Though Mark had scarcely slept at all the night before he was on hand
long before the city-bred youth was awake, taking apart the big machine
that stood in front of the parsonage. Like a skillful physician he
tested its various valves and compartments, went over its engine
carefully, and came at last to the seat of the trouble which the
minister had diagnosed the night before.
Lynn with dark circles under her eyes had wakened early and slipped
down to the kitchen to help her mother and the little maid of all work
who lived down the street and was a member of the Sunday School and an
important part of the family. It was Naomi who discovered the young
mechanic at the front door. There was not much that Naomi did not see.
She announced his presence to Marilyn as she was filling the salt
cellars for breakfast. Marilyn looked up startled, and met her mother's
eyes full of comfort and reassurance. Somehow when Mark came quietly
about in that helpful way of his it was impossible not to have the old
confidence in him, the old assurance that all would soon be right, the
old explanation that Mark was always doing something quietly for others
and never taking care for himself.
Marilyn let her lips relax into a
smile and went about less heavy of heart. Surely, surely, somehow, Mark
would clear himself of these awful things that were being said about
him. Surely the day would bring forth a revelation. And Mark's action
last night when he refused to speak with her, refused to let her touch
his arm, and called himself unworthy was all for her sake; all because
he did not want her name sullied with a breath of the scandal that
belonged to him. Mark would be that way. He would protect her always,
even though he did not belong to her, even though he were not her
friend.
She was almost cheerful again, when at last the dallying guests
appeared for a late breakfast. Mark was still working at the car,
filing something with long steady grinding noises. She had seen him
twice from the window, but she did not venture out. Mark had not wished
her to speak to him, she would not go against his wish,--at least not
now--not until the guests were out of the way. That awful girl should
have no further opportunity to say things to her about Mark. She would
keep out of his way until they were gone. Oh, pray that the car would
be fixed and they pass on their way at once! Later, if there were
opportunity, she would find a way to tell Mark that he should not
refuse her friendship. What was friendship if it could not stand the
strain of falsehood and gossip, and even scandal if necessary. She was
not ashamed to let Mark know she would be his friend forever. There was
nothing unmaidenly in that. Mark would understand her. Mark had always
understood her. And so she cheered her heavy heart through the
breakfast hour, and the foolish jesting of the two that sounded to her
anxious ears, in the language of scripture, like the "crackling of
thorns under a pot."