"I knew I ought," I remember saying faintly.
"Oh—h—!" a prolonged sound, that began a little triumphantly, but ended in a sigh, and then he earnestly said, "You do not think you ought to discourage him now? Your mother did not forbid it for ever."
"Oh no, no; it never came to that."
"And you know what he is now?"
"I know he is changed," was all I could say.
"And you will help him forward a little when he comes back. You and he will be happy."
There might be a great surging wave of joy in my heart, but it would not let me say anything but, "And leave you alone, Harold?"
"I must learn to be alone," he said. "I can stay here this winter, and see to the things in hand, and then I suppose something will turn up."
"As a call?" I said.
"Yes," he answered. "I told God to-day that I had nothing to do but His service, and I suppose He will find it for me."