summerhouse on a drowsy afternoon, or in the glimmering twilight
when that one very bright and knowing star peered in at her,
solitary, on the side porch, or when, later, the moonshine stole
through the window and onto her pillow, so thick and white she could
almost feel it with her fingers--at such times vague fancies would
get tangled up with the facts of reality, and disturb her new,
assured sense of wisdom. Suddenly she'd find herself all mixed up,
confused as to what actually was and wasn't.

But she never worried long over that. Life was too complex to permit
much time for worry over anything; too full and compelling in every
minute of the long, long hours which yet seemed not long enough to
hold the new experiences and emotions which ceaselessly flooded in
upon her.

The emotion she felt this Sunday was utterly new. It was not
contentment nor enjoyment merely, nor just happiness. For, in the
morning as mother dressed her in her embroidered white "best" dress,
and as she walked through the June sunshine to the Presbyterian
church, trying to remember not to skip, she had been quite happy.
And she had still felt happy during the Sunday-school lesson, while
Miss Simpson explained how our Lord multiplied the loaves and fishes
so as to feed the multitude. How wonderful it must have been to be
alive when our Lord walked and talked among men!

Her feeling of peaceful contentment intensified a little when they
all stood up to sing,

"Let me be a little sunbeam for Jesus--" and she seemed, then, to
feel a subtle sort of glow, as from an actual sunbeam, warming her