December, 1914
Starward A STORY B y L ouise H arrison M c C raw
I t w a s the day before Christmas Eve. Marion Berkeley watched the clock, and the snowflakes. The icy wind from an open window blew her flaxen hair into her eyes and sent a shiver through her small, muscular body. But what did it matter? Nothing mattered much; the pain in her heart was so acute that physical discomfort served only as a counterirritant. At four o’clock, she had an appointment with the man who had been giving the Foundation Lectures for the col lege this year. It might be that he could suggest some work in which she could lose herself. At any rate, it would be a relief just to talk with a man like that—to tell him things she had not been able to tell any of her uncle’s family, with whom She had made her home since childhood. She pulled down the window, jammed on a last winter’s hat without looking into the mirror, put on her coat, and started to ward the college chapel. Dr. Fenwick had said he would be in the conference room to the right of the chapel, so she walked boldly toward it, ig n o rin g the curious glances of some of the college boys who were hanging around. Dr. Fenwick saw her through the window, and had the door open for her before she knocked. He was big and tall and loose-jointed, with rug ged features, iron-gray hair, and blue-gray eyes somewhat like her own; his tones were reassuring, somehow; and right away Marion felt i f had not been silly for her to come. As she took the chair he placed for her, she said, “I don’t know whether you can help me o r not; but I believe you know God, and I am so miserable that I felt I must The author of this three-installment story is the secretary o f the Braille Circulating Library, Y. M. C. A. Building, Rich mond, Va. The work is operated along faith lines; as the Lord provides the means, sound, helpful Christian literature is fur nished, free of charge, to hundreds of blind readers .— E ditor .
have somebody who really knows Him, to plead my case.” “Now, just what is it you want of God, my child?” “I want what I believe every child of God deserves— happiness.” “It might be well, you know, not to use that word ‘de serve’ in connection with ourselves, but we can certainly agree that happiness is the natural heritage of every child of God. If one does not have it, he must be selling his birth right, either consciously or unconsciously. I am so glad you are sure that you are one of His children, because we must be sure of our base, you know, before we can follow anything to its logical conclusion.” “Yes, I am surd about that. A young woman who rep resented some sort of religious organization came to my col lege during my senior year, and in an interview I had with her, she made plain to me what ‘receiving Christ’ meant and showed me the promise in the Bible that if I would ‘receive Him,’ I would be one of the ‘sons of God.’ I am very sure I did this then, and it was only that little spark of faith that has kept me from desperation these past two years. But, Dr. Fenwick, it doesn’t keep me from being miserable now. You are a mind reader. You probably know that a love affair is at the bottom of all this. But, oh, don’t think it was an ordinary love affair! It wasn’t. It swept me off my feet. That was happiness! “I met him at a fraternity dance during my senior year, and he was all I had dreamed of—my fairy prince brought over from childhood—tall and dark and splendid-looking. He always knew what to do and say. And brilliant, too! Just graduated from law school, and in spite of all that, he wasn’t conceited! He seemed to have no thought for him self—or anybody else, but me. For a year and a half, I simply walked on air. He wrote every day —didn’t forget every now and then, as most boys would. He never for-
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