“Dear Mrs. Lane,” thought Mary. “How I should love to see her! She was going to Maine. I wonder if this little snapshot is a picture of some pines where she is staying.”
After looking long at the beautiful, tall pines in the picture, she turned to the card and read,
“Dear Mary:
“As we came up the beautiful Sebago Lake last week, 41 I saw something that reminded me of you so strongly that I must tell you of it. Away off in the distance, we saw some wonderful pines that towered high above the rest. They seemed so tall that we spoke to the pilot of the boat about them and he told us this story about them.
“‘Years and years ago, before this land was settled by any but the Indians, King George of England sent men to this country to look for tall trees that would make good masts for his ships. They went up the rivers and lakes looking everywhere for the special trees. Here on these hills they found these great trees. So the men marked “K.G.” on the trees, charted them on a map which they carried, and went on their way. But for some reason they were never cut and carried away to be used on his ships. There they stand to-day, strong and straight, marked for masts.’
“After the old man had finished his story and had left us, I said to my friend, ‘Marked for a mast because it is straight and strong. I have a girl who also is marked for a mast and some day she will carry with her, under her colors, many boys and girls. We are sending her to the leaders’ conference this summer so that she may begin to make ready for her work.’ Mary, dear, it is wonderful to have been chosen by the King of England and to have been marked for use with his initials, but it is more wonderful to have been chosen by a greater king and marked with his name. Perhaps you can guess what the mark I see on you might be—It is C. L. Write and tell me all about the conference, won’t you?
“Lovingly your friend,
“Margaret Lane.”
’Twas a very thoughtful girl who went down the street. In one hand a long letter and in the other a closely written card. The one said, “Come and have a real 42 jolly, good time.” The other said, “Get ready for service.” Which should it be?
As she sat in the hammock thinking of her good friend in Maine, there came again to her mind the last night Mrs. Lane had been with them. They had been talking over plans for the summer and Mrs. Lane had quietly said, “I like to think that a good time is one which you carry with you and which means more to you as the weeks go by than it did when you were enjoying it.” Which good time would she carry with her longer? Which would make of her the finer girl? Which did she want most to carry with her? And as she thought, the way became clearer.