So we did. We ate and laughed and were glad together; we tidied the little house and then we sang and read. But all the time I noticed Mother looking at me in a new way, and sometimes the tears would come to her eyes, and it seemed as if she never passed me without dropping a hand on my head or my shoulder. And Jim was tender too. He neither teased me nor preached to me. He was just sweet. As for Pa, he asked me if I didn’t think all of our ways were laid out for us by One Who Knew What Was Best. Oh, yes, it surely was a day long to be remembered. But it surprised me a little when they urged me to start on my way. “You mustn’t be out after dark, my dear,” said Mother McBirney, patting my hand. “I want to think of you as safe at the Shoals before the twilight comes. So you’d better be on your way, honey-girl.” “But I want to stay,” I pleaded. “No, no,” she laughed, “you want to go. You may not know it, but you do.” So among them they got me into my things and onto my horse. I miss my little Paprika when I ride these mountain roads, and sometimes wish I could buy her back again. The horse I ride is from the Carson stables, of course, and is a fine, gentle creature which Mrs. Carson often uses and which knows every inch of the way. To my surprise, Jim insisted on coming along. “But no,” I said. “What is the use, Jim? Stay with the folks.” “I need exercise, sister,” he answered, still in that surprisingly gentle way. “You must let me do what I like when I am home so seldom. I get discipline enough at college.” So off we went together, just as we used in the old days when we were boy and girl. “Jim,” I said, “you aren’t at all sorry that you chose to be a minister?” I never had had a chance to ask him this, seriously, and I was glad of the opportunity. “Sis,” he said, “every day of my life I am more and more thankful that I decided to be one. It is only that—only living the best I can and giving all my heart and life to the service of the God who made this beautiful earth and our wonderful bodies and souls—that can satisfy me. I must do it. I live in the thought of it.” I looked at him as he rode beside me and saw how his face had strengthened and beautified, and I wondered how such things happened; how it was that little commonplace teasing boys grew up to be men like the one beside me. “Oh, Jim,” I cried, holding out my hand to him, “I congratulate you from my deepest heart. I feared that your taking up of the ministry might be a mood; that you might change. But now I see you never will. You will be a tower of strength, brother Jim, and in the years to come when I am troubled about life, I shall come to you for help.” “It is you who always have helped me, Zalie,” he said. “It is you who are making it possible now for me to prepare for my great work.”