"She had short hair," said Mrs. Jones, "for she pulled off her hat and
ran her fingers through it just like a boy. I was cutting bread at the
pantry window when she drove up and I couldn't help seeing her."
"Oh, when my sister was up in New York this spring she said she saw
several old gray-haired women with bobbed hair. She said it was
something terrible to see how the world had run to foolishness."
"Well, I don'no as it's wicked to bob your hair," said Mrs. Jones. "I
suppose it does save some time taking care of it if you have curly
hair, and it looks good on you, but mercy! It attracts so much
attention. Well, I'm glad we don't live in New York! I declare, every
time I come to church and hear Mr. Severn preach I just want to thank
God that my lines are cast in Sabbath Valley. But speaking of going to
boarding school, it didn't hurt Marilyn Severn to go. She's just as
sweet and unspoiled as when she went away."
"Oh, her! You couldn't spoil her. She's all
spirit. She's got both her father's and mother's souls mixed up
in her and you couldn't get a better combination. I declare I often
wonder the devil lets two such good people live. I suppose he doesn't
mind as long's he can confine 'em to a little place among the hills.
But my soul! If those two visitors didn't need a sermon to-night I
never saw folks that did. Do you know, when that man came last night in
a broken down car he swore so he woke us all up, all around the
neighborhood. If it had been anybody else in town but Mr. Severn he'd
been driven out or tarred and feathered. Well, good-night. I guess you
aren't afraid to walk the rest of the way alone."
Back in the church Marilyn had lingered at the organ, partly because
she dreaded going back to the house while the two strangers were there,
partly because it was only at the organ that she could seem to let her
soul give voice to the cry of its longing. All day she had prayed while
going quietly about her Sabbath duties. All day she steadily held
herself to the tasks that were usually her joy and delight, though
sometimes it seemed that she could not go on with them. Billy and Mark!
Where were they? What had their absence to do with one another? Somehow
it comforted her a little to think of them both away, and then
again it disquieted her. Perhaps, oh, perhaps Mark had really changed
as people said he had. Perhaps he had taken Billy to a baseball game
somewhere. In New York or many other places that would not seem an
unusual thing, she knew, not so much out of the way. Even church
members were lenient about these things in the great world. It would
not be strange if Mark had grown lax. But here in Sabbath Valley public
opinion on the keeping of the Sabbath day was so strong that it meant a
great deal. It amounted to public disgrace to disregard the ordinary
rules of Sabbath; for in Sabbath Valley working and playing were alike
laid aside for the entire twenty-four hours, the housewives prepared
their dinner the day before, an unusually good one always, with some
delectable dessert that would keep on ice, and everything as in the
olden time was prepared in the home for a real keeping of a day of rest
and enjoyment of the Lord. Even the children had special pasttimes that
belonged to that day only, and Marilyn Severn still cherished a box of
wonderful stone blocks that had been her most precious possessions as a
child, and had been used for Sabbath amusement. With these blocks she
built temples, laid out cities, went through mimic battles of the Bible
until every story lived as real as if she had been there. There were
three tiny blocks, one a quarter of a cube which she always called
Saul, and two half the size that were David and Jonathan. So vivid and
so happy were those Sunday afternoons with mother and father and the
blocks. Sabbath devoted to the pursuance of heavenly things had meant
real joy to Marilyn. The calm and quiet of it were delight. It had been
the hardest thing about her years in the world that there seemed to be
so little Sabbath there. Only by going to her own room and fencing
herself away from her friends, could she get any semblance of what had
been so dear to her, that feeling of leisure to talk and think about
Christ, her dearest friend. I grant she was an unusual girl. There is
now and then an unusual girl. We do not always hear about them. They
are not always beautiful nor gifted. It chanced that Marilyn was all
three.