"'Unto the perfect-day'!" Mr. Linden said, his smile—slight as it was—bringing a sort of illumination with it. After a few minutes he turned to her again.
"Miss Faith, one whom Christ has called into his army should wear his uniform."
"What, sir?"—she said, the colour starting readily.
"With the private vows of allegiance, there should be also a public profession."
"Yes,"—she said, "I suppose so.—I am willing—I am ready."
Timid, modest, even shrinking as she was, more in view of the subject than of her adviser, her face was as frank as the day. His hand quitted the reins a moment, taking hers and giving it a sort of 'right-hand-of-fellowship' clasp, glad and warm and earnest, as was his look.
"I am not going to ask you anymore questions," he said,—"you will tell me if there are any you wish answered."
Her "Thank you" was a little breathless.
For a while the old horse jogged on in his easy way, through the woods and the fall flowers and the sunny glow; and the eyes of the two travellers seemed to be busy therewith. Then Faith said with a little timid touch upon her voice,
"Mr. Linden—I suppose it was you that put a little green book in my basket last night?"