"Do you know, Earle," she said, "I am quite ashamed of it, but I have a very uncomfortable sensation that I am returning home very much after the style of the prodigal son."
"Nothing of the kind," said generous Earle. He would not allow her to depreciate herself.
The wind was fearful; it bent the tall trees, and swayed them to and fro as though they were reeds. It moaned and wailed round the house with long-drawn, terrible cries.
"One would think the wind had a voice, and was foretelling evil," said Doris, with a shudder. "Listen, Earle!"
But the attention of the young poet was drawn to a pretty scene. Through the window of the farm-house a ruddy light came like a beam of welcome.
"They are sitting there," said Earle—"the farmer and his wife, with Mattie. Let us go to the window, Doris; we shall see them, but they will not see us."
They drew near to the window. It was the prettiest home scene that was ever imagined. The ruddy light of the fire was reflected in the shining cupboard, in Mark's honest face—it played over the bent head of his wife, and on Mattie's brown hair.
Tears came into the young poet's eyes as he stood and watched; for Mark had taken the great Bible down from the shelf, and was reading aloud to his wife and child. They could not distinguish what he was reading, but they heard the deep reverence of his voice, and how it faltered when he came to any words that touched him. They could see the look of reverence on Mattie's face, and the picture was a pleasing one—it touched all that was most noble in the heart of the young poet.
"I have seen just such a look as Mattie wears on the pictured faces of the saints," he said; and although Doris affected to laugh at his enthusiasm, she was half jealous of the girl who excited it.
Suddenly an idea seemed to occur to Earle; he turned quickly to her.