Miss Craydocke and Leslie settled themselves, and both were silent.  Presently Leslie spoke again, giving out a fragmentary link of the train of thought that had been going on in her.  “If it weren’t for just one thing!” she said, and there she stopped.

“What?” asked Miss Craydocke, as not a bit at a loss to made out the unseen connection.

“The old puzzle.  We have to think and work a good deal of the time for ourselves.  And then we lose sight”—­

“Of Him?  Why?”

Leslie said no more, but waited.  Miss Craydocke’s tone was clear, untroubled.  The young girl looked, therefore, for this clear confidence to be spoken out.

“Why, since He is close to our life also, and cares tenderly for that?—­since, if we let him possess himself of it, it is one of his own channels, by which He still gives himself unto the world?  He didn’t do it all in one single history of three years, my child, or thirty-three, out there in Judaea.  He keeps on,—­so I believe,—­through every possible way and circumstance of human living now, if only the life is grafted on his.  The Vine and the branches, and God tending all.  And the fruit is the kingdom of heaven.”

It is never too late, and never impossible, for a human face to look beautiful.  In the soft light and shadow of the stirring pines, with the moving from within of that which at once illumined and veiled, with an exultation and an awe, there came a glory over the homely and faded features which they could neither bar nor dim.  And the thought took possession of the word and tone, and made them simply grand and heavenly musical.

After that they sat still again,—­it matters not how many minutes.  The crisp green spines rustled dreamily over their heads; the wild birds called to each other, far back in the closer lying woods; the water glanced on, millions of new drops every instant making the self-same circles and gushes and falls, and the wealth of summer sunshine holding and vivifying all.  Leslie had word and scene stamped together on her spirit and memory in those moments.  There was a Presence in the hush and beauty.  Two souls were here met together in the name of the living Christ.  And for that there is the promise.

Martha Josselyn and her sister sat and played and mended on.

By and by Dakie Thayne came; said a bright word or two; glanced round, in restless boy-fashion, as if taking in the elements of the situation, and considering what was to be made out of it; perceived the pair at chess; and presently, with his mountain stick, went springing away from point to point, up and around the piles and masses of rock and mound that made up the broadening ascent of the ledge.

“Check to your queen,” said Sue.

Martha put her elbow upon her knee, and held her needle suspended by its thread.  Sue darned away, and got a great hole laid lengthwise with smooth lines, before her threatening move had been provided for.  Then a red knight came with gallant leap, right down in the midst of the white forces, menacing in his turn right and left; and Martha drew a long sigh, and sat back, and poised her needle-lance again, and went to work; and it was Sue’s turn to lean over the board with knit brows and holden breath.