I asked him once what a prison was like and he would not tell
me much."
She kept her head on Miss Prudence's shoulder and rubbed her fingers over
Miss Prudence's hand.
There were no tears in her eyes, Miss Prudence's quiet, hopeful voice
had kept the tears from coming. Some day she would understand it, but
to-night it was a story that was not very sad, because he had got out of
the prison and God had forgiven him. It would never come as a shock to
her; Miss Prudence had saved her that.
XX.
"HEIRS TOGETHER."
"Oh, for a mind more clear to see,
A hand to work more earnestly,
For every good intent."--_Phebe Cary_.
"Aunt Prue," began Marjorie, "I can't help thinking about beauty."
"I don't see why you should, child, when there are so many beautiful
things for you to think about."
It was the morning after Prue had heard the story of her father; it was
Saturday morning and she was in the kitchen "helping Deborah bake."
Mrs. Kemlo was resting in a steamer chair near the register in the back
parlor, resting and listening; the listening was in itself a rest. It was
a rest not to speak unless she pleased; it was a rest to listen to the
low tones of cultured voices, to catch bits of bright talk about things
that brought her out of herself; it was a rest, above all, to dwell in a
home where God was in the midst; it was a rest to be free from the care
of herself. Was Miss Prudence taking care of her? Was not God taking care
of her through the love of Miss Prudence?
Marjorie was busy about her weekly mending, sitting at one of the front
windows.
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