Then, as I say, the week shall illustrate the Sunday, and the Sunday shall glorify the week; and what men do and build shall stand true types, again, for the inner growth and the invisible building; so that if this outer tabernacle were dissolved, there should be seen glorious behind it, the house not made with hands,—­eternal.

As Desire Ledwith met this young Kenneth Kincaid from day to day, seeing him so often at her Aunt Ripwinkley’s, where he and Dorris went in and out now, almost like a son and daughter,—­as she walked beside him this morning, hearing him say these things, at which the heart-longing in her burned anew toward the real and satisfying,—­what wonder was it that her restlessness grasped at that in his life which was strong and full of rest; that she felt glad and proud to have him tell his thought to her; that without any silliness,—­despising all silliness,—­she should yet be conscious, as girls of seventeen are conscious, of something that made her day sufficient when she had so met him,—­of a temptation to turn into those streets in her walks that led his way?  Or that she often, with her blunt truth, toward herself as well as others, and her quick contempt of sham and subterfuge, should snub herself mentally, and turn herself round as by a grasp of her own shoulders, and make herself walk off stoutly in a far and opposite direction, when, without due need and excuse, she caught herself out in these things?

What wonder that this stood in her way, for very pleasantness, when Kenneth asked her to come and teach in the school?  That she was ashamed to let herself do a thing—­even a good thing, that her life needed,—­when there was this conscious charm in the asking; this secret thought—­that she should walk up home with him every Sunday!

She remembered Agatha and Florence, and she imagined, perhaps, more than they would really have thought of it at home; and so as they turned into Shubarton Place,—­for he had kept on all the way along Bridgeley and up Dorset Street with her,—­she checked her steps suddenly as they came near the door, and said brusquely,—­

“No, Mr. Kincaid; I can’t come to the Mission.  I might learn A, and teach them that; but how do I know I shall ever learn B, myself?”

He had left his question, as their talk went on, meaning to ask it again before they separated.  He thought it was prevailing with her, and that the help that comes of helping others would reach her need; it was for her sake he asked it; he was disappointed at the sudden, almost trivial turn she gave it.

“You have taken up another analogy, Miss Desire,” he said.  “We were talking about crumbs and feeding.  The five loaves and the five thousand.  ’Why reason ye because ye have no bread?  How is it that ye do not understand?’”

Kenneth quoted these words naturally, pleasantly; as he might quote anything that had been spoken to them both out of a love and authority they both recognized, a little while ago.