spoke and prayed in the prayer meetings.  They used to speak just as they did about anything, and people enjoyed it so; it was so genuine and hearty.  I remember at a prayer meeting here that winter Will arose to speak ’I was talking to a man in town today and he said there was nothing in religion.  But, oh, my!  I told him there was nothing out of it.’  I told him about that to-night and he said he hadn’t found anything outside of it yet.”

“He’s a fine young fellow,” said Miss Prudence.  “Mr. Holmes says he has the ‘right stuff’ in him, and he means a great deal by that.”

A pleasant thought curved Linnet’s lips.

“But, Miss Prudence,” sitting down on the step of the piazza, “I do wish for a list of things.  I want to know if I may pray that mother may never look grave and anxious as she did at the supper table, and father may not always have a cough in winter time, and Will may never have another long voyage and frighten us all, and that Marjorie may have a chance to go to school, too, and—­why, ever so many things!”

A laugh from the disputants in the parlor brought the quick color to Miss Prudence’s cheeks.  No mere earthly thing quickened her pulses like John Holmes’ laugh.  And I do not think that was a mere earthly thing; there was so much grace in it.

“Doesn’t St. Paul’s ‘everything’ include your ‘ever so many things?’” questioned Miss Prudence, as the laugh died away.

“I don’t know,” hesitatingly.  “I thought it meant about people becoming Christians, and faith and patience and such good things.”

“Perhaps your requests are good things, too.  But I have thought of something that will do for a list of things; it is included in this promise:  ’Whatsoever things ye desire when ye pray, believe that ye receive them and ye shall have them.’  Desire when ye pray!  That’s the point.”

“Does the time when we desire make any difference?” asked Linnet, interestedly.

There were some kind of questions that Linnet liked to ask.

“Does it not make all the difference?  Suppose we think of something we want while we are ease-loving, forgetful of duty, selfish, unforgiving, neither loving God or our neighbor, when we feel far from him, instead of near him, can we believe that we shall have such a heart’s desire as that would be?  Would your desire be according to his will, his unselfish, loving, forgiving will?”

“No, oh, no,” said Linnet, earnestly.  “But I do think about father and mother and Marjorie going to school and—­when I am praying.”

“Then ask for everything you desire while you are praying; don’t be afraid.”

“Is mother troubled about something?”

“Not troubled, really; only perplexed a little over something we have been planning about; and she is very glad, too.”

“I don’t like to have her troubled, because her heart hurts her when she worries.  Marjorie don’t know that, but she told me.  That’s one reason—­my strongest reason—­for being sorry about going to Boston.”