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.

At ten Marjorie had read _Pilgrim's Progress_ intensely. Timidly, with
shining eyes, she stood one moment upon the red mat outside the parlor
door, and then, with sudden courage, turned the knob and entered. At a
glance she felt that there was no need of courage; Evangelist was seated
comfortably in the horse-hair rocker with his feet to the fire resting on
the camp stool; he did not look like Evangelist at all, she thought,
disappointedly; he reminded her altogether more of a picture of Santa
Claus: massive head and shoulders, white beard and moustache, ruddy
cheeks, and, as the head turned quickly at her entrance, she beheld,
beneath the shaggy, white brows, twinkling blue eyes.

"Ah," he exclaimed, in an abrupt voice, "you are the little girl they
were expecting home from school."

"Yes, sir."