Hollis stood with his eyes upon the floor.  Afterward Mrs. West told Miss Prudence that when it came to that, she pitied him with all her heart, “he shook all over and looked as if he would faint.”

“Mrs. West!” he lifted his eyes and spoke in his usual clear, manly voice, “I have never thought of marrying any one beside Marjorie.  I gave that up when mother wrote me that she cared for Morris.  I have never sought any one since.  I have been waiting—­if she loved Morris, she could not love me.  I have been giving her time to think of me if she wanted to—­”

“I’d like to know how.  You haven’t given her the first sign.”

“She does not know me; she is shy with me.  I do not know her; we do not feel at home with each other.”

“How are you going to get to feel at home with each other five hundred miles apart?” inquired the practical mother.

“It will take time.”

“Time!  I should think it would.”  Mrs. West pushed a stick of wood into the stove with some energy.

“But if you think it is because—­”

“I do think so.”

“Then she must know me better than I thought she did,” he continued, thoughtfully.

“Didn’t she go to school with you?”

“Not with me grown up.”

“That’s a distinction that doesn’t mean anything.”

“It means something to me.  I am more at home with Linnet than I am with her.  She has changed; she keeps within herself.”

“Then you must bring her out.”

“How can she care, if she thinks I have trifled with her?”

“I didn’t say she thought so, I said I thought so!”

“You have hastened this very much.  I wanted her to know me and trust me.  I want my wife to love me, Mrs. West.”

“No doubt of that, Master Hollis,” with a sigh of congratulation to herself.  “All you have to do is to tell her what you have told me.  She will throw you off.”

“Has she said so?” he inquired eagerly.

“Do you think she is the girl to say so?”

“I am sure not,” he answered proudly.

“Hollis, this is a great relief,” said Marjorie’s mother.

“Well, good-bye,” he said, after hesitating a moment with his eyes on the kitchen floor, and extending his hand.  “I will speak to her when I come back.”

“The Lord bless you,” she answered fervently.

Just then Marjorie ran lightly down-stairs singing a morning hymn, entering the kitchen as he closed the door and went out.

“Hollis just went,” said her mother.

“Why didn’t he stay to breakfast?” she asked, without embarrassment.

“He had to meet his friends early,” replied her mother, averting her face and busying herself at the sink.

“He will have to eat breakfast somewhere; but perhaps he expects to take a late breakfast on the fish he has caught.  Mother, Linnet and I are to be little girls, and go berrying.”