"In the parlor. Go and entertain him. Mother and I must get him a good supper: cold chicken, canned raspberries, currant jelly, ham, hot biscuit, plain cake and fruit cake and—butter and—tea."
"I don't know how," hesitated Marjorie.
"Answer his questions, that's all," explained Linnet promptly. "I've told him all I know and now it's your turn."
"I don't like to answer questions," said Marjorie, still doubtfully.
"Oh, only your age and what you study and—if—you are a Christian."
"And he tells you how if you don't know how," said Marjorie, eagerly; "that's what he's for."
"Yes," replied her mother, approvingly, "run in and let him talk to you."
Very shyly glad of the opportunity, and yet dreading it inexpressibly, Marjorie hung her school clothing away and laid her satchel on the shelf in the hall closet, and then stood wavering in the closet, wondering if she dared go in to see Evangelist. He had spoken very kindly to Christian. She longed, oh, how she longed! to find the Wicket Gate, but would she dare ask any questions? Last Sabbath in church she had seen a sweet, beautiful face that she persuaded herself must be Mercy, and now to have Evangelist come to her very door!
What was there to know any better about? She did not care if Linnet had laughed. Linnet never cared to read Pilgrim's Progress.
It is on record that the first book a child reads intensely is the book that will influence all the life.