CHAPTER TWENTY ONE.
It was a day in June—nearly a year from the time of the "understanding"—a day made more beautiful because of its being in the mountains and on a Sunday afternoon. Dorian and Carlia lived in the midst of its rarity, seated as they were on the grassy hill-side overlooking the dry-land farms near at hand and the valley below, through which tumbled the brook. The wild odor of hill plants mingled with the pungent fragrance of choke-cherry blossoms. The air was as clear as crystal. The mountains stood about them in silent, solemn watchfulness, strong and sure as the ages. The red glowed in Carlia's lips again, and the roses in her cheeks. The careworn look was gone from her face. Peace had come into her heart, peace with herself, with the man she loved, and with God.
Dorian pointed out to her where the wild strawberries grew down in the valley, and where the best service berries could be found on the hills. He told her how the singing creek had, when he was alone in the hills, echoed all his varied moods.
Then they were silent for a time, letting the contentment of their love suffice. For now all barriers between these two were down. There was no thought they could not share, no joy neither trouble they could not meet together. However, they were very careful of each other; their present peace and content had not easily been reached. They had come "up through great tribulation," even thus far in their young lives. The period of their purification seemed now to be drawing to a close, and they were entering upon a season of rest for the soul.
"Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God." This promise is surely not limited to that hoped-for future time when we shall have laid aside mortality, but the pure in heart see much of God here and now—see Him in the beauty of hill and dale, in cloud and blue sky, in placid pool and running water, in flowers and insect, and in the wonderful workings of the human heart! And so Dorian Trent and Carlia Duke, being of the pure in heart, saw much of God and His glory that afternoon.
Then they talked again of the home folks, of Mildred Brown, and of Uncle
Zed; and at length came to their own immediate affairs.
That fall Dorian was to enter the University. The farm at Greenstreet would have to be let to others, but he thought he could manage the dry-farm, as most of the work came in vacation season. Mrs. Trent did not want to leave her home in the country; but she would likely become lonesome living all by herself; so there would always be a room for her with Dorian and Carlia in the little house they would rent near the school. Then, after the University, there would be some Eastern College for a period of years, and after that, other work. The task Dorian had set before him was a big one, but it was a very important one, and no one seemed to be doing it as yet. He might fail in accomplishing what he and Uncle Zed and perhaps the Lord had in mind regarding him, but he would do his very best, anyway.
"You'll not fail," the girl at his side assured him.
"I hope not. But I know some men who have gone in for all the learning they could obtain, and in the process of getting the learning, they have lost their faith. With me, the very object of getting knowledge is to strengthen my faith. What would it profit if one gains the whole world of learning and loses his soul in the process. Knowledge is power, both for good and for ill. I have been thinking lately of the nature of faith, the forerunner of knowledge. I can realize somewhat the meaning of the scripture which says that the worlds were framed and all things in them made by the power of faith. As Uncle Zed used to say—"
"You always put it that way. Don't you know anything of your own?"
"No; no one does. There is no such thing as knowledge of one's own making. Knowledge has always existed from the time when there has been a mind to conceive it. The sum of truth is eternal. We can only discover truth, or be told it by someone who has already found it. God has done that. He comprehends all truth, and therefore all power and all glory is found in Him. It is the most natural thing in the world, then, that we should seek the truth from the fountain head or source to us, and that is God."
Although it was after the usual time of the Sunday sermon, Dorian felt free to go on.
"'When the Son of Man cometh, shall He find faith on the earth?' I hope to help a little to make the answer, Yes. I know of nothing which the world needs more than faith. Not many are specializing in that field. Edison is bringing forth some of the wonders of electricity; Burbank is doing marvelous things in the plant world; we have warriors and statesmen and philosophers and philanthropists and great financiers a-plenty; we have scientists too, and some of them are helping. Have you ever heard of Sir Oliver Lodge and Lord Kelvin?"
No; she never had.
"Well"—and Dorian laughed softly to himself at the apparent egotism of the proposition—"I must be greater than either of them. I must know all they know, and more; and that is possible, for I have the 'Key of Knowledge' which even the most learned scholar cannot get without obedience to the laws and ordinances of the gospel."
Carlia silently worshiped.
"Now," he continued in a somewhat lighter vein, "do you realize what you are doing when you say you will be my wife and put up with all the eccentricities of such a man as I am planning to be? Are you willing to be a poor man's wife, for I cannot get money and this knowledge I am after at the same time? Are you willing to go without the latest in dresses and shoes and hats—if necessary?"
"Haven't I heard you say that the larger part of love is in giving and not in getting?" replied she.
"Yes, I believe that's true."
"Well, then, that's my answer. Don't deny me the joy I can get by the little I can give."
The sun was nearing the western mountains, the sharpest peaks were already throwing shadows across the valley.
"Come," said Dorian. "We had better go down. Mother has come out of the cabin, and I think she is looking for us. Supper must be ready."
He took Carlia's hand and helped her up. Then they ran like care-free children down the gentler slopes.
"Wait a minute," cried Carlia, "I'm out of breath. I—I want to ask you another question."
"Ask a hundred."
"Well, in the midst of all this studying, kind of in between the great, serious subjects, we'll find time, will we not, to read 'David Copperfield'—together?"
He looked into her laughing eyes, and then kissed her.
"Why, yes, of course," he said.
Then they went on again, hand in hand, down into the valley of sunshine and shadow.