"Oh, have you a class?"
"Yes, a class of girls—girls about fourteen. I thought I never could interest them. I don't know how to talk to little girls; but I am full of the lesson, and so are they, and the time is up before we know it."
"I'm very glad. It will be good for you," said Marjorie, quite in Miss
Prudence's manner.
"It is, already," he said gravely and earnestly "I imagine it is better for me than for them."
"I don't believe that"
"Our lesson last Sunday was about the Lord's Supper; and one of them asked me if Christ partook of the Supper with his disciples. I had not thought of it. I do not know. Do you?"
"He ate the passover with them."
"But this was afterward. Why should he do it in remembrance of his own death? He gave them the bread and the cup."
Marjorie was interested. She said she would ask her father and Miss
Prudence; and her mother must certainly have thought about it.
The conductor nudged Hollis twice before he noticed him and produced his ticket; then the candy boy came along, and Hollis laid a paper of chocolate creams in Marjorie's lap. It was almost like going back to the times when he brought apples to school for her. If he would only explain about the letter—