Jessie looked out through the red and green of the geraniums at the brilliant blue and silver of the landscape. She knew that the purpose of the new society was above reproach, but somehow she could not quite understand just what good it did. "Yes," she said vaguely.
"And you will be a member of the church now," Duncan ventured gently. "And I would be very glad to see all the young folk that would be coming to the Lord's table at the last communion, for it will be a very holy consecration to God."
Jessie felt her cheeks growing hot; she looked down at the bare, white floor.
"It will be a fine thing to be giving up the life to the Lord's work in youth," continued Duncan softly.
The girl looked up with an effort. She knew that her joining the church had had nothing whatever to do with giving up her life to the Lord's work. She had taken that step at the last communion because Bella and a large number of the young people of the church were doing the same, and because she had arrived at the time of life when, in her opinion, everyone was supposed to join a church; and most of all, because Mr. Egerton had asked her. He had never said anything about a holy consecration. She knew her catechism perfectly and could repeat whole chapters of the Bible; she had never done anything wicked in her life, not even what she considered wicked, and she had supposed these qualifications were sufficient. Mr. Egerton had given her the impression that he had thought so at least. Duncan Polite's conception of the act seemed entirely different.
"I know we all joined the church, but it didn't seem,—I didn't think it was like that," she faltered. "I don't think I'm any different."
"Oh, indeed, you will be a good lassie, yes indeed, oh, yes! But when the Lord calls His chosen to take of His broken body and His shed blood"—he whispered the sacred words tenderly—"He will be expecting them to do much for Him."
"I don't think I'm like that. I know I'm not," burst out the girl. "Mr. McDonald"—she looked at him, suddenly resolved to ask him some questions that puzzled her. She had never been able to bring herself to ask her father, and Mr. Egerton would not understand. "Is it wrong for all us girls and boys to belong to the church, and just go on acting the same? I—I like nice clothes, and fun, and—and it's just the same now, I don't see any difference." She stopped, overcome.
Duncan's brown eyes were radiating kindness. "My child," he said tenderly, "I will not be wise to tell you these things, but——" he hesitated a moment and a tenderer light came over his face; his voice sank to a whisper—"but if you would be having the vision, the vision of Calvary; if you would be seeing how the Lord Jesus put away His life for us, you would be knowing then that His work is all and these other things will be just nothing."
Jessie's bright head drooped, her eyes filled with tears. She was looking at her half-hearted, worldly interest in the work of the Master in comparison with Duncan Polite's devotion. The old man's words were not all; piety creates its surrounding atmosphere, stronger than any verbal expression of it, and Duncan's manner said far more than his tongue. He saw her emotion and with his usual tact changed the conversation to lighter subjects. Jessie's face grew brighter after that, and she chatted away unreservedly until it was time for her to leave. Just before she rose, Duncan lifted his old leather-bound Bible from the table and glanced at her timidly. "Would you be minding if I would read jist a word?" he inquired eagerly.