“But you didn’t see the book, mamma,” pleaded the girl, whose cheeks had become as red as the roses which Grant had handed back to her.
“No; and I’ve no time for it. Your father is waiting to take you to drive. Besides, I was surprised to see you conversing with a stranger.”
The young man lifted his hat to Marion as he passed out of the gate, but not till he had said a word of thanks for her kindness to an unknown student. He thought he saw the blue eyes moisten as they looked up to his, showing that she felt her mother’s harshness to a youth who appeared to be working his way alone in the world.
Marion Colwell was not given to sentiment, but she wondered a thousand times what would become of the handsome college boy, and she could not help taking a bud from the flowers which he held for her and pressing it between the leaves of a book, with some tender yet painful recollections. Marion seemed unusually quiet during the ride with her father, but no word was spoken about the book-agent; for Mr. and Mrs. Colwell lived so independently of each other that the daughter never thought of confiding her troubles to either.
At the end of the three hours the two college students met to recount their experiences and successes. Grant had not sold a single book, but he drew from his pocket a red rosebud, and showing it to Kent said: “I’m foolish, I do believe; but I’ve seen a girl to-day who has paid me a thousand times for all the annoyance of being a book-agent. Perhaps I shall never see her again, but I shall keep in memory one lovely face, and I know she has a noble soul. I took this bud, unbeknown to her, from a bunch I held for her while she looked over that book. I’ll not part with the book either, since she has looked at its pictures.”
Kent did not make fun of him, for he had a warm heart, and enjoyed the picture which Grant drew of the fair young face. The vacation came to its close. Some money had been made by each of the three students, Grant dividing his equally between James and Kent.
••••••••
Eight years had come and gone. James Wellman was in business, and had become successful. Kent had graduated with honor, but gone home to his widowed mother to die. Grant had studied theology, and for three years had been settled in a Western city, whither he had been drawn by his friend Wellman. A July morning came like that on which he had passed from house to house along the city streets to sell books. The young minister stood in his accustomed place, about to preach from the well-known text, “Cast thy bread upon the waters; for thou shalt find it after many days.” A lady, dressed in blue, who was a stranger to the congregation, entered, and was shown to a seat well in front. She looked long and earnestly at the speaker, as though she was aware whom she had come to hear. For a moment, as the minister caught a glimpse of the face, he changed color, but immediately regained his self-possession.
After the service he stepped directly down to the pew, and the parishioners said to one another: “Why, we didn’t know that the new school-teacher, Miss Colwell, was a friend of our pastor!”