313
July 1931
T h e
K i n g ’ s
B u s i n e s s
THE RETURN „/ î LTIDE A Serial Story . . . By ZENOBIA BIRD
to clerk in a store if they would give me a chance, but of course I have had no expe rience in selling anything.” They were quiet for a little time, and then Joyce asked, “May I tell Father?” “Anything you want to,” Marian an swered after a moment. It was getting late as they climbed down from the rock and returned to find the pic nic supper all spread. They made a merry meal of it, and it was not until the last mouthful was eaten and the last plate and spoon tucked into the hamper that they mentioned the problem that Marian was facing. And then in the soft sunset light,
[Never a strong Christian, Marian Linton had fast been losing her little faith, as Nelson Bar rington, in vacation visits, had confronted her with the modern philosophies of his college. When her only brother had been involved in a crooked deal and had fled, when both parents were suddenly taken from her, when her finan cial resources had failed, and when Nelson, too, had disappointed her, she felt that the tide of love and joy had permanently receded from her life, leaving her nothing but dry barenness. But in the providence of God, the lonely girl found her way to the home of Joyce Goodwin, a former school acquaintance who lived in a dis tant city. There, in the quiet atmosphere of a happy Christian home, her stony heart was soft ened, until one night she was able to kneel in prayer beside her friend, and to renew her trust in the Lord.\ C h a p t e r IV
“We will help you all we can to find something, Mar ian,” Mr. Goodwin said gently, “but until you do, and then after you do, we want you always to feel that your home is with us. You are to be Our other daughter. While we have a home, it is your home always to come back to when you will.” Marian could not keep back the happy tears. Truly God was giving her a ray of His own glorious light, as she stood there—in the dark, but trusting Him. A quiet but happy Sunday followed, and then Marian started out on what seemed to her the great adventure of her life, that of hunting a position. She and Joyce walked along together discussing the various possibilities. She had names and addresses, and a note or two of intro duction. “Be real courageous,” Joyce whispered, as she left her at the door of the biggest department store in the town. Marian entered the store. It was early, and the clerks were moving leisurely about chatting among themselves. “Can I do anything for you?” politely asked one of the girls. “Could I see Mr. Burling, please?” “Mr. Burling isn’t in yet. Would any one else do?” Marian fingered her card of introduction, that magic bit of pasteboard that was to give her an audience with the great merchant. “No, thank you. I think I had better see Mr. Burling. When will he be in?” “About ten this morning,” the girl answered. “Thank you. I guess I will come back.” She walked around a few blocks to kill time, and then came to the next address on her list, an imposing-looking bank. Here she was just too late; the banker was about to go into a committee meeting. So she went back to the de partment store. As she entered, the girl who had first spoken to her looked up. “You wanted to see Mr. Burling,” she said pleasantly. “He has come in. You will find his office on the second floor.” Marian followed directions and soon found herself in a large, handsomely furnished office, facing an efficient looking young woman.
h e n e x t d a y was a happier one than Marion Linton had known in months. They all went for a picnic in a ruggedly beautiful spot some miles from the town. In the afternoon, Marian and Joyce, leav ing the father and mother to rest and read, climbed a steep hill, and reaching the top, they scrambled up a great rock and perched on the very pinnacle. “Oh, what a glorious view!” Marian gasped raptur ously. “Isn’t it wonderful!” they exclaimed again and again, as Joyce pointed out the neighboring hilltops and a bit of scenery here and there. A dainty little chipmunk scamp ered near them, while a sturdy woodchuck sat up and re garded them gravely. As they sat there on the rock, Marian told Joyce everything. She told of the hank fail ures and the stock that had suddenly become almost worthless. She told of the wayward brother for whom their father had sacrificed his all in order to clear his good name. Bob did not know that the debt had been paid. He was wandering somewhere on the earth with all that bur den of guilt and shame still hanging heavy upon him. And then she told of her, own financial straits. She had no home, no money, no work, and no training to make a living. But she must do something; she did not know what, or where. Joyce listened, her heart aching with sympathy for her friend. “You will not go one step from our house, Marian Linton,” she said emphatically, “until you have found some work that suits you—not if you have to stay a year.” “Oh yes, I will, Joy. I appreciate your goodness, but I cannot stay here—a dependent. I hesitated to come at all, not knowing what I was going to do next, hut now I know God led me here. I must begin at once to try to find something to do.” “You do not know stenography or typewriting?” “Not a thing. I have had a good musical education, but I am not trained to teach, and anyway I could never get enough piano pupils to keep me. I think I could learn
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