“I suppose that I might take that for a compliment,” said Alicia, smiling, “but for the qualifying _may_. Now tell me the truth, Robin: did you not think three years ago that there was more of poetry than of wisdom in Harold’s engagement—in short, that he had made a little mistake?” Robin smiled. “I am not bound to confess what I thought,” he replied. “Silence often tells as much as speech. You did not think that Harold had made a little, but perhaps a _great_ mistake,” suggested Alicia. “Sister dear, I own that you looked to me too fine—too much of a delicate drawing-room belle to be suited for a mission Mem,” was the candid reply; “but I only proved myself to be—a donkey.” “No, Robin; you were perfectly right,” said Alicia frankly. “My Harold _did_ run a great risk, and _I_ showed—well—presumption. I was far too ignorant, too weak, too self-willed, for a missionary’s wife. Had I always remained as I was when my Harold put this gold ring on my finger, I should have been utterly unfit for my position; I should have been a clog instead of a help. But I hope that I have learned something from our father’s wisdom, your plain speaking, and my dear husband’s patient love; I have also learned something from seeing my own mistakes.” “Most of all from the Book which is our guide in every stage of our lives,” said Robin. “But I am still a long way from being a good mission Mem,” said Alicia. “I have now a much higher standard than was mine three years ago, and I feel how very far I fall short of it. Miranda, who was then a poor, ignorant heathen, makes now a better worker than I do.” “But do we not owe Miranda to _you_?” cried Robin, in his old impetuous manner. “You pitied her, you rescued her, you brought her amongst us, you have taught her all that she knows.” “No, Robin; the most precious knowledge of all was, by God’s grace, imparted through you.” Robin’s eyes glistened with inexpressible joy. He thought, but his lips were silent, that such a privilege might well repay the toil of a lifetime. Alicia, who had paused a little in her occupation, now resumed it with redoubled energy. She had not looked so fair in Robin’s eyes in her wedding-dress of white satin as she did now in her simple pink print, with her sleeves tucked up and her slender hands all whitened with flour. Robin watched his sister as she mixed and stirred and kneaded. “Harold is very happy,” he said at last in a dreamy tone. “There is no doubt that ‘two pull together, when yoked twain and twain,’ far better than a solitary worker.” “That line was written for mission maidens,” observed Alicia; “they are usually placed two and two in their stations.”