“Did you put it in your journal?”

“Some of it.”

“Did you show it to mother?”

“Yes.”

“Was she glad?”

“Yes, she kissed me and said her prayers were answered.”

Marjorie looked very grave.  She wished she could be as old as Linnet and have “experience” to write in her journal and have her mother kiss her and say her prayers were answered.

“Do you have it all the time?” she questioned anxiously as Linnet hurried in from the kitchen with a small platter of sliced ham in her hand.

“Not every day; I do some days.”

“I want it every day.”

“You call them to tea when I tell you.  And you may help me bring things in.”

When Marjorie opened the parlor door to call them to tea she heard Mr. Woodfern inquire: 

“Do all your children belong to the Lord?”

“The two in heaven certainly do, and I think Linnet is a Christian,” her mother was saying.

“And Marjorie,” he asked.

“You know there are such things; I think Marjorie’s heart was changed in her cradle.”

With the door half opened Marjorie stood and heard this lovely story about herself.

“It was before she was three years old; one evening I undressed her and laid her in the cradle, it was summer and she was not ready to go to sleep; she had been in a frolic with Linnet and was all in a gale of mischief.  She arose up and said she wanted to get out; I said ‘no,’ very firmly, ‘mamma wants you to stay.’  But she persisted with all her might, and I had to punish her twice before she would consent to lie still; I was turning to leave her when I thought her sobs sounded more rebellious than subdued, I knelt down and took her in my arms to kiss her, but she drew back and would not kiss me.  I saw there was no submission in her obedience and made up my mind not to leave her until she had given up her will to mine.  If you can believe it, it was two full hours before she would kiss me, and then she couldn’t kiss me enough.  I think when she yielded to my will she gave up so wholly that she gave up her whole being to the strongest and most loving will she knew.  And as soon as she knew God, she knew—­or I knew—­that she had submitted to him.”

“Come to tea,” called Marjorie, joyfully, a moment later.

This lovely story about herself was only one of the happenings that caused Marjorie to remember this day and evening:  this day of small events stood out clearly against the background of her childhood.

That evening in the church she had been moved to do the hardest, happiest thing she had ever done in her hard and happy eleven years.  At the close of his stirring appeal to all who felt themselves sinners in God’s sight, Evangelist (he would always be Evangelist to Marjorie) requested any to rise who had this evening newly resolved to seek Christ until they found him.  A little figure in a pew against