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 "Well, suppose they don't. What then? That all happened at the time of the flood;" said Marjorie, a little smile coming about the corners of her mouth at the sound of the phrase.

The man only bent his head lower. "Yes," he said, "belabor me. I deserve it. I was 'a broken reed.' I thought, at first, that you were going to help me with kind words; but, like the rest, you don't understand."

Marjorie sat up very straight. "Now listen," she said; "You say that you want me to help you with kind words. All right, I'll doit. Here they are. That did happen at the time of the flood; and it's just as past as Noah's flood is; so what's the use of holding its carcass up close to you and petting it and mourning over it? Why don't you bury it and go to work?"

The man looked at her, astonished, for a moment; then he heaved another great sigh. "You're like the rest; you don't understand;" he said, wearily. "You'll never know how I suffered. You don't understand."

"Yes I do," said Marjorie; "I do understand, and I sympathize; but can't you see that this thing that you say is crushing you, is dead; so what is the use of carrying it around with you? Throw it off."

"I can't," he said; "It is my badge of weakness. I cannot work, and the fear of coming to want, never leaves me. I will have to go back