“Suppose I play for you,” suggested Miss Prudence, gravely.

“I thought you wanted me to go to bed,” said Marjorie, suppressing her annoyance as well as she could.

“Just see, child; you are too worn out for all and any of these things that you usually take pleasure in, and yet you take up the Bible and expect to feel devotional and be greatly edified, even to find that Malachi has a special message for you.  And you berate yourself for hardheartedness and coldheartedness.  When you are so weary, don’t you see that your brain refuses to think?”

“Do you mean that I ought to read only one verse and think that enough?  Oh, if I might.”

“Have you taken more time than that would require for other things to-day?”

“Why, yes,” said Marjorie, looking surprised.

“Then why should you give God’s book just half a minute, or not so long, and Wayland and Legendre and every body else just as much time as the length of your lesson claims?  Could you make anything of your astronomy now?”

“No, I knew I could not, and that is why I am leaving it till morning.”

“Suppose you do not study it at all and tell Mr. McCosh that you were too tired to-night.”

“He would not accept such an excuse.  He would ask why I deferred it so long.  He would think I was making fun of him to give him such an excuse.  I wouldn’t dare.”

“But you go to God and offer him your evening sacrifice with eyes so blind that they cannot see his words, and brain so tired that it can find no meaning in them.  Will he accept an excuse that you are ashamed to give your teacher?”

“No,” said Marjorie, looking startled.  “I will read, and perhaps I can think now.”

But Miss Prudence was bending towards her and taking the Bible from her lap.

“Let me find something for you in Malachi.”

“And help me understand,” said Marjorie.

After a moment Miss Prudence read aloud: 

“’And if ye offer the blind for sacrifice, is it not evil?  And if ye offer the lame and sick, is it not evil?  Offer it now unto thy governor; will he be pleased with thee, or accept thy person? saith the Lord of hosts.’”

Closing the book she returned it to Marjorie’s lap.

“You mean that God will not accept my excuse for not feeling like reading to-night?”

“You said that Mr. McCosh would not accept such an excuse for your astronomy.”

“Miss Prudence!” Marjorie was wide awake now.  “You mean that I should read early in the evening as you do!  Is that why you always read before you do anything else in the evening?”

“It certainly is.  I tried to give my blind, tired hours to God and found that he did not accept—­for I had no blessing in reading; I excused myself on your plea, I was too weary, and then I learned to give him my best and freshest time.”

There was no weariness or frettedness in Marjorie’s face now; the heart rest was giving her physical rest.  “I will begin to-morrow night—­I can’t begin to-night—­and read the first thing as you do.  I am almost through the Old Testament; how I shall enjoy beginning the New!  Miss Prudence, is it so about praying, too?”