There were some kind of questions that Linnet liked to ask.
"Does it not make all the difference? Suppose we think of something we want while we are ease-loving, forgetful of duty, selfish, unforgiving, neither loving God or our neighbor, when we feel far from him, instead of near him, can we believe that we shall have such a heart's desire as that would be? Would your desire be according to his will, his unselfish, loving, forgiving will?"
"No, oh, no," said Linnet, earnestly. "But I do think about father and mother and Marjorie going to school and—when I am praying."
"Then ask for everything you desire while you are praying; don't be afraid."
"Is mother troubled about something?"
"Not troubled, really; only perplexed a little over something we have been planning about; and she is very glad, too."
"I don't like to have her troubled, because her heart hurts her when she worries. Marjorie don't know that, but she told me. That's one reason—my strongest reason—for being sorry about going to Boston."
"But your father is with her and he will watch over her."
"But she depends on me," pleaded Linnet.
"Marjorie is growing up," said Miss Prudence, hopefully.