Commercial
travellers, as a rule, are men of the world; but, as I go about, I want
to go about my Father's business."
"But he would be so enthusiastic," lamented Aunt Helen.
"And he has such a nice voice," bewailed his mother; "and I did hope to
see one of my five boys in the pulpit."
XXII.
TIDINGS.
"He giveth his beloved sleep."
Sunday in the twilight Linnet and Marjorie were alone in Linnet's little
kitchen. Linnet was bending over the stove stirring the chocolate, and
Marjorie was setting the table for two.
"Linnet!" she exclaimed, "it's like playing house."
"I feel very much in earnest."
"So do I. That chocolate makes me feel so. Have you had time to watch the
light over the fields? Or is it too poor a sight after gazing at the
sunset on the ocean?"
"Marjorie!" she said, turning around to face her, and leaving the spoon
idle in the steaming pot, "do you know, I think there's something the
matter?"
"Something the matter? Where?"
"I don't know where. I was wondering this afternoon if people always had
a presentiment when trouble was coming."
"Did you ever have any trouble?" asked Marjorie seriously.
"Not real, dreadful trouble. But when I hear of things happening
suddenly, I wonder if it is so sudden, really; or if they are not
prepared in some way for the very thing, or for something."
"We always know that our friends may die--that is trouble. I feel as if
it would kill me for any one I love to die.
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