“I think Mrs. Grey meant that you might learn about some of the sin there is in the world.  But if you live in the world, you will be kept from the evil, because Christ prayed that his disciples might be thus kept; but you must know the sin exists.  And I would rather my little girl would learn about the sins that God hates direct from his lips than from any other source.  As soon as you learn what sin is, you will learn to hate it, and that is not sure if you learn it in any other way.  I read the Bible through when I was about your age, and I think there are some forms of sin I never should have hated so intensely if I had not learned about them in the way God thinks best to teach us his abhorrence of them.  I never read any book in which a sin was fully delineated that I did not feel some of the excitement of the sin—­some extenuation, perhaps, some glossing over, some excuse for the sinner,—­but in the record God gives I always intensely hate the sin and feel how abominable it is in his sight.  The first book I ever cried over was the Bible and it was somebody’s sin that brought the tears.  I would like to talk to Mrs. Grey!” cried Miss Prudence, her eyes kindling with indignation.  “To think that God does not know what is good for his children.”

“I wish you would,” said Marjorie with enthusiasm, “for I don’t know how to say it.  Mother knows a lady who will not read Esther on Sunday because God isn’t in it”

“The name of God, you mean,” said Miss Prudence smiling.  “I think Esther and Mordecai and all the Jews thought God was in it.”

“I will try not to build castles,” promised Marjorie often a silent half minute.  “I’ve done it so much to please Linnet.  After we go to bed at night she says, ‘Shut your eyes, Marjie, and tell me what you see,’ Then I shut my eyes and see things for us both.  I see ourselves grown up and having a splendid home and a real splendid husband, and we each have three children.  She has two boys and one girl, and I have two girls and one boy.  And we educate them and dress them so nice, and they do lovely things.  We travel all around the world with them, and I tell Linnet all we see in Europe and Asia.  Our husbands stay home and send us money.  They have to stay home and earn it, you know,” Marjorie explained with a shrewd little smile.  “Would you give that all up?” she asked disappointedly.

“Yes, I am sure I would.  You are making a disappointment for yourself; your life may not be at all like that.  You may never marry, in the first place, and you may marry a man who cannot send you to Europe, and I think you are rather selfish to spend his money and not stay home and be a good wife to him,” said Miss Prudence, smiling.

“Oh.  I write him splendid long letters!” said Marjorie quickly.  “They are so splendid that he thinks of making a book of them.”

“I’m afraid they wouldn’t take,” returned Miss Prudence seriously, “books of travel are too common nowadays.”