Rising in her pretty, respectful manner she gave her mother the spring rocker and pushed an ottoman behind the stove and seated herself where she might watch Evangelist’s face as he talked.

How the talk drifted in this direction Marjorie did not understand; she knew it was something about finding the will of the Lord, but a story was coming and she listened with her listening eyes on his face.

“I had been thinking that God would certainly reveal his will if we inquired of him, feeling sure of that, for some time, and then I had this experience.”

Marjorie’s mother enjoyed “experiences” as well as Marjorie enjoyed stories.  And she liked nothing better than to relate her own; after hearing an experience she usually began, “Now I will tell you mine.”

Marjorie thought she knew every one of her mother’s experiences.  But it was Evangelist who was speaking.

The little girl in the brown and blue plaid dress with red stockings and buttoned boots, bent forward as she sat half concealed behind the stove and drank in every word with intent, wondering, unquestioning eyes.

Her mother listened, also, with eyes as intent and believing, and years afterward, recalled this true experience, when she was tempted to take Marjorie’s happiness into her own hands, her own unwise, haste-making hands.

“My wife had been dead about two years,” began Evangelist again, speaking in a retrospective tone.  “I had two little children, the elder not eight years old, and my sister was my housekeeper.  She did not like housekeeping nor taking care of children.  Some women don’t.  She came to me one day with a very serious face.  ‘Brother,’ said she, ’you need a wife, you must have a wife.  I do not know how to take care of your children and you are almost never at home.’  She left me before I could reply, almost before I could think what to reply.  I was just home from helping a pastor in Wisconsin, it was thirty-six degrees below zero the day I left, and I had another engagement in Maine for the next week.  I was very little at home, and my children did need a mother.  I had not thought whether I needed a wife or not; I was too much taken up with the Lord’s work to think about it.  But that day I asked the Lord to find me a wife.  After praying about it three days it came to me that a certain young lady was the one the Lord had chosen.  Like Peter, I drew back and said, ‘Not so, Lord.’  My first wife was a continual spiritual help to me; she was the Lord’s own messenger every day; but this lady, although a church member, was not particularly spiritually minded.  Several years before she had been my pupil in Hebrew and Greek.  I admired her intellectual gifts, but if a brother in the ministry had asked me if she would be a helpful wife to him, I should have hesitated about replying in the affirmative.  And, yet here it was, the Lord had chosen her for me.  I said, ‘Not so, Lord,’ until he assured me that her heart was in his hand and he could fit her to become my wife and a mother to my children.  After waiting until I knew I was obeying the mind of my Master, I asked her to marry me.  She accepted, as far as her own heart and will were concerned, but refused, because her father, a rich and worldly-minded man, was not willing for her to marry an itinerant preacher.