"It has brought me all that I needed. Daily bread, daily possibilities of helpfulness,--I don't ask more, except 'more light.'" "It sounds a little presumptuous coming from me, but perhaps I can help you towards your end, even as to 'more light.' At any rate, I'll try if you'll let me." She sat quite still. Finally she lifted up her eyes--and they were beautiful eyes, big and true--and said, the words coming softly forth: "It would be so wonderful." Lorenzo didn't speak. He felt choked and gasping. To him it was also "so wonderful," as wonderful as if he hadn't lived with it night and day ever since the first minute of knowing her. "I think I'd better go," he said very gently, realizing keenly that he must not press her in this first blush of the new spring-time. "I've 'made my picture' you know, and I won't let it fade, you may be sure. And you must believe in happiness for yourself,--you tell us that the first step is all that counts. Get the seed into the ground then. I'll do the rest." She sat quite still. "If I could only try," she whispered. He turned quickly away and was gone. After a dizzy little while she rose and went into the kitchen. Susan was moving briskly about. "Two cups flour, four teaspoonfuls baking powder, one of sugar, one of salt, two of butter, two of lard, cup half water, half milk, pour in pan greased and bake in hot oven. Scotch scone-bread for lunch," she said, almost suiting the deed to the word. "Is Mr. Rath still here?" "No, he's gone." "You know, Jane, he's caught your religion. I never heard anything like it. He's got the whole thing pat. I'd be almost scared to go round teaching a thing like that. Why, folks'll be doing anything they please soon. I've been wondering if I could get strong enough to kind of dispose of Matilda, in some perfectly right way, you know. I wouldn't think of anything that wasn't perfectly right, you know." Jane seemed a little numb and stood watching the buttering of the scone-pan without speaking. "I keep saying: 'Matilda doesn't want to come back. Matilda's disposed of in a perfectly pleasant way.' I've been saying it ever since I began on those scones. I guess I've said it twenty times, and I'm beginning to make a real impression on myself. I'm beginning to feel sure God is fixing things up. It's too beautiful to feel God taking an interest in your affairs. Matilda doesn't want to come home. Matilda is completely disposed of in a perfectly pleasant way." Susan's accents were very emphatic.