"Well," said Missy, sitting down by her mother's sofa, before the fire which blazed uncertainly. She knew from the clear shining of her mother's eyes, and from the faint flush on her cheek, that it was no trifling news she was to hear, and that before that pine log burned away, they should have gone very deep. She felt a jealous determination to oppose.
"You don't know how to begin, I see," she said, with a bitter little laugh. "I wish I could help you."
"Oh," said her mother, "it is not very difficult. St. John says you told him never to talk to you about going away; and so it was best not to talk about it till everything was settled."
"Certainly; he has only kept his promise. I did not want to be stirred up with all his fluctuations of purpose."
"I do not think, Missy, you can justly say he has fluctuated in purpose. I think he came here almost under protest, giving up his will in the matter to please us—to please you. In truth, I think he has had but one purpose, that has been strengthening slowly day by day."
Missy lifted her head. "I don't understand exactly. I know he has been getting restless."
"I don't think he has been getting restless."
"Well, at any rate it looks so, going from one parish to another in six months."
"But, he is not going from one parish to another."
Missy started. "What do you mean, mamma? I hope he isn't—isn't giving up the ministry."