e was a nice-looking young man, with an unaffected
manner, and he preached to the packed congregation as if he were talking
quietly and simply to one person; at least, it seemed so to Molly. The
sermon was a short address on "Faith." It contained no impassioned
eloquence nor fiery exhortations, but it impressed the students
profoundly.

"Don't try to instruct God about the management of your lives," he said,
"any more than you would direct a wise and kind master who employed you
to work on his estate. All the Great Master asks of you is to work well
and honestly. The reward is sure to come. You cannot hurry it and you
cannot make it greater than you deserve. It is useless to struggle and
rage inwardly. Is not that being rather like a spoiled child, who lies
on the floor and kicks and screams because his mother won't give him any
more cake? Just put your affairs in the hands of God and go quietly
along, doing the best you can. All of a sudden the conditions you once
struggled against will cease to exist, and before you have realized it,
the thing you asked for is yours."

Lots of people, the minister said, prayed a great deal without believing
that their prayers would be heard. It reminded him of a little anecdote.

"One Sunday morning during a terrible drought a country preacher knelt
in the midst of his family at home and prayed earnestly for rain. When
it was time to start for church, the minister noticed that his little
daughter was carrying an umbrella.

"'Why do you take an umbrella, my child?' he asked, glancing at the
cloudless sky.

"'Didn't you just pray for rain, father?' she answered.

"All the learning of the ages is not greater than the simple faith of a
little child," finished the young preacher.

And now the sermon was over and the girls were chatting in groups
outside the Chapel, or strolling along the sidewalk arm in arm. Molly
had withdrawn from her companions for a moment and was standing alone in
a corner of the vestibule.

"I'm afraid I've been acting just like the little child who threw
himself on the floor and kicked and screamed for more cake," she was
thinking. "I suppose another year at college is just like a nice big
hunk of chocolate cake and it wouldn't be good for mental digestion. I
might as well stop struggling and begin to cram mathematics. That's the
hardest thing I have, and I ought to get in as much of it as I can
before I go."

"Perhaps you won't have to go at all," spoke