"Does the time when we desire make any difference?" asked Linnet, interestedly.
There were some kind of questions that Linnet liked to ask.
"Does it not make all the difference? Suppose we think of something we want while we are ease-loving, forgetful of duty, selfish, unforgiving, neither loving God or our neighbor, when we feel far from him, instead of near him, can we believe that we shall have such a heart's desire as that would be? Would your desire be according to his will, his unselfish, loving, forgiving will?"
"No, oh, no," said Linnet, earnestly. "But I do think about father and mother and Marjorie going to school and--when I am praying."
"Then ask for everything you desire while you are praying; don't be afraid."
"Not troubled, really; only perplexed a little over something we have been planning about; and she is very glad, too."
"I don't like to have her troubled, because her heart hurts her when she worries. Marjorie don't know that, but she told me. That's one reason--my strongest reason--for being sorry about going to Boston."
"But your father is with her and he will watch over her."
"But she depends on _me_," pleaded Linnet.
"Marjorie is growing up," said Miss Prudence, hopefully.
"Marjorie! It doesn't seem to me that she will ever grow up; she is such a little puss, always absent-minded, with a book in her hand. And she can't mend or sew or even make cake or clear up a room neatly. We spoil her, mother and I, as much as she spoils her kitten, Pusheen. Did you know that _pusheen_ is Irish for puss? Mr. Holmes told us. I do believe he knows everything."
"He comes nearer universal knowledge than the rest of us," said Miss Prudence, smiling at the girl's eagerness.
"But he's a book himself, a small volume, in fine print, printed in a language that none of us can read," said Linnet.
"To most people he is," granted Miss Prudence; "but when he was seven I was ten, I was a backward child and he used to read to me, so he is not a dead language to me."
Linnet pulled at the fringe of her white shawl; Will Rheid had brought that shawl from Ireland a year ago.
"Miss Prudence, _do_ we have right desires, desires for things God likes, while we are praying?"
"If we feel his presence, if we feel as near to him as Mary sitting at the feet of Christ, if we thank him for his unbounded goodness, and ask his forgiveness for our sins with a grateful, purified, and forgiving heart, how can we desire anything selfish--for our own good only and not to honor him, anything unholy, anything that it would hurt him to grant; if our heart is ever one with his heart, our will ever one with his will, is it not when we are nearest to him, nearest in obeying, or nearest in praying? Isn't there some new impulse toward the things he loves to give us every time we go near to him?"