words. The man in him suddenly
perceived, though vaguely, something of what God meant when He made
the woman. Power shone through the beauty in her face; but power
ready to lay itself aside; ready to help, not lead. Made the most
tender, because most perfect outcome and blossom of humanity, woman
accepts her conditions, as God Himself accepts his own, when He
hides Himself away under limitations, that the secret force may lie
ready to the work man thinks he does upon the earth and with it. In
dumb, waiting nature, his own very Self bides subject; yes, and in
the things of the Spirit, He gives his Son in the likeness of a
servant. He lays _help_ upon him; He lays help for man upon the
woman. He took her nearest to Himself when He made her to be a help
meet in all things to his Adam-child. To "_help_" is to do the work
of the world.

Ray's face shone with the splendor of self-forgetting, when she said
that she would "help, somewhere."

What made him suddenly think of his own work? What made him say,
with a flash in his eyes,--

"I've got a job of my own, Ray, at last. Did you know it?"

"I'm _very_ glad," said Ray, earnestly. "What is it?"

"A house at Pomantic. Rather a shoddy kind of house,--flashy, I
mean, and ridiculously grand; but it's work; and somebody has to
build all sorts, you know. When I build _my_ house--well, never
mind! Holder has put this contract right into my hands to carry out.
He'll step over and look round, once in a while, but I'm to have the
care of it straight through,--stock, work, and all; and I'm to have
half the profits. Isn't that high of Holder? He has his hands full,
you know, at River Point. There's no end of building there, this
year a whole street going up--with Mansard roofs, of course.
Everything is going into this house that _can_ go into a house; and
to see that it gets in right will be--practice, anyhow."

Sunderline chattered on like a boy; almost like a girl, telling Ray
what he was so glad of. And Ray listened, her cheek glowing; she was
so glad to be told.

He had not said a word of this to Marion Kent that afternoon, when
she had stopped him at her window, going by. He had stood there a
few minutes, leaning against the white fence, and looking across the
little door-yard, to answer the questions she asked him; about the
Ingrahams, the questions were; but he did not offer to come nearer.

Marion was sewing on a rich silk dress, sea-green in color; it
glistened as she