"So it is. I have a class in this mission school and go to church after."
"Oh, that's it, is it? I thought you were unusually teachery this morning. I won't detain you if you are going to church. I hope you will enjoy your morning as much as I expect to enjoy mine."
"I am not going for enjoyment but for profit," said Charity as a parting shot.
Janet pursued her way and presently turned aside and took a winding path that led to a large tree in an open field. At a little distance was a small stream bordered by pollard willows and beyond was a little truck-farm which still withstood the inroads of the town streets. Janet sat down under the tree with a sigh of relief, and gazed dreamily off across the open country. Presently a smile played around her lips, and diving down into the little chatelaine bag which hung by her side, she drew forth a pencil and began to scribble on the fly-leaf of her book.
As a moving shadow fell across her page, she looked up and saw Mark Evans.
"Why, what in the world are you doing here?" she asked. "Don't you know that you are a worm of the dust, and that a profitless trifling away of the Sabbath hours is very wicked?"
He smiled and threw himself down on the grass near her.
"Then why are you doing anything so wicked?" he asked.
"I am not. I am spending my time profitably. I am reading Emerson's 'Spiritual Laws,' to keep me in countenance."
"You were not reading when I came up. You were writing, a theme, was it?"