How charming was this docile frankness!
"It suggests earth's millions filled daily with bread. It suggests that gracious Providence, by long and lovely processes, forestalling man's needs. It brings to mind the old-time stories of Joseph's dream of bowing sheaves, of Ruth gleaning in the field of Boaz."
The stories of Ruth, Rebecca and Esther were the three Bible stories that Doris knew; the face of Doris lighted as she answered:
"Oh, I like that! I have imagined Boaz—tall, grave, stately, dark; and Ruth—young, and fair, and tender. I cannot quite fancy how Naomi looked—like other old women with a sad history, I suppose—but the words are lovely."
"'Whither thou goest I will go; thy people shall be my people, and thy God my God.'"
His voice took a deep, passionate tone, and his eyes filled with the light of love.
"Mattie says you are a poet!" cried Doris. "Are you?"
"I wish I could say 'I am.' Time will prove me. I have the poet's longing. Shall I ever reach the poet's utterance?"
"Why, I think you have it now," said Doris, sweetly.
"It is because you inspire me, perhaps. As I came toward you, I wondered whether you were Tennyson's 'Dora' or 'The Gardener's Daughter.'"