"
Dick told her of their plan; how his friend, the captain, had arranged
for her to live with his brother on a farm in northern Missouri, and
that they only wanted her consent to start at once. Would she go?
"But how can I? I have no money, and I have never been taught to work."
"Miss Goodrich," answered Dick, "can you not trust me?"
Amy was silent.
"You must let me help you in this. Thank God, I can do it now. Prove
to me that you are still my friend, by letting me make this investment
for Christ. Will you?"
The next day they bade good-bye to the sturdy soldiers of the cross
who had been so true to them, and started on their westward journey.
Dick saw Amy safe in her new home, and then with a promise that she
would write to him regularly, and an agreement that he would send her
letters and papers addressed to the people with whom she lived, he
left her; satisfied that she was in kind hands, and that a new life
was open before her.
But when Dick was once more aboard the train, alone with his thoughts,
without the anxiety for Amy's immediate welfare upon his mind, the
struggle of his life began. He loved Amy dearly; had loved her almost
from the moment she came into George Udell's printing office three
years ago; loved her in spite of the difference in their position,
when he was only a tramp and she was the favored daughter of wealth;
when he was an unbeliever and she was a worker in the church; loved
her when he saw her losing her hold on the higher life and drifting
with the current; loved her when she left home, and as he thought,
honor behind.
Pages:
241
242
243
244
245
246
247
248
249
250
251
252
253
254
255
256
257
258
259
260
261
262
263
264
265