"Arthur is going to take me over to the island this week," said Beth.
They had just reached a little cliff jutting out over the water. It was, perhaps, one of the most picturesque scenes on the shores of Lake Erie.
"Wouldn't it be grand to be on this cliff and watch a thunderstorm coming up over the lake?" said Beth.
"You are very daring Beth—Miss Woodburn. Edith would rather hide her head under the blankets."
"Do you know, I really love thunderstorms," continued Beth. "It is such a nice safe feeling to lie quiet and sheltered in bed and hear the thunder crash and the storm beat outside. Somehow, I always feel more deeply that God is great and powerful, and that the world has a live ruler." She stopped rather suddenly. Clarence never touched on religious subjects in conversation—
"Dear, what a ducking Arthur and I got in a thunderstorm one time. We were out hazel-nutting and—"
"Do you always call Mr. Grafton Arthur?" interrupted Clarence, a little impatiently.
"Oh, yes! Why, how funny it would seem to call Arthur Mr. Grafton!"
"Beth"—he grew paler and his voice almost trembled,—"Beth, do you love Arthur Grafton?"
"Love Arthur! Why, dear, no! I never thought of it. He's just like my brother. Besides," she continued after a pause, "Arthur is going away off somewhere to be a missionary, and I don't think I could be happy if I married a man who wasn't a writer."