Cis looked up, then she looked down, for tears stood in her eyes. “Would you really call it my hand?” she asked. “Ah, well, the nails which hold the wall together do not drive themselves,” said Jeanette. “Cis, do you remember Mr. Singer, of the telephone office at home? I saw him lately; he asked about you. He told me that, although he was forced to dismiss you from the office for what you did, because it was a flagrant break of their rules, still he admired you exceedingly for it, as well as for your qualities as he knew them. He said that they were making a department of welfare work for their employees, and that he knew no one whom he would so well like to have over it as you. He said that if I came in contact with you he should be grateful if I would tell you this, and ask you to communicate with him. He said that he wanted a girl of high character, integrity, kindness, and someone able to entertain and attract the girls whom she looked after; he added that you were the one above all others whom he had in mind. So I’m handing on the message, in spite of disloyalty to Uncle Wilmer! You can think it over. At least your dismissal, Cicely, is thus squared off! Mr. Singer did not betray that he knew it was I who was involved in your violation of the rule of the company, but I’m sure that he did. Do you want to come home again, Cis? It’s good for you to be here, but I’m selfish enough to wish you were at home again.” “That was nice of Mr. Singer; thank you for telling me, Jeanette. I don’t know what I want to do; I’m all at loose ends in my mind, but I think, after I’ve boiled for awhile, I’ll settle down; not boil over,” said Cis. “It takes a long time to get one’s bearings after an earthquake,” agreed Jeanette. “I’ve been wretched, unhappy, bitter, bewildered; I’m better. But, Cis, you don’t look like any of these things; you look good, sweet and good, and--well, _clear_ is the word! It isn’t going to be a vocation, is it?” “For a convent? Oh, no; I’m afraid not. I’m not that sort; I’m active. Do you suppose there ever was a red-haired contemplative? Even though the hair was cut off when she was professed? I doubt it! You were always so good!” cried Cis. “I don’t know, I don’t know! I wish I might go,” cried Jeanette. “It seems mean to offer yourself to God because a man failed you.” “It wouldn’t be that; it would be that a man showed you that only God was worth loving,” Cis corrected her with the insight that was new to her. “If God wanted you, why would you care how He got you? I can see that there are all sorts of ways.” “My dear, my dear, you have travelled far in a short while!” said Jeanette; then sighed and smiled. “We have come to the end of our talk; there is no more after that. Come back to Miss Braithwaite and my uncle.”