never resists me. Now go upstairs and
kiss her, and tell her you are her boy's twin-sister."
Before the light tap on her door Mrs. Kemlo heard, and her heart was
stirred as she heard it, the pleading, hopeful, trusting strains of
"Jesus, lover of my soul."
Moving about in her own chamber, with her door open, Marjorie sang it all
before she crossed the hall and gave her light tap on Mrs. Kemlo's door.
When Marjorie saw the face--the sorrowful, delicate face, and listened to
the refined accent and pretty choice of words, she knew that Morris Kemlo
was a gentleman because his mother was a lady.
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