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+The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Girl from Arizona, by Nina Rhoades,
+Illustrated by Elizabeth Withington
+
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+
+
+
+Title: The Girl from Arizona
+
+
+Author: Nina Rhoades
+
+
+
+Release Date: May 18, 2010  [eBook #32417]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII)
+
+
+***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GIRL FROM ARIZONA***
+
+
+E-text prepared by Emmy, Darleen Dove, and the Project Gutenberg Online
+Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from page images
+generously made available by Internet Archive (http://www.archive.org)
+
+
+
+Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
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+      See 32417-h.htm or 32417-h.zip:
+      (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/32417/32417-h/32417-h.htm)
+      or
+      (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/32417/32417-h.zip)
+
+
+      Images of the original pages are available through
+      Internet Archive. See
+      http://www.archive.org/details/girlfromarizona00rhoarich
+
+
+
+
+
+THE GIRL FROM ARIZONA
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+BOOKS BY NINA RHOADES
+
+        MARION'S VACATION. Illustrated. 12mo. Cloth. $1.25
+        DOROTHY BROWN. Illustrated. 12mo. Cloth.     $1.50
+        VICTORINE'S BOOK. Illustrated. 12mo. Cloth.  $1.25
+
+FOR YOUNGER READERS
+
+"THE BRICK HOUSE BOOKS"
+
+The sight of the brick house on the cover makes girl readers happy at
+once.--_Indianapolis News._
+
+Illustrated. Large 12mo. Cloth. $1.00 each
+
+          ONLY DOLLIE
+          THE LITTLE GIRL NEXT DOOR
+          WINIFRED'S NEIGHBORS
+          THE CHILDREN ON THE TOP FLOOR
+          HOW BARBARA KEPT HER PROMISE
+          LITTLE MISS ROSAMOND
+          PRISCILLA OF THE DOLL SHOP
+          BRAVE LITTLE PEGGY
+          THE OTHER SYLVIA
+          MAISIE'S MERRY CHRISTMAS
+          LITTLE QUEEN ESTHER
+
+          LOTHROP, LEE & SHEPARD CO.
+          BOSTON
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+[Illustration: "AREN'T YOU GOING TO BE FRIENDS WITH ME?"--_Page 225._]
+
+
+THE GIRL FROM ARIZONA
+
+by
+
+NINA RHOADES
+
+Author of The "Brick House Books," "Marion's Vacation,"
+"Dorothy Brown," Etc.
+
+Illustrated by Elizabeth Withington
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+Boston
+Lothrop, Lee & Shepard Co.
+
+Published, August, 1913
+
+Copyright, 1913, by
+Lothrop, Lee & Shepard Co.
+
+All Rights Reserved
+
+THE GIRL FROM ARIZONA
+
+Norwood Press
+Berwick & Smith Co.
+Norwood, Mass.
+U. S. A.
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS
+
+
+        CHAPTER                                    PAGE
+            I MAKING THE BEST OF THINGS               1
+           II THE COMING OF UNDINE                   13
+          III TRYING TO REMEMBER                     29
+           IV A VISITOR FROM THE EAST                43
+            V UNCLE HENRY'S PROPOSITION              58
+           VI THE LAST EVENING                       70
+          VII MARJORIE WRITES LETTERS                81
+         VIII AUNT JULIA AND ELSIE                   91
+           IX MARJORIE TAKES A MORNING WALK         110
+            X NEW FRIENDS AND NEW FASHIONS          127
+           XI MARJORIE ENGAGES IN BATTLE            137
+          XII A MOTOR RIDE AND A FOOTBALL GAME      155
+         XIII MARJORIE SURPRISES HER RELATIVES      170
+          XIV THE POETRY CLUB                       182
+           XV ELSIE TRIUMPHS                        197
+          XVI THE THINGS THAT HURT                  216
+         XVII BEVERLY SINGS "MANDALAY"              236
+        XVIII IN THE SUNNY SOUTH                    254
+          XIX A VIRGINIA CHRISTMAS                  266
+           XX MARJORIE SEES A PHOTOGRAPH            275
+          XXI UNDINE REMEMBERS                      290
+         XXII UNDINE TELLS HER STORY                306
+        XXIII BREAKING THE NEWS                     317
+         XXIV MARJORIE HAS HER WISH                 331
+          XXV ELSIE REDEEMS HERSELF                 341
+
+
+
+
+ILLUSTRATIONS
+
+
+  "Aren't you going to be friends with me?" (Page 225)    _Frontispiece_
+
+                                                              FACING PAGE
+  "Where in the world did you come from?"                         20
+
+  With one quick movement she seized the whip handle             146
+
+  "Oh, Mother dear, I'm so sorry!"                               244
+
+  "Land sakes, Missy! What is it?"                               284
+
+  "It takes a lot of pluck to get up and say a thing like that"  354
+
+
+
+
+THE GIRL FROM ARIZONA
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I
+
+MAKING THE BEST OF THINGS
+
+
+"MARJORIE."
+
+The clear call rang out, breaking the afternoon stillness of the ranch,
+but there was no response, and after waiting a moment Miss Graham gave
+her wheeled chair a gentle push, which sent it rolling smoothly across
+the porch of the ranch house, down the inclined plane, which served the
+purpose of steps, to the lawn. It was very hot, the sun was blazing down
+as only an Arizona sun can blaze, and not a breath of air was stirring.
+But Miss Graham was accustomed to the heat and the glare. She paused for
+a moment, gazing off over the vast prairie to the California mountains,
+nearly a hundred miles away. She generally paused on that same spot for
+one look, although the landscape was the only one she had seen in twelve
+years. Then she moved on again, across the lawn, now parched and dry
+from the long summer's heat, toward the stables and out-buildings. It
+was before the smallest of these out-buildings, a tiny log cabin, that
+she finally brought the chair to a standstill.
+
+"Marjorie, are you there?"
+
+There was a sound of some one moving inside, and a girl of fourteen,
+with a book in her hand, appeared in the doorway. She was a pretty girl,
+with soft light hair that curled over her temples, and bright, merry
+blue eyes, but just now the eyes were red and swollen, and there were
+unmistakable tear-marks on the girl's cheeks. At sight of the lady in
+the wheeled chair, however, Marjorie's face brightened, and she hurried
+forward, exclaiming remorsefully:
+
+"Oh, Aunt Jessie dear, did you come all this way by yourself? I'm so
+sorry. Do you want me to do something for you?"
+
+"You needn't be sorry," said her aunt, smiling. "The exercise will do me
+good, and I am quite proud of being able to manage this chair so easily.
+I called you from the porch, but you didn't hear. Your mother and
+Juanita are busy in the kitchen making jam, and I wasn't of any use
+there, so I thought I would come and see what you were about. I felt
+pretty sure of finding you in the old playhouse."
+
+"Come in," said Marjorie, eagerly. "You haven't been in the playhouse in
+ages; not since I grew too big to invite you to 'make-believe' tea, but
+the door is just wide enough for the chair; don't you remember? Let me
+help you in?" And springing to Miss Graham's side, Marjorie seized the
+handle of the chair, and carefully guided it through the narrow
+entrance, into the little house her father had built for her own special
+use, and which had always been known as the playhouse. It might still
+have been regarded as a playhouse, although its owner had grown too old
+to play there. A couple of battered dolls reposed upon a toy bedstead in
+one corner, and an array of china dishes, all more or less the worse for
+wear, adorned the shelves. Marjorie loved her few possessions dearly,
+and in a place where one's nearest neighbor lives five miles away, there
+are not many people on whom to bestow things which have ceased to be
+useful to one's self, and they are therefore likely to be preserved.
+
+"Now we're all nice and cosy," remarked Marjorie, seating herself
+comfortably on the floor at her aunt's feet. "There wouldn't be room for
+another person in here, even if there were anybody to come. What good
+times we used to have here when I was little, didn't we, Aunt Jessie?"
+
+Marjorie spoke fast and nervously, but there were pink spots in her
+cheeks, and Miss Graham was not easily deceived.
+
+"What's the matter, Marjorie?" she asked simply. She and her niece had
+no secrets from each other.
+
+Marjorie tried to laugh, but her lip quivered, and the tears started to
+her eyes.
+
+"There isn't anything the matter," she said, frankly. "I've been a
+goose, that's all. It was all the fault of the book I was reading."
+
+"What book was it?" Miss Graham inquired curiously, glancing at the
+volume Marjorie was still holding in her hand.
+
+"It's called 'The Friendship of Anne,' and it's one of those in that box
+Father had sent from Albuquerque. It's all about a big boarding-school
+full of girls, and the good times they had there, but somehow it set me
+thinking, and--and, I don't know why, perhaps because it's been so hot
+and still all day, but I began to feel as if I wanted to cry, and so I
+came out here to have it out." Suddenly Marjorie dropped her head in her
+aunt's lap, with a sob.
+
+For a moment Miss Graham was silent. She stroked the soft, fluffy hair
+with her thin fingers, and a look of comprehension came into her face.
+When she spoke her voice was very gentle.
+
+"I understand, little girl," she said tenderly. "You haven't said much
+about it, but I know it was a big disappointment that Father couldn't
+afford to send you to school at Albuquerque this winter. It was a
+disappointment to all of us, much as we should have missed you, but it
+is one of those things everybody has to bear sometimes."
+
+"I know it," said Marjorie, checking her tears, and making a great
+effort to speak cheerfully. "It wasn't poor Father's fault that so many
+of the cattle died this year, or that the drought spoiled the alfalfa
+crop. I try to think that perhaps it's all for the best, and that if I
+really left you all, and went away to school, I might have died of
+homesickness. But when I read that story, and thought of all the people
+and things there are in the world that I've never seen, it was just a
+little bit hard to feel cheerful. Mother teaches me all she can, and so
+do you and Father, but I'm fourteen and a half, and I hate to think of
+growing up without any real education. If I were well educated, I might
+teach, and be a real help to you all, but there isn't anything I can do
+now but just sit still and make the best of things."
+
+"Making the best of things is what we all have to do," said Miss Graham,
+smiling rather sadly. "You do it very well, too, Marjorie dear. Your
+father and I were talking last evening of how bravely you have borne
+this disappointment. We all realize what it has meant to you, but we are
+not a family who are much given to talking about our troubles."
+
+"I know we're not," said Marjorie, "and I'm glad of it. How
+uncomfortable it would be if you and Mother were always saying you were
+sorry for each other, and if Father looked solemn every time a cow died.
+I should hate to be condoled with, and treated as if I needed pity, but
+still I can't help wishing sometimes that I could do some of the things
+other girls do. Why, just think, Aunt Jessie, I've never had a friend of
+my own age in my life. I've never been on a train, or seen a city since
+I can remember."
+
+Miss Graham continued to stroke the fluffy hair, and a troubled look
+came into her eyes.
+
+"I understand, dear," she said, "and I don't blame you in the least. I
+know the feelings of loneliness and longing too well for that."
+
+"Do you really, Aunt Jessie?" questioned Marjorie, looking up in
+surprise. "I didn't suppose you ever longed for anything; you're such
+an angel of patience. I suppose it's wrong, but I can't help being glad
+you do, though, because it makes it so much easier to explain things to
+you. I can't bear to have Father and Mother think I'm not perfectly
+happy and contented; it makes Father look so sad, and I know Mother
+worries about my education. I never thought of it before, but you were a
+girl, too, when you first came here, weren't you?"
+
+Miss Graham smiled. She was only twenty-eight, and girlhood did not seem
+so much a thing of the past, but Marjorie was fourteen, and to her
+twenty-eight seemed an age quite removed from all youthful aspirations.
+
+"I was just sixteen when we came out here," she said, "and it seemed
+very strange at first to be away from all my friends, but girl-like I
+enjoyed the change, and it was not for a year or two that I began to
+realize what life on an Arizona ranch really meant. Your father and
+mother were very good to me, but they were absorbed in each other, and
+in their work, and you were too little to be any real company to me.
+There was plenty of work to be done, and I tried to do my share, but
+there were many lonely times when I rebelled bitterly against fate. I
+used to think of those times later on, after the accident, and then it
+seemed strange that I should ever have fretted over such foolish
+trifles, but they were very real to me once."
+
+Marjorie took her aunt's hand and kissed it. Demonstrations of affection
+were rather rare in the Graham family, but the girl could never think of
+that accident without a lump rising in her throat. She had heard the
+story dozens of times. She had even a dim recollection of the day it had
+happened--the day on which her pretty, merry young aunt had started for
+a canter over the prairie, on a wild young bronco, and had been carried
+home white and unconscious, never to ride, or even walk again. Just how
+it had all happened nobody ever knew. An Indian boy, coming suddenly out
+of a cabin, had shouted and waved his hands to a companion. The noise
+had frightened the bronco, and he had dashed off at full speed, and
+Jessie Graham, experienced horsewoman though she was, had lost her
+balance, and been thrown violently to the ground, striking her back
+against a sharp stone. That was eight years ago, and during all that
+time her life had been passed, first in bed, and then in a wheeled
+chair.
+
+Marjorie rose suddenly. There were some things it wasn't possible to
+make the best of, and it was wisest not to talk about them.
+
+"It's getting a little cooler," she said irrelevantly; "I think I'll
+saddle Roland, and go for a ride before supper. You're an angel, Aunt
+Jessie, and I'm glad you told me how you used to feel. I'm ashamed of
+myself, but it makes the disappointment easier to bear because you
+understand. Shall I wheel you back to the house, or is there anything
+else I can do for you before I go?"
+
+Fifteen minutes later, Marjorie mounted astride her bay pony, was
+trotting briskly out over the prairie. Her aunt watched her from the
+porch of the ranch house.
+
+"Poor little girl," she said, with a sigh, as horse and rider
+disappeared from view in a cloud of dust, "she bears her disappointment
+bravely, but it's hard--hard for her, and for us all."
+
+A footstep was heard, and her sister-in-law, Marjorie's mother, came out
+on the porch. Mrs. Graham had once been very pretty, but twelve years of
+hard work, and constant anxiety as to ways and means, had brought a
+careworn expression into the eyes that were so like Marjorie's, and the
+hand she laid on the back of Miss Graham's chair was rough and hardened
+from housework.
+
+"It's been a hot day, hasn't it?" she said, "but it's cooler now," and
+she smiled the brave, cheerful smile she had never lost through all
+their troubles and anxieties. "Juanita and I have put up six dozen jars
+of blackberries to-day; not a bad day's record, is it? Have you heard
+the whistle of the East Bound?"
+
+"I am not sure; I thought I heard a whistle about half an hour ago, but
+I have been with Marjorie in the playhouse. We have been having a talk."
+
+"Has she said anything about her disappointment?"
+
+"Yes, a little. She is bearing it splendidly, but it is a real grief to
+her, notwithstanding."
+
+Mrs. Graham sighed.
+
+"I was afraid it would be," she said. "It would almost have broken my
+heart to part from her, but Donald and I had made up our minds to let
+her go. It seemed the only way of giving the child a chance in life, and
+now this disease among the cattle has put an end to everything. Donald
+says we may be able to send her next year, but she will be nearly
+sixteen then, and time is precious. I wish I knew more myself, so that I
+could help my little girl, but, like so many other girls, I wasted my
+time at school. O dear! if children only realized what an education
+might mean to them some day, they wouldn't fritter away their time, as
+half of them do."
+
+"Susie," said Miss Graham, impulsively, "have you ever thought of
+writing to your brother Henry about Marjorie?"
+
+The sensitive color rose in Mrs. Graham's cheeks, and for a moment she
+looked almost as pretty as in the days when Jessie, in the rapturous
+devotion of her teens, had considered her "the loveliest sister-in-law
+in the world."
+
+"Yes, I have thought of it," she said, "but--but somehow I haven't been
+able to make up my mind to do it. You know my family never approved of
+Donald's coming out here. My brother offered him a position in his
+office in New York, but Donald said he had no head for business, and he
+loves this wild life, hard as it has been. I have never let my people
+know of our difficulties; they would have been kind, I daresay, but one
+hates to ask favors."
+
+"I know," said Miss Graham, comprehendingly; "still, for Marjorie's
+sake--"
+
+Mrs. Graham looked troubled.
+
+"Donald and I were talking about it only last night," she said. "It
+isn't right to deprive the child of advantages she might have, but think
+of sending her all the way to New York, even if Henry and his wife were
+willing to take her. Albuquerque would have been different; she could at
+least have come home for the holidays, but New York--why, think of it,
+Jessie, she has never been away from us for a night in her life!"
+
+Mrs. Graham paused abruptly, her face contracted with pain. The tears
+started to Miss Jessie's eyes, but her voice was still quite firm when
+she spoke again.
+
+"It would be very hard," she said, "harder for us perhaps than for
+Marjorie herself, and yet if it were the best thing to do--"
+
+Here the conversation was interrupted by Juanita, the Mexican maid of
+all work, who appeared with the startling announcement that the jam was
+boiling over on the stove, and Mrs. Graham hurried away to the kitchen,
+leaving her sister-in-law to her own reflections.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II
+
+THE COMING OF UNDINE
+
+
+IN the meantime, Marjorie, quite unconscious of the anxieties of her
+family regarding her future, was cantering away over the prairie on her
+bay pony. Having passed the last buildings of the ranch, and trotted
+through the Indian village, where more than one woman, and numerous
+copper-colored children smiled a friendly greeting, she turned her
+pony's head in the direction of the railroad. The nearest town was more
+than twenty miles away, but the line of the Santa Fe Railroad ran within
+a comparatively short distance from the ranch, and twice every day the
+stillness was broken by the whistles of the east and west bound trains,
+as they rushed by on their way across the continent, from Los Angeles to
+Chicago. To watch the trains go by had been one of the amusements of
+Marjorie's life, ever since she could remember. When she was a little
+girl, it had been a great treat to be taken by her father, on his big
+chestnut horse, and to have him draw rein in full view of the tracks,
+and wait to see the great iron horse come rushing by. As soon as she was
+old enough to ride out by herself, this spot had become one of her
+favorite afternoon excursions. There was a wonderful fascination in
+watching the long line of sleepers and day coaches, filled with people,
+and to wonder where they could all be going, and speculate as to what
+might be happening on the other side of those moving windows. Sometimes
+of late the longing to know more of the outside world, and to follow
+those ever moving cars, had become almost irresistible.
+
+"If I could only take one real journey I believe I should be happy
+forever," she would say to herself, and the hope of going to school at
+Albuquerque, two hundred miles away, had filled her with a wild kind of
+joy that was not unmixed with fear. But now that hope had been crushed,
+for the present at least, and Marjorie, who was a sensible little soul,
+had decided that it might be wiser to avoid watching the trains go by
+just now. For a week she had kept away from the line, at the hours when
+trains were likely to pass, but this afternoon she felt more cheerful.
+The little talk with her aunt had done her good, and she resolved to
+take Aunt Jessie's advice, and try to make the best of things. So when
+the pony manifested a desire to take the familiar turning, she let him
+have his way, and trotted on quite cheerfully toward the railroad.
+
+"I'm afraid we're too late to-day, Roland," she remarked aloud, as the
+pony plodded on bravely through the dust and heat. "I didn't hear the
+whistle, but I'm sure the East Bound must have passed, and the West
+Bound went through at two o'clock."
+
+Having very few people to talk to, Marjorie had formed the habit of
+talking to her live pets, of which Roland was her favorite. Her father
+had given him to her when he was only a month old, and she had trained
+him herself, as soon as he was old enough to bear the saddle, to say
+nothing of the many romps the two had enjoyed together in the days of
+his colthood. It seemed to her sometimes as if Roland must really
+understand some of the things she told him, and now, at her remark about
+the train, he slackened his pace to a leisurely trot, as if under the
+impression that there was no use in hurrying.
+
+"It is hot, isn't it, Roland?" said Marjorie, sympathetically. "You and
+I will be glad when winter comes, and we can have some fine gallops. I
+thought I might be going away to leave you this winter, but I'm not."
+
+Roland pricked up his ears, and quickened his pace.
+
+"What is it, Roland?" Marjorie inquired in surprise. "Oh, I see, it's
+Jose on his black bronco."
+
+Her face brightened, and she waved her hand in friendly welcome to the
+approaching figure of a small Mexican boy, mounted on an equally small
+pony.
+
+"Hello, Jose!" she called, as the two came within speaking distance of
+each other; "Do you know whether the East Bound has passed yet or not?"
+
+"See there," said the boy, pointing in the direction from which he had
+come. "Something wrong with engine. She been there three hours. My
+father tell me, and I go see."
+
+"How exciting!" cried Marjorie, everything else forgotten for the moment
+in the interest of this news. "Do you think she'll stay much longer?"
+
+Jose shook his head; he could not say. He was a rather dull boy, but
+Marjorie had known him all her life, as she had known every inhabitant,
+Mexican or Indian, who had made a home in that desolate region. She
+could speak Spanish almost as well as English, and could carry on a
+conversation in two Indian dialects. She did not wait for any more
+conversation with Jose on this occasion, however, but with a chirp to
+Roland to indicate that she wished to go faster, hurried the pony along
+at such a pace that in less than five minutes they came in sight of the
+waiting train.
+
+No, she was not too late. The long transcontinental express was standing
+still, and a number of the passengers had left the cars and were
+sauntering leisurely about. Marjorie's heart beat fast with excitement,
+and she drew the pony in sharply.
+
+"We mustn't go too near, Roland," she whispered. "Oh, look, isn't it
+interesting? See those girls in shirt-waists and straw hats. They look
+just about my age. How I should like to speak to them, but I suppose
+they would think it queer."
+
+The sight of a girl in a striped khaki skirt, with a sombrero on her
+head, sitting astride a bay pony, had quickly attracted the attention of
+some of the passengers, and Marjorie soon realized that she was being
+stared at in a manner that was slightly disconcerting. Not that she was
+in the least shy, but these strangers had a way of looking at her, as
+if they found something amusing in her appearance, and Marjorie did not
+like being stared at any more than any other girl.
+
+"I don't think we'll stay any longer, Roland," she said, conscious of
+the fact that her cheeks were burning uncomfortably. And turning the
+pony's head abruptly, she galloped away in the direction of home.
+
+But it was some minutes before her cheeks had regained their natural
+color.
+
+"I wonder why they stared so," she kept repeating to herself. "Was it
+the sombrero--I don't suppose girls wear sombreros in the East--or was
+it something else? Oh, there's the whistle; thank goodness they're off!"
+And Marjorie gave a sigh of relief, and let Roland drop into a trot.
+
+It was still early when she reached home, and having delivered Roland to
+the Indian boy, whose duty it was to look after him, and finding that
+her mother and aunt were both busy, she betook herself once more to the
+playhouse, intending to spend the hour before supper in learning more of
+the fortunes of Anne and her friends. But her ride in the heat had made
+her sleepy, and after turning a few pages rather listlessly, her eyes
+drooped, and letting the book slip into her lap, she rested her head
+against the wall of the cabin, and dropped off into an afternoon nap.
+
+How long she had been asleep she did not know, but she started up, wide
+awake, aroused by a sound close beside her. Then for a moment she sat
+staring stupidly at the apparition before her; for there, standing in
+the doorway, regarding her with big, hungry, brown eyes, was a girl--not
+a Mexican or an Indian, but a pale-faced, dark-haired girl of about her
+own age, in a faded linen dress, much too short in the skirt, and a
+battered straw hat, decidedly the worse for wear.
+
+"Goodness gracious me!" gasped Marjorie in amazement; "where in the
+world did you come from?"
+
+"I'm hungry," said the stranger, in a remarkably sweet voice; "Won't you
+please give me something to eat?"
+
+"Who are you?" demanded Marjorie, fully convinced that this was a dream.
+
+A frightened expression came into the big brown eyes, and the girl's lip
+began to tremble.
+
+"I don't know," she said; "I can't remember. Won't you please give me
+something to eat?"
+
+[Illustration: "WHERE IN THE WORLD DID YOU COME FROM?"--_Page 19._]
+
+"I know I'm dreaming," said Marjorie, and she pinched her arm, but
+though the pinch hurt considerably, she did not wake up. The strange
+girl continued to stand in the doorway.
+
+"How--how did you get here?" she repeated; "where did you come from?"
+
+"I got off the train. I've walked ever so far, and it was so hot. I
+thought there would be houses, but there weren't any. You won't be cross
+with me, will you? I'm afraid of cross people."
+
+"Why did you get off the train?" inquired Marjorie. If this were not a
+dream, then it was certainly the most extraordinary adventure she had
+ever had.
+
+The brown eyes filled with tears, and the stranger clasped her hands
+nervously.
+
+"Don't scold, ah, please don't," she pleaded; "I'm so tired of being
+scolded. I got off the train because Mrs. Hicks was so cross I couldn't
+stand it any longer. She said I was a lazy, good-for-nothing girl, and
+she wished she had never promised to take me to Kansas. I said I wished
+she hadn't either, and that I didn't want to go to Kansas or anywhere
+else with her, and then she said I was an impudent little wretch, and
+she wished she could get rid of me. She slapped me, too, and that made
+me furious, so when she sent me to the dining-car to get some milk for
+the baby, and the train was standing still, I just got off. I don't
+want to stay with people who don't like me, and I can't stand being
+slapped."
+
+"But think how frightened your friend must have been when the train
+started and you didn't come back," said Marjorie, reproachfully. She did
+not know quite what to make of this singular young person, who appeared
+to think nothing of deserting her friends, and wandering off by herself
+on the prairie.
+
+"Mrs. Hicks isn't my friend, and she won't care, anyway; she'll be glad
+to get rid of me. I heard her telling a woman on the train that I was an
+awful nuisance, and she couldn't think why she had ever promised her
+sister to take me to Kansas with her. She doesn't want me--nobody wants
+me, nobody in the whole world!" And suddenly this extraordinary visitor
+put both hands before her face, and burst into tears.
+
+Marjorie sprang to her feet, wide awake at last. She had not seen many
+people cry, and the sight always affected her deeply.
+
+"Oh, don't, please don't!" she cried, and almost without realizing what
+she was doing she had slipped an arm about the shaking shoulders. "We'll
+take care of you, of course we will, and you can tell us about
+everything. Oh, please do stop crying; you make me so very
+uncomfortable."
+
+But the brown-eyed girl did not stop crying. On the contrary, she cried
+all the harder, and buried her face on Marjorie's shoulder.
+
+"You're kind, oh, you're kind!" sobbed the poor child, clinging
+convulsively to her new friend. "Nobody was ever kind to me before
+except old Mr. Jackson, and now he's dead. I've been so miserable, and
+it's so dreadful not to remember anything, not even my name."
+
+"Your name?" repeated Marjorie stupidly; "do you mean you don't even
+know your own name?"
+
+The stranger shook her head mournfully as she searched for a missing
+pocket-handkerchief. Marjorie supplied the handkerchief from her own
+pocket, and sympathetically wiped her visitor's eyes.
+
+"But I don't understand," she said doubtfully; "I never heard of a
+person's not knowing her own name. Haven't you any relatives?"
+
+"I suppose I had once, but I can't remember them. The first thing I
+remember is waking up in a hospital. It was just after the earthquake in
+San Francisco, and they told me I was found in the street under some
+ruins. They thought a stone or something must have fallen on my head,
+and that was what made me forget everything. Nobody knew whom I belonged
+to, and I had only a nightgown on when I was found, so they couldn't
+trace me by my clothes. At first the doctors thought I would remember
+soon, and they used to ask me questions, but I never could answer any of
+them. They kept me at the hospital a long time, but I was always
+frightened because I couldn't remember anything. At last when I was
+strong again, and nobody came to look for me, they said they couldn't
+keep me there any longer. They sent me to the 'Home For The Friendless
+in Oakland,' but I had only been there a week when Miss Brent came to
+look for a girl to run errands, and carry home parcels. They told her
+about me, and she said she would take me, because I might have rich
+friends, who would come for me, and pay her well for taking care of me.
+So I went to live with her, and she put an advertisement about me in the
+newspapers. For a long time I kept hoping some one would come for me,
+but nobody ever did. Miss Brent was a dressmaker, and she had a lot of
+girls working for her, but I didn't like any of them, they were so
+rough, and they used to laugh at me, and call me 'loony.' Miss Brent
+called me Sally, but I know that isn't my real name. I got so tired
+running errands, and carrying the heavy boxes home made my back ache. I
+don't think I could have stood it if it hadn't been for Mr. Jackson. He
+boarded with Miss Brent, and lived in a little room on the top floor. He
+was very old, and nobody paid much attention to him, but I was sorry for
+him, and I used to carry up his meals, and he talked to me so kindly. He
+never made fun of me, because I couldn't remember, but he lent me books
+to read, and asked me questions like the doctors at the hospital. It's
+very queer, but I could always remember how to read. I can write, too,
+and I can even remember things in history, but I can't remember a single
+thing about myself. Mr. Jackson said he was sure my memory would come
+back some day, and then I would be able to find my friends. He died last
+winter, and after that it was dreadful. Miss Brent was always busy and
+cross, and the girls were worse than ever. A month ago Miss Brent told
+us she was going to be married, and give up the business, and that all
+the girls would have to leave. Most of them didn't mind, because they
+had homes, but Miss Brent said she didn't know what in the world to do
+with me. She didn't think any one would take me, because I wasn't
+strong enough to do hard work, and she was afraid I was too old to go
+back to the 'Home For The Friendless.'
+
+"The wedding was last week, and Mrs. Hicks came on from Kansas. She is
+Miss Brent's sister, and her husband has a big cattle farm. Mrs. Hicks
+brought her baby with her, and they got me to help take care of it, and
+then Miss Brent persuaded her sister to take me home with her. I didn't
+want to go, for I knew I shouldn't like Mrs. Hicks, but Miss Brent said
+I must. We started yesterday, and it was awful. Mrs. Hicks kept saying
+she knew I would never be any use to her, and the baby was so heavy, and
+cried all the time. I had just about made up my mind to run away when
+Mrs. Hicks slapped me, and that settled it. I never was slapped before,
+and I couldn't stand it."
+
+The brown eyes flashed indignantly, and there was a crimson spot in both
+the girl's cheeks. Marjorie had been listening to this strange story in
+breathless astonishment. It did not occur to her for a moment to doubt
+its truth. Before she could ask any more questions, however, she was
+brought back to a recollection of every-day life once more by the sound
+of her father's voice calling from the porch:
+
+"Supper's ready, Marjorie."
+
+Marjorie came down to earth with a rush, and hastily explaining to her
+new friend that she would be back in a minute, dashed away to the house,
+there to electrify her family with the astounding news that there was a
+strange girl in the playhouse, who had walked all the way from the
+railroad, and didn't know her own name.
+
+When Marjorie returned five minutes later, she was accompanied by an
+excited group, consisting of Mr. and Mrs. Graham, Miss Jessie, and the
+Mexican servant, Juanita. At sight of so many strangers the visitor
+shrank into a corner, and her eyes seemed to grow bigger and more
+frightened than ever, but when Mrs. Graham spoke to her in her kind,
+motherly voice, the pale face lighted up, and holding out both hands to
+Marjorie's mother, she exclaimed joyfully:
+
+"You're kind, too; I can see it in your face. Oh, please don't send me
+away; I'm so tired and hungry, and I don't know where else I can
+possibly go."
+
+"And what are we to call you, my dear?" Mrs. Graham inquired, late that
+evening, when the uninvited guest had been refreshed by a bath and a
+hearty supper, and was lying back comfortably in the big rocker in the
+living-room. "Did I understand Marjorie to say that you had been called
+Sally?"
+
+The stranger pouted. Now that her face was washed she was really very
+pretty.
+
+"I hate 'Sally,'" she said, impatiently; "it's not my name, and I don't
+see why I need be called by it. I wish you'd call me something pretty."
+
+Mrs. Graham looked a little doubtful, but Marjorie, who was regarding
+this singular young person in a kind of fascinated awe--half expecting
+to see her vanish at any moment as mysteriously as she had
+come--hastened to the rescue.
+
+"I've thought of a beautiful name for her, Mother," she said, eagerly.
+"Why can't we call her Undine--at least till she remembers what her name
+really is? She didn't come out of a fountain, but she really did come
+almost as mysteriously as Undine came to the fisherman's hut, in the
+story. Would you like to be called Undine, Sally?"
+
+"I should love it," declared the visitor in a tone of satisfaction and
+as Marjorie generally had her way, and Undine really seemed as good a
+name as any other, the matter was settled, and the new Undine fell
+asleep that night, happier than she had ever been since that strange
+waking in the California hospital, more than two years before.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III
+
+TRYING TO REMEMBER
+
+
+"AND so Undine went back into the fountain, carrying the knight,
+Hildebrand, with her, and nobody ever saw either of them again. I always
+wished it hadn't ended there, but had gone on to tell what became of the
+fisherman and his wife, and all the other people. That's the great
+trouble with stories; they are so apt to end just where you want to hear
+more. If I ever wrote a book I should put a chapter at the end, telling
+what became of all the characters afterward."
+
+The two girls were sitting together on the porch; Marjorie busily
+engaged in darning stockings; the new Undine patiently hemming a towel.
+It was a week since the arrival of "the mysterious stranger," as
+Marjorie called her, and she had already become an established member of
+the household. Marjorie accepted the mystery of a girl who didn't know
+her own name, and who apparently belonged to nobody, just as she would
+have accepted any other girl friend who might have come into her rather
+uneventful life. It had never even occurred to her to doubt the truth of
+Undine's strange story. The rest of the family had not been quite so
+easily satisfied, and for several days Mr. and Mrs. Graham had been
+inclined to regard the stranger with some doubt, even suspicion; but
+there was something very winning about this new Undine--she seemed such
+a simple, innocent child--so grateful for every kindness, and so eager
+to be of use in the household--that they gradually found themselves
+coming to believe in her, in spite of appearances.
+
+"I am sure the child is telling the truth as far as she knows it," Aunt
+Jessie had said to her sister-in-law that morning. "It all sounds very
+strange and incredible, I know, but I can't doubt the truth in those
+honest eyes of hers. I am really growing quite fond of her already." To
+which Mrs. Graham had replied, with a smile:
+
+"We shall know when Donald receives the answers to the letters he sent
+to the Home in Oakland and to the dressmaker."
+
+As Marjorie concluded her remarks on the story of Undine, she glanced
+critically at her friend's work.
+
+"You are hemming much better to-day," she said in a tone of
+satisfaction; "I am sure Mother will say you have improved."
+
+Undine's face brightened.
+
+"I hope she will--oh, I do hope so!" she said eagerly. "She is so dear,
+and I want to please her so much, but I'm afraid I'm very stupid."
+
+"You are not stupid at all," declared Marjorie loyally. "You are much
+cleverer than I am about lots of things. It isn't your fault if you've
+never been taught to sew."
+
+"There wasn't any time to learn at Miss Brent's," said Undine; "there
+were always such a lot of errands, and so many parcels to be carried
+home. I suppose if I had learned before the earthquake I shouldn't
+remember now."
+
+"I don't know," said Marjorie thoughtfully; "you must have learned to
+read, and you haven't forgotten that."
+
+"No, nor to write either. It's very queer about the things I remember
+and those I don't. Mr. Jackson used to asked me a great many questions,
+and he wrote down some of the things I told him, to show to a society he
+belonged to. Once a very funny thing happened. I had taken a dress home
+to a lady, and was waiting in the hall while she tried it on, to see if
+it had to go back for any alterations. There were some people in the
+parlor talking French. I don't know how I knew it was French, but I did,
+and I understood almost everything they said. I told Mr. Jackson, and he
+was so interested. He made me tell Miss Brent, too, and he wanted her to
+put another advertisement in the newspapers, but she said she hadn't any
+money to waste in advertising, and that if I had any relatives they
+would have come for me long ago."
+
+"It's the most interesting thing I ever heard of in my life," declared
+Marjorie. "Aunt Jessie says she is sure your friends must have been
+educated people, because you never make mistakes in grammar."
+
+Undine looked pleased.
+
+"I'm glad your aunt thinks that," she said. "I should hate to talk in
+the way some of the girls at Miss Brent's did. They used to laugh at me
+and call me stuck up, but I didn't want to be like them. I hate rough
+girls. I dream about my mother sometimes, and I know she would be sorry
+to have me grow up rough and coarse."
+
+"It seems so strange that you can't even remember your mother," said
+Marjorie, reflectively. "I can't imagine that anything could possibly
+happen to me that would make me forget Mother."
+
+A shadow crept into Undine's face, and the troubled, frightened look
+came back into her eyes.
+
+"I don't know," she said, wearily; "I don't know anything. Oh, Marjorie,
+it frightens me so sometimes."
+
+There was a quiver in the girl's voice, and kind-hearted Marjorie laid a
+protecting hand on hers.
+
+"Never mind," she said, soothingly; "don't think any more about it than
+you can help. Perhaps it will all come back some time; Father thinks it
+will. He thinks the stone, or whatever it was, that fell on you, must
+have given your brain a terrible shock. He says he heard of a man once
+who was very badly hurt in a railroad accident, and couldn't remember
+anything for a long time. His family thought he must be dead, but
+suddenly his memory all came back to him, and he went home, and gave
+them a great surprise. Perhaps it will be like that with you some day."
+
+"Miss Brent thinks all my people must have been killed in the
+earthquake," said Undine, with a sigh. "That might be the reason why
+nobody ever came to look for me. They say more people were killed than
+any one knew about. If I could only remember the very least thing that
+happened before, but I can't; it's just as if I came alive for the first
+time that day in the hospital. Oh, here comes your aunt; I'll go and
+help her with her chair." And dropping her towel on the floor of the
+porch, Undine darted into the house, whence she returned in a moment,
+carefully guiding Miss Graham's wheeled chair over the door-sill.
+
+"Thank you, dear," Miss Graham said, kindly. "You are a very helpful
+little girl, but when you are as accustomed to me and my chair as
+Marjorie is, you will realize that I can manage very well. I heard your
+voices, and thought I would come out here for a little while; it's so
+much cooler than in the house."
+
+"Won't you let me get your sewing, or your book, or something?" inquired
+Undine, hovering solicitously over the invalid.
+
+"No, thank you. I have been sewing all the afternoon; helping Mrs.
+Graham with the new parlor curtains, and I'm going to be lazy for a
+little while. I am afraid you dropped your own sewing, in your anxiety
+to help me."
+
+Undine blushed as she stooped to pick up the discarded towel.
+
+"I'm afraid I'm very careless," she said apologetically; "Miss Brent
+said I was, but I love to wait on people."
+
+Miss Graham laughed, and she had such a merry, contagious laugh that she
+was speedily joined by Marjorie, and even Undine herself.
+
+"It is very pleasant to be waited on," she said, "and I am sure you
+would make a capital nurse, Undine."
+
+Undine looked pleased.
+
+"I should like to be a nurse," she said. "I used to do lots of things
+for Mr. Jackson, and he liked to have me. I wish I could wait on you,
+because then I should feel that I was of some use, and that you weren't
+just keeping me because you were sorry for me."
+
+There was an unmistakable wistfulness in Undine's tone, and Miss Graham
+was touched.
+
+"My dear little girl," she said, "I am sure there are many ways in which
+you can make yourself useful if you stay with us. You will soon learn to
+be a great help to Mrs. Graham, and there will be many little things you
+can do for me as well."
+
+Marjorie gave her aunt a grateful glance, and Undine looked relieved.
+At that moment the afternoon stillness was broken by a sound of distant
+hoof-beats, and a clear tenor voice singing:
+
+          "'On the road to Mandalay,
+           Where the old flotilla lay.'"
+
+"It's Jim coming with the mail," cried Marjorie joyfully; "I should know
+his voice anywhere, and that's his favorite song. Oh, I wonder if there
+will be an answer to Father's letter to Miss Brent. What's the matter,
+Undine?"
+
+For Undine, who was still standing by Miss Graham's chair, had suddenly
+grown pale, and a strange, startled expression had come into her face.
+
+"Who's Jim?" she demanded sharply.
+
+"Only one of Father's men. He used to be a cow-puncher in Texas. I think
+you must have seen him; he's about the ranch a good deal."
+
+The hoof-beats were drawing nearer, and the rider had begun another
+verse of his song.
+
+          "'Er petticoat was yaller,
+             An' 'er little cap was green,
+           An' 'er name was Supy Yawler,
+             Jes' the same as Thebaw's queen.'"
+
+"I know that song," cried Undine excitedly, clasping and unclasping her
+hands, and she began reciting in a dreamy, far-away voice:
+
+          "'An' I see 'er first a smokin'
+             Of a whackin' big sheroot,
+           An' wastin' Christian kisses
+             On a 'eathen idol's foot.'
+
+"Somebody used to sing it. Who was it? Oh, tell me quick; I must
+remember, I must, I must!"
+
+She turned imploringly to Miss Graham and Marjorie, but the two blank,
+puzzled faces gave her no help, and with a low cry, the poor child
+covered her face with her hands, and began to sob. Marjorie's kind arms
+were round her friend in a moment, but it was no easy task to stem the
+torrent of Undine's grief.
+
+"Oh, help me to remember, please, please do help me!" she wailed,
+between hysterical sobs and gasps. "I almost remembered, and now it's
+all gone again. Oh, what shall I do--what shall I do?"
+
+"You'll remember it all some time, dear, I know you will," soothed
+Marjorie, crying herself from pure sympathy. "Do try not to mind quite
+so much, Undine. I know it must be terrible, but we're all so sorry for
+you, and we'll try to make you happy, indeed we will."
+
+By this time horse and rider had reached the ranch house, and Jim
+Hathaway, a freckled, red-haired youth, had sprung to the ground, and
+was regarding the scene in undisguised astonishment.
+
+"Have you brought us any letters to-day, Jim?" Miss Graham asked, by way
+of relieving the situation.
+
+"Yes'm; there's two for Mr. Graham, and some newspapers, and a
+magazine."
+
+"Ask him where he learned that song," whispered Undine to Marjorie. She
+was still trembling, and seemed very much agitated.
+
+"Where did you learn that song you were singing just now, Jim?" Marjorie
+inquired, eagerly; "the one about the 'Road to Mandalay,' you know?"
+
+Jim looked rather vague.
+
+"Blessed if I remember," he said. "I picked it up somewhere, but I
+couldn't rightly say where it was."
+
+"Won't you please try to remember?" said Undine, lifting her
+tear-stained face from Marjorie's shoulder. "I want very much to know. I
+am trying to remember something about it, and if you could tell me where
+you learned it it might help me."
+
+Jim stared at her rather stupidly; then his face brightened.
+
+"I guess I do remember, now I come to think of it," he said slowly. "It
+was in Texas. There was an English chap there, who was forever singing
+it. I picked it up from him. There were a lot of verses to it but I
+don't know 'em all."
+
+Undine shook her head hopelessly.
+
+"Thank you," she said; "I don't believe I was ever in Texas." And
+without another word, she turned and went into the house.
+
+It was more than an hour later when Mrs. Graham knocked softly at the
+door of the little room which had been given to the strange guest. She
+waited a moment, and then, receiving no answer, turned the handle and
+went in. Undine was lying on the bed, her face buried in the pillow. She
+was so still that Mrs. Graham thought she must be asleep, and was
+turning away again when there was a slight movement on the bed, and with
+a long sigh, the girl lifted her head.
+
+At sight of her hostess, Undine sprang to her feet, and began pushing
+the tumbled hair back from her eyes. She was very white, and there was a
+drawn, suffering look on her face, which went to Mrs. Graham's motherly
+heart.
+
+"I beg your pardon," said Undine, humbly. "I'm afraid you must all think
+me very silly and troublesome. I didn't mean to make a fuss, but when I
+heard that boy singing 'Mandalay' it seemed for just a minute as if I
+were going to remember something, and then it was all gone again. I
+thought that perhaps if I lay very still with my eyes shut tight, and
+thought as hard as I could, it might come again, but it didn't."
+
+"Sit down, dear," said Mrs. Graham, kindly, and seating herself on the
+edge of the bed, she drew Undine down beside her. "Does your head ache?"
+
+"It aches dreadfully," confessed Undine, pressing her hand to her
+forehead. "It always does when I try very hard to remember."
+
+"I was afraid so. It isn't good for you to try to remember in this way;
+it won't help things at all, and may make them much worse. You must
+promise me not to try to think so hard again. When your memory comes
+back it will come naturally, and without any forcing. Now I want to talk
+to you about something quite different. Mr. Graham has had a letter from
+the 'Home For The Friendless' at Oakland, and another from your friend
+Miss Brent, or Mrs. Rogers, as I believe she is now."
+
+"What did they say?" inquired Undine, languidly. She seemed too much
+exhausted to take much interest in letters.
+
+"Mrs. Rogers spoke kindly of you, and seemed pleased to know where you
+are. Her sister had telegraphed her of your disappearance. She said she
+hoped you would find a good home, for she was afraid nothing would
+induce Mrs. Hicks to take you back. They remembered you at the 'Home,'
+too, and are willing to have you there again if we will pay your
+expenses back to California."
+
+"But I don't want to go back there," protested Undine, lifting her head,
+and speaking more like her old self. "Oh, Mrs. Graham, must I go? Can't
+I stay here? I'll do anything you want me to, and I can work hard, just
+wait and see if I can't."
+
+Mrs. Graham smiled as she glanced at the soft little hands, which did
+not look as though their owner were capable of much hard work.
+
+"That is just what we have been talking about," she said. "I should be
+glad of a little extra help in the house; Juanita isn't as young as she
+once was, and I want to give Marjorie a little more time for study. So
+if you think you would really care to stay with us, and are willing to
+work for small wages--"
+
+"Wages!" cried Undine indignantly; "I don't want any money; I only want
+to stay with you, and work for my board. You're all so kind, and ... and
+I think you must be more like the people I used to live with than Miss
+Brent and Mrs. Hicks were. Oh, if I could only remember!"
+
+"There, there, we won't talk any more about remembering just now,"
+interrupted Mrs. Graham cheerfully. "You shall stay with us, at least
+for the present, and who knows what may happen in the future. Now lie
+down again, and try to take a nap before supper. You look very tired,
+and a good sleep will do your head more good than anything else." And
+yielding to a sudden impulse, Mrs. Graham stooped and kissed the flushed
+face on the pillow, almost as tenderly as if this strange, friendless
+little waif had been her own Marjorie.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV
+
+A VISITOR FROM THE EAST
+
+
+"OF all the different kinds of housework, I think pickling is the most
+disagreeable!"
+
+Marjorie made this remark as she came into her aunt's room one glorious
+October afternoon. Miss Graham's room was the prettiest and most
+luxurious in the ranch house. Every comfort which limited income and
+inaccessible surroundings could afford had been procured for the
+invalid, and to Marjorie, after a hard day's work of helping her mother
+and Juanita in the yearly pickling, it seemed a very haven of rest and
+comfort. Miss Graham herself, in a pretty pink wrapper, was lying on the
+sofa, while Undine read aloud to her. She was a very different Undine
+from the pale, timid girl of two months before. The thin cheeks had
+filled out wonderfully, and the big brown eyes had almost entirely lost
+their expression of frightened bewilderment, for Undine had found her
+place in the household and was happy. I have my doubts as to whether
+Undine would have proved of great use in the kitchen, her knowledge of
+any kind of housework being decidedly limited, but before she had been
+in her new home a fortnight Miss Graham was taken ill. It was not a
+serious illness, though a tedious and painful one, and almost from the
+first moment Undine had established herself as nurse. Her devotion was
+touching; it was with difficulty that she could be persuaded to leave
+the invalid's bedside even for the necessary rest and exercise, and she
+would gladly have worked night and day in the service of gentle Miss
+Graham, who almost unconsciously grew to love the girl, and to depend
+upon her more than she would have believed possible in so short a time.
+
+Now Miss Graham was better, and the task of nursing was almost at an
+end, but she was still weak, and Mr. and Mrs. Graham were thankful for
+the willing service of the girl whom they had taken into their home on
+account of her friendless condition and her big honest brown eyes.
+
+"You don't know what you two people have been spared to-day," continued
+Marjorie, throwing herself wearily into the rocking-chair. "Thank
+goodness, they're all done, and we shall have pickles enough to last
+another year."
+
+"We haven't been spared the smell," said Miss Graham, laughing. "I
+really felt at one time to-day that I would gladly forego pickles for
+the rest of my life."
+
+"What have you been reading?" Marjorie inquired, with a glance at the
+book Undine had put down on her entrance.
+
+"'Lorna Doone.' We have had a delightful afternoon. It is such a
+charming story, and Undine reads aloud remarkably well."
+
+Marjorie glanced out of the window, at the brilliant autumn sunshine.
+
+"I think I'll go for a ride, to get the smell of the pickles out of my
+nostrils," she said. "Mother says she won't need me any more to-day."
+
+"That's a good idea," said Miss Graham approvingly, "and suppose you
+take Undine with you? She has been indoors all day; the fresh air will
+do her good."
+
+"All right," assented Marjorie, well pleased. "Come along, Undine," she
+added, rising; "we'll have time for a good gallop before supper."
+
+Undine hesitated.
+
+"Are you sure you can spare me?" she asked, with an anxious glance at
+the pale face on the pillow.
+
+"Quite sure, dear. I shall not need anything, and even if I should Mrs.
+Graham and Juanita are both within call. So run along, you conscientious
+little nurse, and enjoy yourself for the rest of the afternoon."
+
+Undine blushed with pleasure at the compliment, and five minutes later
+she and Marjorie were on their way to the stables.
+
+It was one of those glorious autumn days, when the air is like a tonic,
+and every object stands out with almost startling clearness.
+
+"The mountains look so near to-day, it seems almost as if we might ride
+to them, doesn't it?" remarked Undine, as the two girls trotted out of
+the ranch gates on their ponies; Undine sitting as straight, and riding
+with almost as much ease as Marjorie herself.
+
+"They are nearly a hundred miles away," said Marjorie, with a glance in
+the direction of the great snow-tipped mountains, which certainly did
+look very near in that wonderful atmosphere. "We could go there, though,
+if we had an automobile. What wonderful things automobiles must be."
+
+"I suppose they are--there were plenty of them in California--but
+nothing could be half as nice as a gallop in this wonderful air. A pony
+like this is worth all the automobiles in San Francisco." And Undine
+bestowed an affectionate pat on the neck of the pretty brown horse she
+was riding.
+
+"I believe you love riding as much as I do," said Marjorie,
+sympathetically. "I wonder where you learned to ride. I shall never
+forget how astonished Father and I were that first day, when we made you
+get on a pony just for fun, and you took the reins, and started off as
+if you had been accustomed to riding every day of your life."
+
+There was a trace of the old shadow in Undine's face as she answered:
+
+"It's all very strange, and I can't explain it, but it seemed quite
+natural, and as if I had done it often before. Even when the pony
+jumped, and your father thought I would be frightened, I wasn't. I
+seemed to know just what to do, though I couldn't tell how I knew."
+
+"Perhaps you lived on a ranch once," Marjorie suggested. "That would
+explain it."
+
+Undine shook her head.
+
+"I don't think so," she said, "for when I first came here it was all
+quite strange, and though I'm not a bit afraid of horses, I'm horribly
+afraid of cows. A girl who had lived long on a ranch couldn't be afraid
+of cows, could she?"
+
+Marjorie assented, and the two girls rode on in silence for several
+minutes. Then Undine spoke again.
+
+"There's another curious thing that I haven't told you. That book I'm
+reading to your aunt--'Lorna Doone,' you know--I'm sure I've read it
+before. I know what is going to happen in every chapter."
+
+Marjorie looked much interested.
+
+"Have you told Aunt Jessie about it?" she asked.
+
+"No, I was afraid it might bother her. I don't think she or your mother
+like to have me talk about the things I remember."
+
+"That's only because they're afraid you will worry and make yourself
+ill," Marjorie explained. "You remember what a dreadful headache you had
+the day you heard Jim singing 'Mandalay.' They're really tremendously
+interested."
+
+"Are they?" said Undine, looking pleased. "I was afraid they thought me
+silly. At first I know they thought I was a fraud, and I'm sure I don't
+blame them. How could any one believe such a queer story? And yet it's
+all true, every word."
+
+"They believe it now, at any rate," said Marjorie, "and they're just as
+much interested as I am. Mother says she can't help worrying when she
+thinks of your friends, and how they may be grieving for you."
+
+"Miss Brent said she didn't believe I had any friends or they would have
+come to look for me," said Undine sadly.
+
+"But you must have belonged to somebody," persisted Marjorie, "and it
+isn't likely all your family were killed in the earthquake, even if some
+of them were. Then you do remember some things--there was the person who
+sang 'Mandalay.'"
+
+"But I can't remember who it was; I only know there was somebody who
+used to sing it. I almost remembered for a minute that day, but it was
+gone in a flash, and it has never come back since."
+
+"Well, don't let's talk any more about worrying things this glorious
+afternoon," broke in Marjorie, noticing the troubled sound in her
+friend's voice. "Let's have a good gallop, and forget everything else.
+Come along, Roland."
+
+Away flew Roland, admonished by a gentle tap from his mistress, and he
+was followed closely by Undine's pony. The next half hour was one of
+unalloyed enjoyment to both girls. The quick motion, the bright
+sunshine, the keen air, all conspired to banish thoughts of care or
+perplexity from Undine's mind, and to bring the bright color into her
+cheeks. Marjorie, glancing over her shoulder at her friend, suddenly
+realized what a very pretty girl Undine was. Even the khaki skirt and
+the sombrero, counterparts of Marjorie's own, could not detract from her
+beauty, and she sat on her pony with as much grace as any lady in the
+land.
+
+"There! wasn't that great?" exclaimed Marjorie, drawing Roland in at
+last, and turning to her friend, with sparkling eyes. "I don't believe
+you ever had a finer gallop than that in your life."
+
+"I don't believe I ever did," agreed Undine, straightening her sombrero,
+and pushing back the tumbled hair from her eyes. "Must we go back now?"
+
+"I'm afraid so. Father and Mother don't like to have me stay out after
+sunset. Look at the mountains; they seem just as near as ever, don't
+they? And yet we've been riding straight away from them all the time."
+
+"Isn't it still?" whispered Undine, with a deep breath. "I feel as if I
+ought to whisper, though I don't know why. I don't suppose there's
+another living soul within miles of us, and yet I'm not the least bit
+afraid."
+
+"There is, though," exclaimed Marjorie, in sudden astonishment. "Look at
+that man. Where can he be going?" And she pointed with her whip-handle
+to a solitary figure, carrying a suit-case, which was slowly advancing
+in their direction. "He isn't an Indian or a Mexican, either," she added
+eagerly; "he's a white man, and he must be on his way to the ranch.
+Nobody who isn't coming to the ranch ever takes this road."
+
+"Perhaps he's a tramp," suggested Undine nervously. "We'd better hurry
+home."
+
+But Marjorie scorned the suggestion.
+
+"Nonsense," she said indignantly. "The idea of wanting to run away!
+Besides, we can't; he's making signs to us to wait for him. He wants to
+speak to us."
+
+Undine did not feel at all sure of the wisdom of this proceeding, but
+there seemed nothing else to do, and in a few moments the stranger, who
+had quickened his pace at sight of the two girls, was within speaking
+distance. He was plentifully besprinkled with dust, and was looking
+decidedly warm and tired, but his appearance and manner were those of a
+gentleman.
+
+"Excuse me for detaining you," he said, apologetically, "but can you
+tell me how far I am from Mr. Donald Graham's ranch?"
+
+"I thought you must be coming to the ranch," said Marjorie, with a
+friendly smile; "it's about five miles from here."
+
+"Five miles," repeated the stranger in a tone of dismay, and he set down
+the heavy suit-case he was carrying, and wiped his forehead with his
+handkerchief.
+
+"Have you been walking far?" Marjorie inquired sympathetically.
+
+"Yes, I think I must have walked at least five miles already. My team
+broke down, one of the wheels came off, and the man who was driving me
+out to the ranch seemed to think the only thing to be done was to leave
+the wagon with my trunk on it by the roadside while he returned to town
+on horseback, to get another trap. He advised me to walk on, but I had
+no idea of the distance. Will you please tell me if this is the shortest
+way to the ranch?"
+
+"It's the only way," said Marjorie, smiling, and thinking that this
+tall, broad-shouldered man must certainly be "a tenderfoot." Her own
+father thought nothing of a ten-mile tramp over the prairie.
+
+"Then I suppose there is no help for it, but five miles--are you sure
+it's as much as five miles?"
+
+Marjorie nodded; she was trying to think of some way of helping the
+stranger out of his difficulty. But it was finally he himself who put
+into words the very suggestion she was going to make.
+
+"I wonder if by any chance you young ladies happen to be going as far as
+the ranch," he said, with a rather curious glance at the two figures,
+sitting astride their ponies.
+
+"We're going straight there now," said Marjorie, eagerly, "and if you
+don't mind waiting, I'll ask Father to send a horse for you."
+
+"You are very kind, but do you think he could possibly send a wagon as
+well? I am not much of a horseman."
+
+This certainly was a "tenderfoot," and no mistake, but Marjorie was too
+polite to laugh.
+
+"All right," she said, "I'll see about it, but it will take longer to
+wait for a team to be hitched up."
+
+"That can't be helped. I'm afraid I'm not equal to another five miles on
+foot. Do you know Mr. Graham?"
+
+Marjorie laughed.
+
+"Of course I do," she said in her frank, friendly way; "he's my father."
+
+"Your father!" repeated the gentleman, his face lighting up; "why, you
+don't mean to tell me you are little Marjorie?"
+
+"I'm Marjorie Graham, but I'm not very little. I'm five feet, three, and
+I was fourteen last March."
+
+"Well, you were about two feet, three when I last saw you," said the
+gentleman, smiling; "so you must forgive me for not recognizing you at
+once. Have you ever heard of your uncle Henry Carleton?"
+
+With a joyous exclamation, impulsive Marjorie sprang from her pony and
+leaving the faithful Roland to his own devices, rushed to her uncle's
+side, holding out both hands.
+
+"Of course I have!" she cried, lifting her radiant face for the expected
+kiss. "Oh, Uncle Henry, I'm so glad you've come to see us at last;
+Mother will be so happy."
+
+Although somewhat surprised by the warmth of this greeting, Mr. Carleton
+was not at all displeased. Indeed, he was smiling very pleasantly by the
+time he had given his niece the kiss she was evidently expecting, and
+his face softened as he regarded her more attentively.
+
+"I ought to have known you, Marjorie," he said, "for you are very like
+your mother."
+
+Marjorie flushed with pleasure.
+
+"I'm glad," she said; "I'd rather look like Mother than any one else. Is
+Elsie with you?"
+
+"Elsie? You know about my little girl, too, then?"
+
+"Oh, yes, indeed; I know she is just about my age. Mother has a
+photograph of her, taken when she was a baby, and I've always wished I
+could see her. Having a cousin of one's own age must be almost as good
+as having a sister. Oh, I do hope she's coming to the ranch!"
+
+Mr. Carleton shook his head.
+
+"Elsie and her mother were with me, but they have gone back to New York.
+We have been through the Canadian Rockies and the Yosemite together, and
+yesterday we stopped at the Grand Canyon. Your aunt and cousin have gone
+on in the train, but I thought I would like a few days with your mother,
+so I got off at the nearest station to the ranch, and was driving out. I
+suppose I should have written, but I thought I would rather enjoy giving
+your mother a surprise. I hope I sha'n't be in the way."
+
+"No, indeed, you won't," declared Marjorie heartily. "Mother and Father
+will be delighted, and so will Aunt Jessie. We so seldom have visitors,
+and it's such a treat, but I'm dreadfully sorry Aunt Julia and Elsie
+aren't coming, too. What a lucky girl Elsie is to have seen all those
+wonderful places! Father is going to take Mother and me to the Canyon
+some day when he can afford it. But I was so glad to see you that I
+forgot to introduce my friend. Undine, this is my uncle, Mr. Carleton.
+
+"Uncle Henry, this is my friend, Miss Undine--we don't know her other
+name."
+
+Undine--who had been watching proceedings with interest--smiled shyly,
+and held out her hand. She had also dismounted from her pony, and was
+holding him by the bridle.
+
+"Undine," repeated Mr. Carleton, looking amused, as he took the girl's
+hand, and regarded her curiously; "that is a rather unusual name, isn't
+it?"
+
+Undine blushed, and looked embarrassed, and Marjorie hastened to
+explain.
+
+"It isn't her real name, but she didn't like being called Sally, so we
+thought we would call her Undine until she remembers what her name is.
+It's a very interesting story, Uncle Henry, but I won't stop to tell it
+now, for it's getting late, and I must hurry home as fast as I can, and
+have Father send a team for you. I wish you could ride my pony; I
+wouldn't mind walking the five miles a bit."
+
+"That's a nice little girl of Susie's," Mr. Carleton remarked to
+himself, as the ponies and their riders disappeared in a cloud of dust.
+"She has her mother's eyes and friendly ways, but--well, perhaps it was
+just as well I couldn't persuade Julia to stop over at the ranch. I
+doubt if Marjorie and Elsie would hit it off very well together."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V
+
+UNCLE HENRY'S PROPOSITION
+
+
+MR. CARLETON received a hearty welcome at the ranch. Mr. and Mrs. Graham
+were not the sort of people to remember old grievances; Mrs. Graham was
+honestly glad to see her brother, and they were both quite willing to
+let bygones be bygones. So the visitor found the meeting with his sister
+and her husband a much less embarrassing one than he had expected, and
+the days at the ranch passed so pleasantly that he was easily persuaded
+to prolong his stay from a day or two to a week, and then to a
+fortnight. He and his sister had more than one long confidential talk,
+and although no word of complaint was uttered, Mr. Carleton was clever
+enough to read between the lines, and it was after one of these talks
+that he wrote a letter to his wife in New York, for an answer to which
+he was anxiously waiting.
+
+It was on an afternoon in the second week of his visit that Mr. Carleton
+sauntered out on to the porch, to find Marjorie alone, and busily
+engaged in trimming a hat.
+
+"Where are all the others?" he inquired, throwing himself rather wearily
+into the rocker by her side. "I've been writing letters all the
+afternoon, and haven't heard a sound in the house."
+
+"They are all out," said Marjorie. "Father wanted Mother to see some
+colts he is thinking of buying, and Aunt Jessie has gone with them, for
+the sake of the drive. Undine has gone, too."
+
+"And how does it happen that you were left behind, like Cinderella.
+Wasn't there room in the wagon?"
+
+"Oh, I could have squeezed in, or else ridden Roland, but I was too
+busy. I'm making a new hat, and that's always a very absorbing
+occupation. Don't you think it's going to be pretty?" And Marjorie held
+up the plain straw hat, trimmed with blue ribbon, for her uncle's
+inspection.
+
+"I have no doubt it will be most becoming," said Mr. Carleton, smiling,
+"but have you done it all yourself?"
+
+"Of course I have. I've trimmed all my hats since I was twelve. I make
+my shirt-waists, too, all but the cutting out; Mother does that. Doesn't
+Elsie make her own things?"
+
+"No, I'm afraid she doesn't; sewing isn't exactly in Elsie's line."
+
+"Perhaps she likes other kinds of work better," said Marjorie,
+cheerfully. "I suppose Aunt Julia is disappointed, though. Mother says
+she would be very sorry if I didn't like to sew; she thinks every girl
+should learn to make her own clothes."
+
+"I'm afraid your aunt isn't any more fond of sewing than Elsie is," said
+Mr. Carleton, with a rather peculiar smile.
+
+Marjorie secretly wondered who made Elsie's dresses, and who attended to
+the household mending, but fearing it might be impolite to ask, changed
+the subject by saying:
+
+"Undine could scarcely sew at all when she came, but Aunt Jessie has
+been teaching her, and she has improved very much. Don't you think it's
+tremendously interesting about Undine, Uncle Henry?"
+
+"It is certainly a most unusual case," admitted Mr. Carleton. "I was at
+first inclined to believe that Miss Undine was gifted with a vivid
+imagination, and was imposing on you all, but your father and mother
+believe her story."
+
+"Oh, yes, indeed, we all believe it," cried Marjorie, eagerly. "We know
+it's true, because Father wrote to the dressmaker where Undine worked
+for two years, and she said everything was just as Undine had told us."
+
+"Well, it is certainly a case for a brain specialist," said Mr.
+Carleton, "but unfortunately there are no specialists of any kind in
+this part of the world. I wish there were, for your aunt Jessie's sake."
+
+Marjorie's bright face was suddenly clouded.
+
+"You don't think Aunt Jessie ill, do you?" she asked, anxiously. "She
+seems so much better than she was two weeks ago."
+
+"I don't know that she is worse than usual, but she is a very different
+creature from the strong, active girl I remember. Poor child, she has
+had a terrible experience; I wish some good surgeon could see her."
+
+"You mean--oh, Uncle Henry, you mean you think a surgeon might possibly
+be able to help her!" Marjorie's hat had fallen into her lap, and she
+was regarding her uncle with eager, troubled eyes.
+
+"I don't know whether a surgeon could help her or not, but he could at
+least make an examination. I don't suppose there is even an ordinary
+physician in this neighborhood."
+
+"There is one at Lorton, but that's twenty miles away, and I've heard
+people say he wasn't very good. Father sent for a surgeon from
+Albuquerque when Aunt Jessie was hurt, and he said it was her spine that
+had been injured, and that she could never be cured. Do you think a
+doctor from the East might say something different?"
+
+"My dear child, don't get so excited. I really have not the slightest
+idea; I was only speculating on my own account. It seems such a pity
+that one so young--well, well, it can't be helped, I suppose, and there
+is no use in talking about it."
+
+Marjorie sighed as she took up her work again, and they were both silent
+for several minutes. Then Marjorie spoke again, and her voice was not
+quite steady.
+
+"If I thought there was any surgeon in the world who could cure Aunt
+Jessie, I believe I would go and find him myself, and bring him here, if
+it took me years to earn the money, and I had to work day and night to
+do it. She's the dearest, bravest--oh, Uncle Henry, you haven't any idea
+what Aunt Jessie is!"
+
+Marjorie broke off, with a half-suppressed sob, and dashed away some
+tears, which would come in spite of a brave effort to keep them back.
+Mr. Carleton's face softened as he watched her; he had grown to have a
+high opinion of this niece of his. He could not help wondering rather
+sadly whether there were any one in the world of whom his own little
+daughter would have spoken in such glowing terms.
+
+"You're a loyal little soul, Marjorie," he said kindly. "I wish Elsie
+had you for a friend."
+
+Marjorie smiled through her tears.
+
+"I wish I had her for my friend," she said. "Don't you think she would
+like to come out here and make us a visit some time? She might find it
+rather hot in summer, if she wasn't accustomed to it, but the winters
+are beautiful."
+
+"Elsie has her school in winter," Mr. Carleton said, "but perhaps she
+may come some day. Hark, who is that singing?"
+
+"Only Jim coming with the mail. He always sings when he rides. It's
+generally 'Mandalay,' but it's 'Loch Lomond' to-day."
+
+          "'Oh, you'll tak' the high road, and I'll tak' the
+          low road,'"
+
+sang the clear tenor voice, and Jim Hathaway, on his big brown horse,
+came galloping up to the door.
+
+"There's only one letter for you to-day, Uncle Henry," announced
+Marjorie, taking the handful of letters and papers from the boy. "It's a
+big fat one, though. Perhaps it's from Elsie; you haven't had one letter
+from Elsie since you came."
+
+"It is from your Aunt Julia," said Mr. Carleton, and immediately
+proceeded to make himself acquainted with its contents, while Jim
+galloped away to the stables, and Marjorie went on with her hat
+trimming.
+
+It was, as Marjorie had said, a "fat letter," and it took Mr. Carleton
+some time to read it. Indeed, he read some parts over more than once,
+before he finally put it in his pocket, and prepared to light a cigar.
+"Are Aunt Julia and Elsie well?" Marjorie inquired, politely. She could
+not help wondering why this aunt and cousin never sent any messages to
+her.
+
+"Oh, yes, they are very well, thank you. Your aunt says it has been
+rather warm for the season, and there hasn't been much going on."
+
+Mr. Carleton relapsed into silence, and Marjorie said no more. Her
+thoughts were filled by a new idea. What if a surgeon could really be
+found who would be able to cure Aunt Jessie? Such a possibility seemed
+almost too wonderful to be contemplated, and yet,--and yet--
+
+The whistle of a distant train broke the stillness, and Marjorie came
+down from her air castle to remark--
+
+"There goes the East Bound; two hours late to-day."
+
+"You seem as much interested in the hours of trains as if you were in
+the habit of traveling on one at least once a week," said Mr. Carleton,
+smiling. "How would you like to take a journey--to go to New York, for
+instance?"
+
+"I should love it better than anything in the world," said Marjorie
+frankly.
+
+"Well, perhaps it can be managed. What would you say to going East with
+me next week, and spending the winter in New York?"
+
+For the second time the hat Marjorie was trimming rolled unheeded into
+her lap, while she sat staring at her uncle with startled, wondering
+eyes. The proposal was so sudden--so undreamed of--that for the first
+moment she was speechless, and when words did come at last, they were
+only:
+
+"You mean to spend the winter with you and Aunt Julia?"
+
+"Yes, and to go to school with Elsie. I think your father and mother are
+rather anxious about your education."
+
+"I know they are," said Marjorie, eagerly. "They wanted to send me to
+school at Albuquerque this autumn, but the drought spoiled the alfalfa
+crop, and there was disease among the cattle, so Father didn't feel he
+could afford it. I should love to see New York more than anything I can
+think of, but to go so far away from them all for a whole winter--oh,
+Uncle Henry, you're very kind to suggest it, but I really don't believe
+I could."
+
+"Not if you knew your father and mother wished it very much, and that it
+would be a great relief to their minds?" Mr. Carleton spoke rather
+gravely, and Marjorie felt suddenly embarrassed.
+
+"Of course I would try to do what they wanted me to," she said meekly,
+"but I don't believe they would be willing to have me go as far away
+from them. Albuquerque was different; I could have come home for the
+vacations from there. It's awfully good of you, Uncle Henry, and I would
+love to see Aunt Julia and Elsie, but New York is so far away."
+
+"Only three days by train," said Mr. Carleton, smiling; "that ought not
+to seem much to you Westerners. You would find the life very different
+from that to which you have been accustomed, but I think you would
+enjoy it, and you must have an education, you know."
+
+Marjorie blushed, and her eyes drooped.
+
+"I want it very much," she said humbly. "If I were well educated, I
+might be able to teach, and to help Father and Mother in other ways.
+Uncle Henry, do you think it is my duty to go to New York?"
+
+"Yes, Marjorie, I do," said her uncle, with unusual gravity. "I think it
+is an opportunity that you should not miss. I have written your Aunt
+Julia about it, and her answer has just come. She agrees with me that it
+will be the best thing for you. Your home will be with us, of course,
+and you will go to school with Elsie. It is not a large school, only a
+class of a dozen girls, and the teacher is a charming woman. You will
+soon make friends, and I think you would be happy."
+
+"And I would be with Elsie," said Marjorie, beginning to look on the
+bright side, as she generally did. "It would be lovely to know my own
+cousin. Have you spoken to Mother about it, Uncle Henry?"
+
+"Not yet, but I intend doing so this evening. I have been waiting for
+your aunt's reply to my letter. I feel quite sure your mother will
+consent; she is too sensible a woman to do anything else. But it will
+be hard for her to let you go so far away, and I want you to be a brave,
+sensible girl, and not make it any harder than you can help."
+
+For a moment Marjorie was silent, and her uncle could see by her face
+something of the struggling that was going on within. Then she spoke,
+and her voice was clear and brave.
+
+"All right, Uncle Henry, I promise. If Father and Mother want me to go I
+will, and I'll try not to let them see how hard it is. After all, it
+won't be like going to stay with strangers, for I shall be with my own
+relations all the time, and it will be so nice to have a cousin of my
+own age. Here comes the wagon, so we can't talk any more now. Oh, Uncle
+Henry, there's just one question I want to ask. Are there many good
+surgeons in New York?"
+
+"Plenty of them," said her uncle, smiling. "Don't say anything of what
+we have been talking about, Marjorie, until I have a chance to explain
+to your mother."
+
+"No, I won't, and, Uncle Henry, please don't think me ungrateful because
+I couldn't be so glad just at first. It's beautiful of you and Aunt
+Julia to want me, and if I go I'll try not to give any more trouble
+than I can possibly help. Now I am going to my room for a few minutes. I
+don't want Aunt Jessie to see me till I've got my face straightened out.
+She knows me so well she says she can tell the moment there is anything
+the matter."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI
+
+THE LAST EVENING
+
+
+IT was settled. Marjorie was to go East with her uncle, and spend the
+winter in New York. Mr. Carleton felt that he could not leave his
+business much longer, and was anxious to start as soon as Marjorie could
+be ready. For a week Mrs. Graham and Miss Jessie had sewed as they had
+never sewed before, and Marjorie and even Undine had worked so hard that
+there had been little time to think of anything else. Now it was the
+last evening, and the small leather trunk containing all Marjorie's
+simple possessions, stood packed, and ready to be taken early next
+morning, to the railway station twenty miles away.
+
+Mr. Carleton had been somewhat puzzled by all these elaborate
+preparations, and had ventured a gentle remonstrance to his sister.
+
+"Why take so much trouble, Susie? Julia will get the child everything
+she needs, and I'll attend to the bills. You needn't worry about
+Marjorie's being well-dressed; you know Julia has excellent taste."
+
+But Mrs. Graham was resolute. She knew well that her own ideas of dress
+and those of her New York sister-in-law were very different, but she was
+not without her share of family pride, and was not willing that Marjorie
+should appear before her Eastern relatives in clothes unfit for her
+position. But alas! It was twelve years since Mrs. Graham had left her
+New York home, and styles change a good deal in twelve years.
+
+Every one had kept up bravely during that busy week, and they had all
+been extremely cheerful. Marjorie never knew of the bitter tears shed by
+mother and aunt in the solitude of their own rooms, and Mrs. Graham's
+heart would have ached even more than it did had she known of the hours
+Marjorie lay awake, her head buried deep in the pillow, so that Aunt
+Jessie in the next room, should not hear her crying. Every one knew it
+was for the best. Even Marjorie, miserable as she was sometimes at the
+thought of the two thousand miles which must soon lie between herself
+and the people she loved best, would have been keenly disappointed if
+Uncle Henry had suddenly changed his mind, or Aunt Julia written that it
+would not be convenient to have her. All through that last day she had
+worked hard, trying not to think about to-morrow, but now everything was
+done and everybody was resting after their labors. Marjorie had sat on
+the porch for an hour with her mother and aunt, and they had all tried
+to talk cheerfully as usual, but it was of no use. There was a dreadful
+inclination on all their parts to drop into long silences, which nobody
+seemed able to break. They were alone, for Mr. Carleton and his
+brother-in-law had gone for a walk, and Undine was helping Juanita in
+the kitchen.
+
+At last, at the end of a longer silence than usual, Marjorie, feeling
+sure she shouldn't be able to hold out much longer, suddenly sprang up,
+explaining hurriedly:
+
+"I'll be right back; I'm just going to the stables for a moment to say
+good-by to Roland." And she was off across the lawn, biting her lip to
+keep back the sobs that must not come until she was out of sight and
+hearing of her dear ones.
+
+The bidding good-by to her pony was a rather lengthy proceeding. She was
+alone, for the men had all gone off to their suppers, so she had her cry
+out on Roland's neck, and whispered her last loving instructions into
+his faithful ears.
+
+"You are to be a good pony, Roland, and do just as you are told till I
+come home. Undine is to ride you whenever she likes, and Aunt Jessie
+thinks riding is so good for her that she's going to try to let her go
+out for an hour every day. You will miss me, I know, Roland dear, and I
+shall miss you terribly, but I've got to have an education, and after
+all one winter isn't so very long to be away."
+
+Whether Roland understood or not I cannot pretend to say, but he rubbed
+his soft nose against Marjorie's cheek, and snuggled up close to her as
+if he loved her, and she left the stable feeling somehow cheered and
+comforted.
+
+On the way back she passed the old playhouse, and could not resist the
+temptation of going in for one more last good-bye, although she knew it
+would mean another fit of crying. The sight of the old toys and picture
+books--relics of the childhood that would never come back--affected her
+even more than the parting with Roland had done, and sinking down on the
+bench where she had dozed on the afternoon of Undine's arrival, she gave
+herself up to a few minutes of quiet, undisturbed grief.
+
+She had just dried her eyes, and was wondering if she could manage to
+reach her own room, and wash her face, without being seen by any of her
+family, when the door, which had been partly closed, was pushed gently
+open, and Undine came in.
+
+At sight of her friend, Undine drew back, blushing.
+
+"I didn't know you were here," she said, apologetically; "I'll go away
+if you want to be alone."
+
+"Come in," said Marjorie, making room for her on the bench. "Were you
+looking for me?"
+
+Undine's eyes drooped, and the color deepened in her cheeks.
+
+"I came to cry," she said simply.
+
+"To cry?" repeated Marjorie in surprise; "what did you want to cry for?"
+
+"Because you're going away," Undine confessed, nestling closer to her
+friend.
+
+Marjorie slipped an arm round her. "I didn't know you cared so much,"
+she said. "You'll have Aunt Jessie, and you're so fond of her."
+
+"I shall miss you dreadfully," whispered Undine tremulously. "You've
+been so good to me, and--and you were the first one to believe in me.
+All the rest thought I was telling stories, even Miss Jessie."
+
+"I couldn't help believing you," said Marjorie, laughing. "When you
+looked at me with those big eyes of yours, and told me all those strange
+things, I felt sure they were true, though it was the queerest story I
+had ever heard. I think I should have to believe every word you ever
+told me."
+
+Undine smiled.
+
+"I don't think your uncle believes it all even yet," she said. "He looks
+at me so queerly sometimes that it makes me uncomfortable. I wish you
+were not going away with him."
+
+"Oh, he is very kind," said Marjorie, loyally. "It's so good of him to
+be willing to take me to New York, and send me to school for the whole
+winter. I'm sorry you don't like him, Undine."
+
+"Well, he may be kind, but he isn't nearly as nice as your father and
+mother. How do you know you are going to like New York?"
+
+"Oh, I am sure I shall like it, as soon as I get used to things there."
+Marjorie spoke with forced cheerfulness and choked down a rising lump in
+her throat. "You see, it isn't like going to live among strangers," she
+went on, as much for the sake of reassuring herself as her friend. "I
+shall be with my own uncle and aunt, and then there will be Elsie."
+
+"Perhaps you won't like Elsie; you've never seen her."
+
+"Why, of course I shall like her. She's my own cousin, and only three
+months older than I am. I have always thought that having a cousin was
+the next best thing to having a sister."
+
+"I wonder if I ever had a sister," Undine remarked irrelevantly.
+"Somehow I don't believe I had, for when I say the word 'sister' it
+never makes my heart beat the way it does when I say 'Mother.' I know I
+had a mother, and I think I must have loved her very much."
+
+"Perhaps that's because you've grown to love my mother," Marjorie
+suggested; "she may remind you of yours."
+
+Undine pressed her hand to her forehead, and the old bewildered look
+came back into her eyes.
+
+"I don't know," she said, with a sigh; "I don't know anything. Oh,
+Marjorie, do you think I shall ever remember?"
+
+"I'm sure you will," said Marjorie confidently, "and so is Aunt Jessie.
+She says she's sure when you get well and strong it will make a great
+difference, and that's why she wants you to be out in the air as much
+as possible. You are ever so much better now than when you came, and
+when you are better still, and have left off worrying, you'll wake up
+some morning remembering everything; just wait and see if you don't."
+
+Undine smiled, but the smile was rather sad.
+
+"I try not to worry," she said, "and I'm happier here than I ever was
+before, but I'm so frightened even now when I stop to think about it
+all." Undine's sentence ended with an involuntary shudder.
+
+"Look here, Undine," said Marjorie, with a sudden determination, "I'm
+going to let you in to a great secret. You must promise not to speak to
+any one about it, even Mother, for if it should never come to anything
+it would be such a dreadful disappointment to everybody."
+
+"I won't tell," promised Undine, beginning to look interested.
+
+"It's about Aunt Jessie. Uncle Henry was speaking of Aunt Jessie one
+day, and he thinks it such a pity a good surgeon couldn't see her. He
+says she might be helped a great deal. There are no good surgeons here,
+but Uncle Henry says there are a great many in New York, and I've been
+thinking--oh, Undine, I'm almost afraid to say it, it seems so
+presumptuous--but just suppose I should meet a surgeon in New York, and
+be able to persuade him to come here to see Aunt Jessie, and suppose he
+should cure her! It's the one hope that keeps me up every time I feel
+like breaking down at the idea of going so far away from everybody."
+
+"It would be perfectly beautiful," Undine agreed warmly, "but do you
+suppose any surgeon would be willing to come so far to see some one he
+didn't know?"
+
+Marjorie's face, which had brightened for a moment, grew very serious
+again.
+
+"I don't know," she said. "If he knew her I'm sure he would come--any
+one would--but if he had never even heard of her existence it would be
+different, of course. I don't know how I'm going to manage it; I only
+know it's the thing I want most in the whole world, and I'm going to try
+for it with all my might."
+
+There was a ring in Marjorie's voice, and a light in her eyes, which
+impressed her friend, and with a quick, affectionate impulse, Undine
+caught her hand and squeezed it.
+
+"I wish I could help," she said, "but there isn't anything I can do
+except pray about it. I will pray every night, just as hard as I do to
+remember, and if it really should happen I think I should be almost as
+happy as you."
+
+Just then the conversation was interrupted by the sound of approaching
+footsteps and voices, and with a whispered caution to Undine not to
+breathe a word to any one, Marjorie hurried away to join her father and
+uncle, who were returning from their walk.
+
+Everybody made a great effort to be cheerful at supper that evening.
+Even Mr. Carleton, who was usually rather quiet, threw himself manfully
+into the breach, and told funny stories that made them all laugh. After
+all, the evening wasn't as dreadful as Marjorie had feared it was going
+to be, but when bedtime came, and she had to say good-night to her
+family for the last time for eight whole months, she felt herself in
+immediate danger of breaking down.
+
+Mrs. Graham sat for a long time by her daughter's bedside that night,
+and they had what Marjorie called "a perfectly Heavenly talk." It was a
+serious talk, but not a sad one, and when it was over, and Marjorie
+flung her arms round her mother's neck, and did break down just a
+little, things did not seem nearly as hopeless as she had expected.
+
+"I don't believe any other girl in the world has such a perfect mother
+as I have," was Marjorie's last waking thought. "I don't deserve her,
+and never can, but I'm going to try not to disappoint her any more than
+I can possibly help. One winter can't last for ever, and when June
+comes, and I am at home again, how gloriously happy we shall all be!"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII
+
+MARJORIE WRITES LETTERS
+
+
+
+                                        "October 28th, 19--
+
+          "MY OWN PRECIOUS MOTHER:
+
+          "The first letter must be to you, of course, and
+          the next to Aunt Jessie. Uncle Henry says if I
+          write now I can post my letter when we stop at
+          Albuquerque this afternoon. Oh, Mother darling,
+          was it only this morning that I said good-bye to
+          you all? It seems as if I had been away a month
+          already.
+
+          "I am writing this at the desk in the library car,
+          and the train shakes so I am afraid my writing
+          will be worse than ever. Uncle Henry says I shall
+          soon get accustomed to the motion, but just now it
+          makes my head ache, and the car feels very hot and
+          stuffy. I opened the window, but a great many
+          cinders came in, and a lady in the section next to
+          mine asked me to close it again, so I had to.
+
+          "I hope Father didn't tell you what a goose I was
+          at the station. I didn't mean to cry so much, but
+          when I thought of you and Aunt Jessie waving
+          good-bye to me from the porch, with such a
+          sorrowful look on both your dear faces, I just
+          couldn't help it. I am going to cheer up right
+          away, though, so please don't worry about me.
+
+          "It really was very exciting when the train
+          stopped at Lorton, and Uncle Henry and I got in.
+          When it began to move, and I realized that I was
+          actually on board, I gave a kind of gasp, and
+          would have liked to scream, if I hadn't been
+          afraid of shocking Uncle Henry. There are not many
+          people on the train, the colored porter says, and
+          Uncle Henry and I both have sections to ourselves.
+          I thought there would be regular beds to sleep in,
+          but there are not. The porter says they turn the
+          seats into beds at night, and there are curtains
+          to let down. I should think it would be very
+          uncomfortable sleeping so close to other people,
+          but I suppose one gets used to it when one has
+          traveled a good deal. Uncle Henry says Aunt Julia
+          won't travel unless she has a stateroom, but he
+          doesn't object to the sections. I looked into the
+          stateroom in this car, but it didn't look very
+          different from the sections, except that it was
+          larger and there was a place to wash.
+
+          "We had lunch at a little table in the dining-car.
+          It was delicious but my head ached a little, and I
+          wasn't very hungry. Uncle Henry talked politics
+          with a gentleman who sat at the same table with
+          us, but they didn't say much to me, so I looked
+          out of the window, and it was all very
+          interesting. We are in Mexico now, and to-morrow
+          we shall be in Kansas. Kansas makes me think of
+          Undine and Mrs. Hicks. Oh, how I do wonder if
+          Undine will ever remember!
+
+          "Uncle Henry says we shall be in Albuquerque in a
+          few minutes, so I must stop writing if I want to
+          post my letter there. Good-night, Mother darling;
+          I will write again to-morrow, and indeed, indeed,
+          I will try to remember all the things you said to
+          me last night, and to be always
+
+                                        "Your own loving
+                                                 "MARJORIE."
+
+
+                                        "October 28th.
+
+          "DARLING AUNT JESSIE:
+
+          "I have been a whole night on the train, and when
+          I think of how far away from home we are, I can't
+          help being just a little frightened, though it is
+          all very interesting. I posted Mother's letter at
+          Albuquerque, where the train stopped half an hour.
+          Uncle Henry and I got out and walked up and down
+          the platform, and, oh, it was good to get a breath
+          of fresh air! I really didn't know that any place
+          could be quite so stuffy as this train. Everybody
+          seems afraid to have the windows open on account
+          of the cinders, but I think I should prefer even
+          cinders to stuffiness. There were some Indians
+          selling blankets and baskets, and a good many
+          people bought things. They crowded round us, and
+          made a good deal of fuss, and I heard one lady say
+          she was afraid of them. Just think of being afraid
+          of poor harmless Indians! I would have liked to
+          tell her how foolish she was, but was afraid Uncle
+          Henry might be displeased. I don't think he is a
+          very friendly person, for he hardly speaks to any
+          of the passengers on the train, and last night he
+          told me I talked too much to the black porter, who
+          was making up the sections. Oh, Aunt Jessie, it
+          was so curious to see him turning all the seats
+          into beds, but you have been on a sleeping car,
+          and know all about it.
+
+          "We had a very good dinner, which I enjoyed more
+          than lunch, because my head was better, and in the
+          evening we sat on the platform of the observation
+          car, and it was very pleasant. Uncle Henry was
+          kind, and talked to me a good deal--at least it
+          was a good deal for him. I asked him if he wasn't
+          very anxious to get home to see Aunt Julia and
+          Elsie, and he said of course he should be glad to
+          see them, but didn't seem nearly as excited as I
+          am sure Father would be about seeing us if he had
+          been away from us for three whole weeks. I think
+          Elsie must be very busy, for besides going to
+          school, she has music and German lessons in the
+          afternoons, and goes to a dancing class. Uncle
+          Henry said he hoped she and I would be good
+          friends, and I told him I was quite sure we
+          should. Imagine a girl not being good friends with
+          her own first cousin! Did you know we are to live
+          in a hotel all winter? Uncle Henry has a house on
+          Madison Avenue, but Aunt Julia is tired of
+          housekeeping, so he has rented it, and taken rooms
+          in a hotel instead. Uncle Henry calls the rooms an
+          apartment, and the name of the hotel is the
+          'Plaza.' It is on Fifth Avenue, and right opposite
+          the park, which must be very pretty. I should
+          think it would seem very queer to live in a house
+          with a lot of other people, but then the people
+          who live in hotels must have a great many friends.
+
+          "At about nine o'clock Uncle Henry said he was
+          sleepy, so we went back to our car, and that was
+          when I talked to the porter while he made up the
+          beds. I thought at first that I should never be
+          able to sleep; the train shook so, and we were
+          going so fast. It was hard work undressing behind
+          the curtain, but I managed somehow, and even had a
+          wash, though I had to hold on to the side of the
+          car with one hand while I washed my face with the
+          other. I did cry a little after I was in bed, but
+          I don't think any one heard. It was my very first
+          night away from home, you know, Aunt Jessie dear,
+          but I tried to remember all the lovely, comforting
+          things you and Mother said to me, and I think I
+          must have been pretty tired, for before I realized
+          I was getting sleepy I was sound asleep, and I
+          never opened my eyes till it was broad daylight.
+
+          "To-day we are in Kansas, and it is very flat, and
+          not at all pretty. Uncle Henry says we won't have
+          any more fine scenery till we get to the Hudson.
+          The train seems stuffier than ever, and I am just
+          pining for fresh air and exercise. We sat on the
+          observation platform for a while this morning, but
+          Uncle Henry didn't like the cinders, and wouldn't
+          let me stay there by myself, so we came back to
+          our car. I don't think traveling on a train is
+          quite as pleasant as I thought it was going to be.
+          I am sure I should like an automobile better. We
+          saw automobiles at Topeka, where we stopped for
+          ten minutes this morning, and they looked very
+          queer, going all by themselves, without any
+          horses, but I think I should like a ride in one.
+          Uncle Henry says Aunt Julia is afraid of
+          automobiles, so she still uses a carriage.
+
+          "I talked to some people in the observation car--a
+          lady and a little boy, who are going to
+          Chicago--but I think most of the passengers on
+          this train are rather unsociable. They don't talk
+          much to each other but just read magazines and
+          newspapers when they are awake, and take naps
+          about every hour. I have watched the two ladies in
+          the section opposite mine, and they have been
+          asleep at least four times to-day. I heard one of
+          them say she never could sleep on a train; wasn't
+          that funny?
+
+          "We can post letters from Kansas City, where we
+          are due at half past eight to-night, so I can send
+          this on from there. We get to Chicago to-morrow
+          morning, and have three hours there; won't that be
+          exciting? Oh, I do hope Uncle Henry will take me
+          for a good long walk! I feel as if I could tramp
+          ten miles.
+
+          "Good-bye, you precious Auntie! I send a thousand
+          hugs and kisses to everybody. Tell Undine not to
+          forget Roland's sugar--he always has three
+          lumps--and to be sure the kittens in the barn have
+          their milk every night and morning. I am afraid I
+          forgot to tell her about the kittens; there were
+          so many other things to think of. I am so glad you
+          and Mother have Undine; she is such a dear, and I
+          know will try to take my place. I will write to
+          Father and Mother after I have been in Chicago.
+
+                             "From your own little niece,
+                                                "MARJORIE."
+
+
+                                        "October 30th.
+
+          "MY OWN PRECIOUS FATHER AND MOTHER:
+
+          "This letter is for you both, and Aunt Jessie must
+          have a share in it, too, because it is the last I
+          shall be able to write on the train.
+
+          "I didn't write at all yesterday, it was such an
+          exciting day! We got to Chicago at about noon,
+          and, oh, what a big, noisy, wonderful place it is!
+          I know I could never describe it if I tried for a
+          week, so I will just tell you what we did. It was
+          raining, which was a great disappointment to me,
+          but Uncle Henry didn't seem to mind. He said we
+          would take a taxi and go to the 'Blackstone' for
+          lunch. I had no idea what a taxi was, but didn't
+          like to ask and when Uncle Henry called one what
+          do you suppose it was? One of those wonderful
+          automobiles! I was a tiny bit scared when we first
+          got in, but when we started, and went rushing
+          through those crowded, noisy streets, I just loved
+          it.
+
+          "It didn't take us long to get to the
+          'Blackstone,' which is an enormous hotel, looking
+          out on the lake. The lake is wonderful; I never
+          saw so much water before, and though the fog was
+          thick, and we couldn't see very far, I should have
+          liked to stand and look at it for a long time, but
+          Uncle Henry said we must hurry. I never saw such a
+          wonderful place as the dining-room at the
+          'Blackstone.' There were quantities of little
+          tables, and men waiters to bring you what you
+          wanted. I thought the bill of fare on the train
+          was long enough to satisfy any one, but the one at
+          the 'Blackstone' was simply endless. Uncle Henry
+          told me to choose what I wanted, but there were so
+          many things I couldn't possibly choose, so he
+          ordered a nice lunch, and all the time we were
+          eating music was playing in a gallery overhead.
+
+          "After lunch Uncle Henry took another taxi, and
+          told the driver to show us the city. It was all
+          very interesting, but so noisy and confusing that
+          I got very tired looking at so many things at
+          once, and I was really rather glad when Uncle
+          Henry said it was time to go back to the station.
+
+          "This train is called the 'Chicago Special,' and
+          is even grander than the one we were on before. It
+          goes very fast, but doesn't swing so much, because
+          the road-bed is smoother, Uncle Henry says. I was
+          so tired last night that I went to bed right after
+          dinner, and never woke once till morning. We are
+          due in New York this afternoon, and Uncle Henry
+          says I had better post my letter in Albany,
+          because after we leave there he wants me to see
+          the Hudson, which I believe is very beautiful. So
+          good-bye, you dear precious people! Oh, how
+          anxious I am for my first letters from home! Don't
+          forget to tell me about every single little thing
+          that happens. I am thinking of you all every
+          minute, and if I were going to any other people
+          but Aunt Julia and Elsie I would be so unhappy.
+          But of course going to one's own aunt and cousin
+          is very different from being with strangers, and
+          Uncle Henry is really very kind. Oh, I do wonder
+          if Elsie is as much excited about meeting me as I
+          am about meeting her!
+
+          "Uncle Henry says we shall be in Albany in ten
+          minutes, so good-bye again, with oceans of love
+          from
+
+                                        "YOUR OWN MARJORIE."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII
+
+AUNT JULIA AND ELSIE
+
+
+"ELSIE, my dear child, do you know what time it is? Nearly half past
+five, and you haven't started to dress. Your father will be so annoyed
+if you are not ready when he arrives."
+
+Mrs. Carleton, a small, fair woman, with a rather worried, fretful
+expression, paused in the doorway of her daughter's room, and regarded
+the delinquent with anxiety not unmixed with dismay. Elsie, arrayed in a
+pink kimono, was lying comfortably on the sofa, deep in the pages of an
+interesting story-book. At her mother's words she threw down her book,
+and rose with a yawn. She was a tall girl with dark eyes and hair, and
+she would have been decidedly pretty if she too had not looked rather
+cross.
+
+"Is it really so late?" she said, indifferently. "Why didn't Hortense
+call me? I had no idea what time it was."
+
+"But you ought to have known, dear," Mrs. Carleton protested gently. "I
+don't suppose Hortense knew you wanted to be called, but I will ring
+for her at once. You will hurry, won't you, darling? What excuse can I
+possibly make to your father if he asks for you and finds you are not
+ready?"
+
+"Oh, don't worry, Mamma. You know papa only scolds because he thinks it
+his duty; he doesn't really care. Besides, the train will probably be
+late; those Western trains always are."
+
+Mrs. Carleton rang the bell for the maid, whose room was in a different
+part of the hotel, and went to the closet in quest of her daughter's
+evening dress.
+
+"I will help you till Hortense comes," she said. "You really must hurry,
+Elsie. It is not as if your father were coming alone; he will expect you
+to be ready to greet Marjorie."
+
+Elsie shrugged her shoulders indifferently.
+
+"As if a girl who has been living on a cattle ranch in Arizona would
+care whether I were dressed or not," she said. "Probably where she comes
+from people wear kimonos all day long, and never even heard of dressing
+for the evening."
+
+Mrs. Carleton sighed, and the worried expression deepened in her blue
+eyes.
+
+"I really wish, darling, that you would try to be a little more gracious
+about this. Of course it is a trial, but your father has made up his
+mind that Marjorie shall spend the winter with us, and it isn't going to
+make things any pleasanter to be constantly finding fault about them."
+
+"I wasn't finding fault," retorted Elsie, who had by this time taken off
+the kimono, and begun brushing out her long hair. "I only said Marjorie
+Graham wouldn't care a fig what I had on, and I don't believe she will.
+I don't intend to be disagreeable to her, but you know what an awful
+nuisance it's going to be, and how I hate it. Think of having to take
+her about everywhere with me, and introduce her to all my friends."
+
+"My dear, she is your own first cousin. Besides, I am sure she is a nice
+child--your father speaks so affectionately of her in his letters--and
+her mother is a lovely woman. I was very fond of her when we were girls
+together."
+
+"Oh, I dare say she is all right," Elsie admitted grudgingly, "but that
+doesn't alter the fact of its being an awful bother to have her here for
+a whole winter. You know how papa fusses. He will be sure to get some
+idea in his head about my not paying Marjorie enough attention, and he
+will expect me to take her everywhere. Oh, I hate it, I just hate it!"
+And Elsie's voice actually trembled with vexation.
+
+Mrs. Carleton sighed again.
+
+"I am very sorry, dear," she began, but the entrance of the maid at this
+moment, put an end to the conversation, and she left the room, with a
+final admonition to her daughter to hurry as much as possible.
+
+But alas! it was too late for hurrying. Mrs. Carleton had only just
+entered the drawing-room, when she heard a key turned in the outer door
+of the apartment, followed by the sound of a familiar voice calling
+cheerfully--
+
+"Julia, Elsie, where are you? Here we are, safe and sound!"
+
+With a rapidly beating heart Mrs. Carleton hurried forward to greet her
+husband and his niece.
+
+"My dear Henry, your train must have been just on time," she exclaimed
+rather nervously. "We had scarcely begun to expect you yet. And so this
+is Marjorie. I am very glad to see you, dear; I hope you are not quite
+worn out after that dreadful journey."
+
+"I am not the very least bit tired," returned a fresh young voice, and
+Marjorie returned her aunt's kiss so heartily that Mrs. Carleton was
+rather startled.
+
+"We were twenty minutes late," Mr. Carleton said, in answer to his
+wife's remark, but he kissed her affectionately before putting the
+question she was dreading.
+
+"And where is Elsie?"
+
+"She will be here in a few moments," Mrs. Carleton explained hurriedly.
+"Now do come in and have some tea, or is it too late for tea? I am so
+glad to have you back, Henry dear; we have missed you terribly. I am
+sure you must be tired even if Marjorie isn't."
+
+"Not so tired as hungry; we had a very poor lunch on the train. It is
+rather late for tea, though; we can have an early dinner instead. Where
+is that little witch, Elsie? Isn't she coming to see us?"
+
+"Oh, certainly, dear; I told you she would be here in a few moments. Now
+I will take Marjorie to her room; she will be glad to wash off some of
+those horrid cinders, I am sure." She glanced as she spoke at Marjorie's
+linen shirt-waist, and the straw hat, which certainly did not look as if
+it had come from a New York milliner.
+
+"Am I not to have the same room with Elsie, Aunt Julia?" Marjorie
+inquired, in a tone of some disappointment, as Mrs. Carleton led the
+way down a long, narrow entry, with doors on both sides.
+
+"Oh, no, dear; you are to have a nice little room all to yourself. It
+was so fortunate that we had this extra room in the apartment. We
+intended using it for guests, but when your uncle wrote that he was
+bringing you home with him, we decided to give it to you."
+
+"Oh, I hope I am not going to be in the way," said Marjorie, blushing.
+"I had no idea I was to have a room to myself, especially when Uncle
+Henry told me you were living in a hotel. I wouldn't in the least mind
+rooming with Elsie."
+
+"But you are not at all in the way," said Mrs. Carleton, kindly. "We
+seldom have guests staying with us, and shall not need the extra room.
+This is Elsie's room; yours is just opposite."
+
+At that moment Elsie's door opened, and that young lady emerged,
+followed by the French maid, who was still fastening her dress. At sight
+of her cousin Marjorie sprang forward, and before Elsie at all realized
+what was happening to her, two eager arms were round her neck, and she
+was being hugged in a manner that fairly took away her breath.
+
+"Oh, Elsie, I am so glad!" cried Marjorie rapturously. "Isn't it too
+wonderful and beautiful that we should really meet at last? Do let me
+look at you; I want to see if you are like what I pictured you." And
+Marjorie held her astonished cousin off at arms' length, and surveyed
+her critically.
+
+"What did you expect me to be like?" Elsie inquired, not without some
+curiosity, as she gently extricated herself from Marjorie's embrace. She
+had taken in every detail of her cousin's appearance in one glance.
+
+"I don't exactly know--at least it is rather hard to describe," said
+Marjorie, with an embarrassed laugh. Something in Elsie's expression was
+making her vaguely uncomfortable. "I didn't think you would be quite so
+grown up as you are."
+
+"I am nearly fifteen," said Elsie, as if that fact alone were quite
+sufficient to account for her "grown up" appearance. "Is Papa in the
+drawing-room, Mamma?"
+
+"Yes, darling; run and speak to him; he is expecting you. This is your
+room, Marjorie; I hope you will find it comfortable."
+
+"It's a beautiful room," declared Marjorie, heartily, "only--only, are
+you quite sure you want me to have it, Aunt Julia?"
+
+"Quite sure," said Mrs. Carleton, smiling. "I suppose your trunk will be
+here before long. Hortense will unpack for you, and help you to dress
+for dinner."
+
+Marjorie's eyes opened wide in surprise, and she glanced at the
+white-capped French maid, who still lingered in the background.
+
+"You are very kind, Aunt Julia," she said politely, "but I don't need
+any help; I always do everything for myself."
+
+Mrs. Carleton looked a little embarrassed.
+
+"You may go, Hortense," she said, turning to the maid; "Miss Marjorie
+will ring if she wants you. You mustn't let her think you don't need
+her, dear," she added in a lower tone, as the maid left the room. "She
+is rather inclined to be lazy, and she will take advantage of you if you
+are too easy with her."
+
+Marjorie said nothing, but she was both puzzled and uncomfortable. Mrs.
+Carleton, however, did not appear to notice that anything was wrong.
+
+"I will leave you for a little while now," she said. "You must make
+yourself at home; your uncle and I want you to be very happy here."
+
+The quick tears started to Marjorie's eyes, and she impulsively held out
+her hand to her aunt. But Mrs. Carleton did not notice the gesture, and
+in another moment she had left the room, closing the door after her. In
+the entry she encountered Elsie returning from the interview with her
+father. Elsie was not in the best of spirits.
+
+"Papa has sent me to stay with Marjorie," she said in a discontented
+whisper. "He says he is afraid she is homesick. Oh, Mamma, did you ever
+see such clothes?"
+
+"Never mind about the clothes, dear," said her mother, with forced
+cheerfulness; "we shall soon fit her out with new ones. I think she will
+really be quite pretty when she is properly dressed."
+
+Elsie shrugged her shoulders, but made no further remarks, and the next
+moment she was tapping at her cousin's door.
+
+"Oh, I'm so glad you've come!" was Marjorie's joyful greeting. "Now we
+can have a nice talk before my trunk comes. Sit down in this comfortable
+chair and I'll take the little one. Isn't this a lovely room, and wasn't
+it sweet of your mother to say she hoped I should be happy here? Oh, I
+wonder if you can possibly be one half as glad to see me as I am to see
+you."
+
+Elsie was puzzled, but she was a little flattered as well. She was not a
+general favorite among her companions, and to find a cousin who had
+evidently been longing to make her acquaintance was rather an agreeable
+experience. So her face brightened considerably, and her voice was quite
+pleasant as she remarked, sinking into the comfortable arm-chair
+Marjorie had indicated--
+
+"It is very interesting to meet you. I have often heard papa speak of
+you and your mother and father."
+
+"Why, of course you have," laughed Marjorie, wondering in her simple way
+whether all New York girls of fifteen were as "grown up" as Elsie. "I
+don't believe though that you have thought half as much about me as I
+have about you. You see, it's different in Arizona. There aren't very
+many people, and they all live a long way from each other. Ever since I
+can remember I have longed for a girl friend. But with you it must be
+very different, going to school and living in a big city. I suppose you
+have lots of friends."
+
+"Oh, yes, I have a good many," said Elsie, with her little society air.
+"I am not very fond of them all, though; some girls are so stupid."
+
+"I hope you will like me," said Marjorie, a little wistfully. "We ought
+to be even more than friends because we are cousins, and I have always
+thought that a cousin must be the next best thing to a sister. Don't you
+often long for a sister?"
+
+"Why no, I don't," Elsie admitted. "Indeed, I am not sure that I should
+care for one at all. I think being an only child is very pleasant,
+though of course having an older brother would have its advantages. He
+would introduce one to his friends and bring them to the house. Are you
+fond of boys?"
+
+"Oh, yes, I like them very well, but I have never known many. In fact, I
+haven't known many people of any kind except Indians and Mexicans."
+
+"Indians and Mexicans!" repeated Elsie in a tone of dismay. "How
+perfectly awful! You don't mean that you make friends of those dreadful
+people we saw on the train coming home from California, do you?"
+
+"They are not all dreadful creatures," said Marjorie, flushing. "They
+are not quite like white people, of course, but some of them are very
+good. I know a Mexican boy who is just as bright and clever as he can
+be. His father is going to send him to college next year. Then there is
+Juanita; she has lived with us for years, and we are all very fond of
+her."
+
+"Oh, I didn't know you were talking about servants," said Elsie. "I
+thought you meant friends. Hadn't you any real friends?"
+
+"Not the kind of friends you mean. I had Father and Mother and Aunt
+Jessie, but until last August when Undine came, I had never spoken to a
+white girl of my own age."
+
+"Undine, what a queer name. Is she a Mexican or an Indian?"
+
+"She isn't either," said Marjorie, laughing, "and Undine isn't her real
+name. We only call her that because we don't know what her name is. It's
+a very interesting story, and I'll tell you all about it, but here comes
+my trunk, and I suppose I had better unpack and change my dress before
+dinner."
+
+In spite of Marjorie's reiterated assurances that she didn't need any
+help, Hortense reappeared, and insisted on making herself useful. She
+was very polite and talked volubly in broken English about
+Mademoiselle's being _fatiguer_ and how glad she, Hortense, would be to
+assist her in every way, but Marjorie could not help feeling
+uncomfortable, and wishing that the well-intentioned maid would go away
+and leave her to unpack by herself. But what made her still more
+uncomfortable was the fact that Elsie also lingered, and regarded every
+article that came out of that modest leather trunk, with a keen,
+critical eye.
+
+"What are you going to wear down to dinner?" she inquired anxiously as
+the last things were being stowed away in the bureau drawers.
+
+"I don't know," said Marjorie; "I hadn't thought about it. I suppose my
+gray flannel suit, or else a clean shirt-waist and duck skirt."
+
+Elsie clasped her hands in horror.
+
+"Oh, you can't, you can't possibly!" she cried in real dismay. "Those
+things will do very well for breakfast and luncheon, but everybody
+dresses here in the evening. Let me see what you can wear. You haven't
+got much, but I suppose that white muslin will do."
+
+"But that is my very best dress," protested Marjorie, her cheeks
+crimsoning from embarrassment and distress. "I don't think Mother would
+like to have me wear it the first evening. I won't have anything left
+for really grand occasions if I do."
+
+"Oh, yes, you will," said Elsie, confidently. "Mamma is going to buy you
+a lot of new clothes; that was all arranged before you came. It would
+never do to have you going about everywhere in these things."
+
+Marjorie glanced at her cousin's stylish, well fitting blue chiffon and
+her heart was filled with dismay. Was it possible that all her mother's
+and aunt's stitches had been taken in vain? It was very kind of Aunt
+Julia to wish to buy her pretty clothes, but she did not like to have
+her present wardrobe spoken of as "those things." Before she had time to
+say any more on the subject, however, Mrs. Carleton appeared, to tell
+them to hurry, as her husband was impatient for his dinner.
+
+That first dinner in the big crowded hotel restaurant was a wonderful
+revelation to Marjorie. The bright lights, the gay music, the ladies in
+their pretty evening dresses, it was all like a vision of fairyland, and
+for the first few minutes she could do nothing but gaze about her and
+wonder if she were awake.
+
+"And do you really know all these people?" she whispered to Elsie, when
+they were seated at one of the small tables, and a waiter had taken
+their order.
+
+"Good gracious, no," laughed Elsie, who was beginning to find this
+unsophisticated Western cousin decidedly amusing. "We don't know one of
+them to speak to."
+
+Marjorie's eyes opened wide in astonishment.
+
+"How very strange," she said. "I supposed people who lived in the same
+house always knew each other. We know everybody at home, even if they
+live ten miles away."
+
+"Well, this isn't Arizona, you know," said Elsie, shrugging her
+shoulders, and Marjorie, feeling as if she had somehow been snubbed,
+relapsed into silence.
+
+Just then a lady and a gentleman and a boy of eighteen or nineteen came
+in, and took their seats at an opposite table. Elsie, who had appeared
+quite indifferent to all the other guests, instantly began to show signs
+of interest.
+
+"There they are," she said eagerly, addressing her mother. "The
+gentleman is with them again to-night, too. I forgot to tell you, Mamma;
+I've found out their name, it's Randolph."
+
+"How did you find out?" Mrs. Carleton asked, beginning to look
+interested in her turn.
+
+"Lulu Bell told me to-day walking home from school. That boy passed us
+on the Avenue, and I asked her if she didn't think he was handsome. She
+said she knew who he was, though she had never met him. His uncle is a
+Dr. Randolph, and a friend of her father's. This boy and his mother are
+from Virginia, and are spending the winter here. He is a freshman at
+Columbia, and his mother doesn't want to be separated from him, because
+she is a widow, and he is her only child. Lulu says Dr. Randolph has
+asked her mother to call on his sister-in-law. He said they had taken an
+apartment at this hotel for the winter. I made Lulu promise to introduce
+me if she ever had the chance, but she may never even meet him. She is
+such a queer girl; she doesn't care the least bit about boys."
+
+"A very sensible young person, I should say," remarked Mr. Carleton,
+dryly. "How old is your friend Lulu?"
+
+"Nearly fourteen; quite old enough to be interested in something besides
+dolls, but she's dreadfully young for her age."
+
+"I wish some other little girls were young for their age," said Mr.
+Carleton; "it doesn't appear to be a common failing in these days."
+
+Elsie flushed and looked annoyed.
+
+"That boy really has a very nice face," put in Mrs. Carleton, anxious to
+change the subject, "and his devotion to his mother is charming. I
+suppose her husband must have died recently; she is in such deep
+mourning."
+
+While the others were talking, Marjorie, whose eyes had been wandering
+rapidly from one group to another, had finally fixed themselves upon the
+party at the opposite table. They certainly looked attractive; the
+gentleman with the strong, clever face, and hair just turning gray; the
+pretty, gentle little mother in her black dress, and the handsome
+college boy, with merry blue eyes. It was quite natural that Elsie
+should want to know them, but why in the world didn't she speak to them
+herself without waiting to be introduced? It seemed so strange and
+inhospitable to live in the same house with people and not speak to
+them. So when her aunt had finished her remarks about the Randolph
+family, she turned to Elsie and inquired innocently:
+
+"If you want to know that boy so much why don't you tell him so?"
+
+There was a moment of astonished silence; then Elsie giggled.
+
+"You are the funniest girl I ever met, Marjorie," she said. "Why don't
+you do it yourself?"
+
+"Elsie," said her mother in a tone of shocked reproof, and turning to
+Marjorie, she added gravely:
+
+"When you have been in New York a little longer, my dear, you will learn
+that it is not the proper thing for young girls to speak to strangers
+to whom they have not been introduced."
+
+There was no doubt about the snub this time, and poor Marjorie was
+horribly embarrassed. She cast an appealing glance at her uncle, but he
+appeared to be absorbed, and finding no help from Elsie either, she
+relapsed into silence, and did not speak again for at least five
+minutes.
+
+After all, that first evening could scarcely be called a success. Mr.
+and Mrs. Carleton were very kind, and Elsie seemed disposed to be
+friendly, but Marjorie was conscious of a sensation of disappointment
+for which she could scarcely account even to herself. She struggled
+bravely against the homesickness which threatened every moment to
+overwhelm her, and tried to take an interest in all her new relatives'
+conversation, but when dinner was over, and they had gone upstairs
+again, she was not sorry to avail herself of Aunt Julia's suggestion
+that she must be "quite worn out," and slip quietly off to bed. It was
+not easy to dispense with the services of Hortense, who showed an
+alarming tendency to linger and offer to assist, but even she was
+finally disposed of, and with a sigh of intense relief, Marjorie closed
+her door, switched off the electric light, and crept into bed. Then
+followed a good hearty cry, which somehow made her feel better, and
+then, being young and very tired as well, she fell into a sound, healthy
+sleep, from which she did not awaken until it was broad daylight.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX
+
+MARJORIE TAKES A MORNING WALK
+
+
+WHEN Marjorie opened her eyes the next morning, she lay for some minutes
+thinking over the events of the previous day, and listening to the
+unusual noise in the street. There was so much noise that she began to
+fear it must be very late, and jumping out of bed, she went to look at
+the clock. It was only just half-past six. She had forgotten to ask at
+what hour the family breakfasted, but seven o'clock was the usual
+breakfast time at the ranch, so she decided that it might be well to
+dress as speedily as possible. She felt very wide awake indeed this
+morning, and suddenly remembered that she had not had a walk or ride
+since leaving home.
+
+"I'll get Elsie to come with me for a good long tramp after breakfast,"
+she said to herself. "If she can't go on account of school, I'll ask
+Uncle Henry to let me walk with him to his office, and I can come back
+by myself."
+
+Greatly to Marjorie's relief, no Hortense appeared with offers of
+assistance, and she performed her morning toilet in peace. She put on
+the gray flannel suit, which Elsie had pronounced "good enough for
+breakfast and luncheon," and then once more glancing at the clock,
+discovered that it was still only five minutes past seven.
+
+"If they breakfast at seven I shall be only five minutes late," she
+said, with a feeling of satisfaction; "I should have hated to be late
+the first morning. Perhaps they won't have it till half-past, and then I
+shall have time to write a few lines to Mother first."
+
+She opened her door, and crossed the hall to the drawing-room, where her
+aunt had told her the family usually breakfasted, in preference to going
+downstairs to the restaurant, but somewhat to her surprise, she found
+the room just as she had left it on the previous evening, and the whole
+apartment seemed very quiet. She went to one of the windows and looked
+out.
+
+"What a lot of people there are in the street," she remarked
+reflectively, "and they all seem in such a hurry. I wonder where they
+are going. How pretty the park is. Oh, how I should love a gallop on
+Roland before breakfast."
+
+The door behind her opened, and a woman with a duster in her hand came
+in. She looked very much surprised at finding the room occupied.
+
+"Good morning," said Marjorie, with her friendly smile; "it's a lovely
+day, isn't it?"
+
+"It's very pleasant," returned the chambermaid, still looking surprised.
+"You are up early, Miss," she added politely.
+
+"Am I?" said Marjorie, surprised in her turn. "I didn't know I was. At
+what time do my aunt and uncle generally have breakfast?"
+
+"Never before half-past eight, and sometimes later. Mrs. Carleton
+generally has her breakfast in bed, but Mr. Carleton and the young lady
+have theirs in here."
+
+"Half-past eight," repeated Marjorie in dismay, "and it's only a little
+after seven now. I should say I was early."
+
+The maid smiled, and began dusting the ornaments without making any
+further remarks. She did not appear to be a very communicative person,
+and Marjorie decided that she might as well go back to her room, and
+write the letter to her mother, which could now be a much longer one
+than she had at first intended. But on the way she suddenly changed her
+mind.
+
+"I can write later just as well," she decided, "and it really is much
+too beautiful to stay indoors. I'll go and have a walk in that lovely
+park. I shall feel much more like breakfast when I've had some fresh air
+and exercise."
+
+Marjorie had not the least idea that she was doing anything unusual as
+she ran lightly down the broad marble stairs five minutes later, and
+stepped out through the open street door into the fresh morning air. The
+Carleton's apartment was on the fifth floor, but Marjorie scorned to use
+the lift, which had struck her the evening before, as a very wonderful
+but unnecessary invention.
+
+Several people in the hall looked at her curiously, and a man in brass
+buttons asked her if he should call a cab.
+
+"Oh, no, thank you," said Marjorie, pleasantly; "I'm going for a walk,"
+and she passed out, without another backward glance.
+
+It really was a glorious morning, and Marjorie drew in long deep breaths
+of the keen autumn air, as she crossed the broad avenue and entered the
+park. She was not disappointed in her first impression that the park was
+beautiful, and the further she walked among the trees and broad asphalt
+paths, the more attractive it became. It was the last of October, but
+the autumn had been a warm one, and the grass was almost as green as in
+summer. To Marjorie, accustomed all her life to the arid prairie, where
+trees and flowers were practically unknown, it all seemed very
+wonderful, and she enjoyed every step. She walked rapidly on for some
+distance, paying no particular attention to the direction she was
+taking. The possibility of getting lost never once entered her mind. She
+met very few people, and they all seemed in a hurry, and looked like men
+and women on their way to their day's work. Once she passed a
+forlorn-looking man asleep on a bench, and remembered what Undine had
+once said about a tramp. This must be a tramp, she felt sure, and she
+paused to regard him with interest as a new specimen of humanity.
+
+Suddenly she came to a standstill and looked about here. She was in a
+quiet path, with rocks on both sides, and there was not a soul in sight.
+
+"I must turn back," she said, with an uncomfortable recollection of the
+passing of time. "I was enjoying my walk so much I never realized how
+far I was going, but I'm afraid I shall have to hurry now if I don't
+want to be late for breakfast."
+
+Accordingly she turned her steps in the direction from which she had
+come, and walked on rapidly for several minutes. But alas! she had
+taken more than one turn since entering the park, and going back was no
+such easy matter as she had imagined. The more she tried to remember the
+way she had come, the more bewildered she became.
+
+"I declare, I believe I am lost!" she said at last, with a feeling of
+amused dismay. "I must be more careful to notice where I am going next
+time. Oh, there is one of those men in uniform, that Uncle Henry said
+were policemen. He will be able to tell me if I'm going right."
+
+She quickened her steps, and approaching the officer, inquired politely:
+
+"Will you please tell me if this is the way to the entrance?"
+
+"Which entrance?" inquired the policeman, regarding her curiously.
+
+"I don't know," said Marjorie; "the entrance I came in--are there more
+than one?"
+
+"A good many more; which avenue do you want?"
+
+Marjorie's heart was beginning to beat rather fast. For the moment she
+could not remember; even the name of the hotel--which she had only heard
+once or twice--had escaped her recollection.
+
+"I have forgotten the name of the street," she said helplessly, "but
+it's the entrance opposite the big hotel."
+
+The policeman looked uncertain, but at that moment a young man riding a
+bicycle appeared upon the scene, at sight of whom Marjorie's face
+brightened, and she uttered a little gasp of relief.
+
+"That young gentleman knows," she exclaimed joyfully, and, quite
+forgetful of her aunt's snub of the evening before, she darted forward,
+and hailed the youth on the bicycle quite as if she had been an old
+friend.
+
+"Oh, please excuse me for stopping you," she cried, eagerly, "but you
+know where I want to go, and I have forgotten the name of the hotel."
+
+The young man brought his bicycle to a standstill; sprang to the ground,
+and snatched off his cap. He was evidently very much surprised, but too
+polite to show it.
+
+"I beg your pardon," he said in a very pleasant voice; "can I be of any
+assistance to you?"
+
+"Yes," said Marjorie, frankly. "I saw you in the hotel dining-room last
+night, and I heard my cousin say you lived there. I came out for a walk
+before breakfast, and--it's very stupid I suppose--but I can't find my
+way back to the entrance where I came in."
+
+A look of comprehension came into the young man's pleasant face, and he
+regarded Marjorie with interest not unmixed with amusement.
+
+"I understand," he said; "you are staying at the 'Plaza,' and want to go
+back there."
+
+"Yes, that is the name," said Marjorie, looking much relieved; "will you
+please show me the way to the gate?"
+
+"Certainly," said her new acquaintance, smiling, and he at once began to
+lead the way, pushing his bicycle along beside him.
+
+"Oh, don't you want to get on your wheel again?" Marjorie inquired
+anxiously. "I can easily follow if you don't go too fast."
+
+The young man protested that he had ridden quite long enough, and would
+be glad of a little walk.
+
+"You are very kind," said Marjorie, heartily. "It was very stupid of me
+to lose my way; I never was lost before."
+
+"And do you often walk here in the park?" her new friend inquired,
+politely.
+
+"Oh, no, I was never here before. I only came to New York yesterday; my
+home is in Arizona."
+
+"You have come a long distance," he said. "And how do you like New
+York--that is to say as much as you have seen of it?"
+
+"I think it is very noisy and rather smoky, but the hotel is beautiful,
+and so is this park. I haven't seen much of New York yet, but I am going
+to spend the winter here."
+
+"I quite agree with you as to the noise and smoke," said her companion,
+smiling, "but New York is a pretty jolly place notwithstanding. It isn't
+my home either; I am from Virginia."
+
+"Yes, I know you are," said Marjorie, innocently. "You came here to go
+to college, and your mother is with you. My cousin told us all about it
+last evening at dinner."
+
+The young man laughed outright. It was such a merry laugh that Marjorie
+could not help joining in it, and after that they were excellent
+friends.
+
+"Now I wonder if you would mind telling me how your cousin obtained her
+information," Marjorie's new friend said when he had recovered his
+gravity. "I haven't met her, have I? What is her name?"
+
+"Elsie Carleton. No, she hasn't met you yet, but she wants to very much.
+A friend of hers has promised to introduce you if she has a chance. Your
+name is Randolph, isn't it?"
+
+"Yes, Beverly Randolph, at your service. I shall be very glad to meet
+your cousin, I am sure. Perhaps you will introduce us."
+
+"Of course I will if you like. It seems very queer not to know a person
+who lives in the same house with one, but Elsie says they don't know any
+of the people at the hotel. It was all so different at home."
+
+Then Beverly Randolph asked some questions about Arizona, which set
+Marjorie off on a description of the ranch, and her life there, which
+lasted until they reached the Fifth Avenue entrance.
+
+"That's the gate I came in," exclaimed Marjorie. "I wasn't so far away,
+after all. Would you mind telling me what time it is?"
+
+Beverly Randolph took out his watch.
+
+"Ten minutes past nine," he said, looking somewhat dismayed in his turn;
+"I had no idea it was so late. Luckily it is Saturday, so there are no
+recitations to miss."
+
+"O dear! I am afraid I am terribly late for breakfast," said Marjorie,
+feeling very much ashamed of herself. And without another word, they
+hurried across the avenue, and entered the hotel, where the very first
+person Marjorie saw in the entrance hall was her uncle.
+
+"Oh, Uncle Henry, I am so sorry to be late!" she cried remorsefully,
+springing to Mr. Carleton's side. "I hope you and Aunt Julia aren't
+annoyed with me."
+
+"Where in the world have you been, Marjorie?" her uncle demanded,
+ignoring the latter part of her remark. He was looking decidedly annoyed
+as well as worried.
+
+"Why, I got up early," Marjorie explained, "and the girl who was dusting
+said you never had breakfast before half-past eight, so I thought I
+would go for a walk in the park. I got lost, and couldn't remember the
+name of the hotel, but fortunately, just as I was beginning to be a
+little frightened, I met Mr. Beverly Randolph, and he brought me home."
+
+"And who is Beverly Randolph? I had no idea you had friends in New
+York."
+
+"Oh, he isn't exactly a friend--at least he wasn't till this morning.
+You know who he is, Uncle Henry; that nice-looking boy Elsie was talking
+about at dinner last night. Wasn't it fortunate I recognized him. He is
+just as nice as he can be, and I'm going to introduce him to Elsie."
+
+"Come upstairs at once," said Mr. Carleton, a trifle less sternly. "We
+have been very anxious about you; you must never do such a thing
+again."
+
+Marjorie was dumb with astonishment. Beyond being late for breakfast she
+had no idea that she had done anything wrong. She followed her uncle in
+silence, and did not utter another word until they had reached their own
+apartment, where they found Mrs. Carleton in a condition bordering on
+hysteria, and Elsie trying to look solemn, but secretly rather enjoying
+the situation. "I should really think, Marjorie, that you might have
+known," said Mrs. Carleton in a tone of deep reproach, when she had
+heard her niece's explanation, "your own common sense should have told
+you that to go wandering off by yourself in a strange city at seven
+o'clock in the morning, was a most extraordinary thing to do. You must
+never again go out alone at any hour. Elsie has never been out without a
+maid."
+
+Marjorie's eyes opened wide in amazement.
+
+"Not go out alone?" she repeated stupidly. "Why I've always gone
+everywhere by myself ever since I was a little girl."
+
+"Well, you are not to do it here, whatever you may have done in
+Arizona," said Mrs. Carleton, crossly. "As for speaking to a strange
+young man, and getting him to bring you home, I really never heard of
+anything so outrageous. We have been frightened to death about you."
+
+"There, there, Julia," put in Uncle Henry, "don't you think you have
+said enough? I am sure Marjorie will never do such a thing again; she
+will soon be accustomed to New York ways. Now suppose you let the child
+have some breakfast; she looks about ready to drop."
+
+But it was not want of food that had driven the color from Marjorie's
+cheeks and the light from her eyes. Indeed, she had but small appetite
+for the tempting breakfast that was set before her, and it was only by a
+mighty effort that she was able to keep back the burst of homesick tears
+which threatened every moment to overpower her.
+
+At the same moment that Mrs. Carleton was administering her reproof to
+Marjorie, Beverly Randolph was giving his mother an account of the
+morning's adventure, as they sat together at breakfast in their pleasant
+sitting-room on the floor below.
+
+"I know you would like the little girl, Mother," he ended; "she is such
+a natural, jolly sort, and there isn't one bit of nonsense about her."
+
+Mrs. Randolph smiled as she poured her son's coffee, and regarded him
+with proud, loving eyes.
+
+"You never have admired the 'sort' with nonsense about them, have you,
+dear?" she said rather mischievously.
+
+"I haven't any use for them," said Beverly with decision. "I like girls
+well enough when they behave decently, but the silly giggly ones get on
+my nerves. This one--Marjorie Graham she says her name is--is all right,
+though. I think I know the cousin by sight, and I don't feel so sure
+about her."
+
+"You mustn't be too fastidious, Beverly," said his mother, laughing. "I
+dare say they are both nice little girls. By the way, I have received an
+invitation from that charming Mrs. Bell, who called the other day,
+asking us both to dine with her next Tuesday. Her husband is an old
+friend of Uncle George's, you know. Mrs. Bell told me she had a daughter
+of thirteen or fourteen, so that will be another acquaintance for you."
+
+"Well, if she is like most of the New York girls I've seen I sha'n't
+care much about her," declared Beverly. "I prefer the ones that come
+from Arizona. Honestly, Mother, I want you to meet that little girl. I
+don't know what it was about her, but she reminded me of Babs."
+
+A look of pain crossed Mrs. Randolph's sweet face, but her voice was
+still quite cheerful as she answered--
+
+"Very well, dear, be sure to introduce her to me; I want to know all
+your friends."
+
+As soon as she could escape from her relatives after breakfast, Marjorie
+fled to her own room, there to have her cry out, and pull herself
+together, before starting on a shopping expedition with her aunt. Elsie
+was going to lunch with a schoolmate, but Aunt Julia had ordered the
+carriage and told Marjorie that she intended devoting the day to
+shopping.
+
+"You are to begin school on Monday," she explained, "and I must get you
+some decent clothes as soon as possible."
+
+Marjorie supposed she ought to be grateful, but she could not help
+resisting the fact that her aunt evidently did not consider her present
+wardrobe "decent," and this, added to her other troubles, resulted in a
+very unhappy half-hour. But Marjorie was a plucky girl, and she had
+plenty of common sense.
+
+"I won't write a word about all this to Mother or Aunt Jessie," she
+decided as she dried her eyes. "It wouldn't do any good, and they would
+be so sorry. I am sure Aunt Julia means to be kind, and I suppose I did
+frighten them, but it does seem so silly not to be allowed to go out for
+a walk by one's self."
+
+She had just bathed her red eyes, and was sitting down to write the
+deferred letter to her mother, when the door opened, and Elsie came in.
+
+"Mamma says you are to be ready to go out with her in fifteen minutes,"
+she began, then paused, regarding her cousin curiously. "You look as if
+you'd been crying," she said abruptly. "Mamma did pitch into you pretty
+hard, but it was an awfully queer thing to go out by yourself at seven
+o'clock in the morning."
+
+"I'm very sorry I did what was wrong," said Marjorie, "but I had no idea
+any one would object. I often go for a gallop on my pony before
+breakfast at home."
+
+"Oh, I daresay you do, but that is very different. I think it was too
+funny that you should have met Beverly Randolph. Do tell me what he is
+like."
+
+"He is very nice indeed," said Marjorie, frankly; "I liked him ever so
+much."
+
+"You'll be sure to introduce us, won't you? It will be such fun to tell
+Lulu Bell I've met him first; not that she'll care much, she's such a
+baby. Mamma thinks she may call on Mrs. Randolph to thank her."
+
+"What does she want to thank her for?" inquired Marjorie, innocently.
+
+"Why, for her son's bringing you home, and being so kind to you. You
+might have been lost for hours if he hadn't done it."
+
+"But his mother had nothing to do with that," persisted Marjorie.
+"Besides, he was on his way home, anyway. He was very nice, but I don't
+see what there is to thank his mother for."
+
+Elsie reddened, and looked a little annoyed.
+
+"Oh, well, it doesn't matter," she said carelessly. "Mamma would like to
+call on Mrs. Randolph, and this makes a good excuse, that's all. She
+says the Randolphs of Virginia are a very old family. Now hurry and get
+ready; the carriage will be here in a few minutes."
+
+Marjorie said no more on the subject, but she was puzzled. It was only
+natural that Aunt Julia should wish to make the acquaintance of a lady
+who lived in the same house with her, but why was it necessary to have
+an excuse for doing so? She was beginning to think that there were going
+to be a great many new things to learn in New York.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X
+
+NEW FRIENDS AND NEW FASHIONS
+
+
+
+                                        "November 6th.
+
+          "DEAREST AUNT JESSIE:
+
+          "I am at home alone this evening; Uncle Henry and
+          Aunt Julia have gone out to dinner, and Elsie is
+          at a party. I am going to write you a long, long
+          letter, and try to tell you every single thing
+          that has happened.
+
+          "I have been here just a week, and I think I am
+          beginning to get more accustomed to things. It is
+          all very interesting, but some of it does seem a
+          little queer, and, oh, how I do wish I could have
+          a good talk with Mother or you, and ask you to
+          explain the things I don't understand. Aunt Julia
+          is very kind, but I could never talk to her as I
+          do to you and Mother. The things that puzzle me
+          most are what it is proper to do and what isn't.
+          For one thing, they say it isn't proper to speak
+          to people unless one has been introduced. At home
+          we always speak to every one whether they are in
+          the 'Social Register' or not. The Social Register
+          is a book, and Elsie says the names of all the
+          nice people are in it, and when her mother wants
+          to find out who people are, and whether or not she
+          wants to have Elsie know them she just looks for
+          their names in the Social Register, and if she
+          finds them there she knows they are all right.
+          Then it isn't considered proper for girls to go
+          out by themselves in New York. I have seen some
+          nice-looking girls alone in the streets, but Elsie
+          says they can't be the kind one wants to know.
+          Hortense, the French maid, always goes out with
+          Elsie and me, and even carries our books to school
+          for us. Hortense is very nice, but it is rather a
+          bother having her always about, and she wants to
+          do a great many more things for me than I really
+          need. But the greatest difficulty of all is that
+          Elsie isn't fond of walking, and I do miss my
+          tramps dreadfully. We walk to school and back
+          every day, but it isn't far, and in the afternoon
+          Elsie is always having engagements. So I go
+          driving with Aunt Julia, and, oh, but it does seem
+          slow! Aunt Julia hates to drive fast, and I
+          sometimes feel as if I would give anything to jump
+          out of the carriage and have one good run. I know
+          I could easily keep up with those horses if it
+          were only proper to run behind the carriage, but
+          of course it isn't.
+
+          "I ought not to object to going out with Aunt
+          Julia, for she has been very good to me. She is
+          having some perfectly lovely dresses made for me,
+          and has bought me two simply wonderful hats. I am
+          not sure whether Mother would quite approve of all
+          my new clothes. Some of them do look very
+          grown-up, but then the girls here are all much
+          more grown-up than I had any idea they would be.
+          Elsie puts up her hair, and wanted me to put mine
+          up, too, but I knew Mother wouldn't like it, and
+          Uncle Henry said I was right.
+
+          "I have been at school every day since Monday, and
+          like it very much indeed. It is not a large
+          school, only a class of twelve girls. The
+          teacher's name is Miss Lothrop, and Elsie and
+          several of the other girls have been going to her
+          since they were quite little. Miss Lothrop is
+          lovely, and all the girls have been very kind and
+          polite to me. The two I like best are Lulu Bell
+          and Winifred Hamilton. Elsie says they are both
+          very young for their age, and I think perhaps that
+          is the reason I like them better than some of the
+          others. Winifred is only thirteen, but she is just
+          as sweet as she can be, and Lulu is awfully
+          pretty, and a great favorite. Carol Hastings is
+          another girl in the class, and Elsie's most
+          intimate friend. She is only fourteen, but seems
+          much older. I wonder why New York girls seem to
+          care so much about boys. I like a nice boy ever so
+          much myself, but I can't see the use of giggling
+          and looking silly every time his name is
+          mentioned. Carol Hastings came here to dinner last
+          night, and when Beverly Randolph came over to our
+          table to speak to us, she was so silly I was
+          really ashamed of her. I spoke to Elsie about it
+          afterwards, and she said Carol was a goose, but I
+          think she is a little bit silly herself sometimes.
+          I wrote Mother all about Beverly Randolph, and how
+          much I liked him. I would give anything to have a
+          brother just like him. He adores his mother, and I
+          don't wonder, for she is lovely. He says she is so
+          jolly, and is always interested in everything he
+          is interested in; even the college games. His
+          father died when he was little, and I suppose this
+          is one reason why he and his mother are so much to
+          each other. There is an uncle, who is a doctor,
+          but he only comes to dine with them sometimes, and
+          lives somewhere else. Mrs. Randolph has one of the
+          sweetest faces I have ever seen--yours and Mothers
+          excepted--and she looks very young to be the
+          mother of a big boy of eighteen. She dresses in
+          black, and looks rather sad sometimes, but I
+          suppose that is when she is thinking of her
+          husband.
+
+          "Elsie is very clever, and Aunt Julia admires her
+          tremendously. She says Elsie has always been the
+          brightest girl in her classes and that she recites
+          Shakespeare quite wonderfully. I haven't heard her
+          recite yet, but she plays the piano very well, and
+          takes music lessons twice a week. She speaks
+          French, too, and is beginning to study German. Of
+          course I am not nearly as far advanced as she is,
+          but Miss Lothrop says I am not backward for my
+          age, and that makes me very happy. I was so proud
+          when she asked me if I had a governess at home,
+          and I told her Father and Mother had taught me
+          everything I knew. I don't think Elsie liked my
+          saying that; she says I mustn't talk about our
+          being poor, but I am sure I can't see why she
+          should object. However, I have promised to try not
+          to say anything she doesn't like; they have all
+          been so good to me that I do want to please them
+          if I can.
+
+          "Last Tuesday was Aunt Julia's birthday, and she
+          gave a family dinner party. She has a good many
+          relatives, and they all came. I should think Elsie
+          would love having so many cousins, but she says
+          she doesn't care very much about many of them.
+          Aunt Julia's two sisters were here, and I thought
+          the oldest one--Mrs. Lamont--was lovely. Her
+          daughter, Miss Annie, came with her, and she was
+          awfully nice and jolly. She is quite old--about
+          twenty-five I think--and she works downtown in a
+          settlement. I didn't know what a settlement was,
+          but Elsie explained that it is a place where
+          ladies go to live among very poor ignorant people,
+          and try to help them. She and her mother send some
+          of their old clothes to Miss Lamont, and she gives
+          them to the poor women at the settlement. Aunt
+          Julia's other sister is Mrs. Ward. She is quite
+          stout, and talks a great deal about what is good
+          for her to eat and what isn't. She was nice, but I
+          didn't like her as much as the Lamonts. Her
+          husband is fat, too, and is always saying funny
+          things that make people laugh. They have two
+          little girls, but they were not allowed to come
+          because Tuesday was a school night, and they are
+          never allowed to go out anywhere except on Fridays
+          and Saturdays. Elsie can go out any night she
+          likes, because she is so clever that Aunt Julia
+          says it doesn't matter whether she misses her
+          lessons one day or not. There is a Ward boy, too,
+          but he is at Yale. Elsie likes him best of all her
+          cousins, and she says he is very fond of her,
+          too. Aunt Julia says all the boys admire Elsie
+          very much, but I think she is mistaken about
+          Beverly Randolph. He has such an honest face that
+          he can't hide his feelings, and when Elsie and
+          Carol giggled so much that night, and talked so
+          very grown-up, I am sure he was trying not to
+          laugh.
+
+          "You can't begin to imagine how glad I was to get
+          your and Mother's precious letters. I read them
+          over and over until I almost knew them by heart,
+          and slept with Mother's first one under my pillow
+          all night. Father's letter was splendid too, and I
+          was so interested to hear all about the new colts.
+          I am so glad Undine is proving such a comfort. I
+          knew you couldn't help loving her, she is such a
+          dear, and she promised to try to take my place. I
+          told the girls at school about her, and they
+          thought it the most interesting thing they had
+          ever heard. Lulu Bell says she is going to tell
+          her aunt, who is an authoress, about it, and ask
+          her to put Undine in a book. Won't it be too
+          interesting if she really does?
+
+          "O dear! there is the clock striking ten, and I
+          have been writing ever since half-past eight. I
+          must stop now, and go to bed, or I shall be sleepy
+          to-morrow morning. Ten o'clock at night used to
+          seem very late indeed at home, but it seems quite
+          early here. Elsie doesn't expect to get home from
+          her party before half past eleven. Uncle Henry
+          doesn't approve of late hours for school-girls,
+          but Aunt Julia says everybody in New York keeps
+          them, so it can't be helped. I forgot to say the
+          party is at Bessie Winston's. She is one of the
+          girls at Miss Lothrop's, and one of Elsie's
+          intimate friends. I was invited, too, but Aunt
+          Julia wouldn't let me accept, because my new
+          dresses haven't come home yet. Elsie says I
+          wouldn't have enjoyed it, anyway, because I can't
+          dance. She goes to a dancing class every Saturday
+          morning, and Aunt Julia says she may have me go
+          too after Christmas. I think I should like
+          dancing, for the sake of the exercise if nothing
+          else. Oh, how I do long for exercise! Elsie rides
+          in summer, but her pony is at their country place
+          on Long Island, and they don't think it worth
+          while to bring it in to New York. Aunt Julia says
+          Elsie has so many other things to do in winter she
+          has no time for riding. What wouldn't I give for
+          one good canter on Roland! I can't help envying
+          the girls I see riding in the park, though none of
+          them look as if they were enjoying it as much as I
+          should. They all ride side-saddle, and I don't
+          believe it can be nearly as pleasant as riding
+          astride, but Aunt Julia told me not to say so,
+          because it isn't considered the thing to ride
+          astride here. I saw Beverly Randolph riding in the
+          park this afternoon, and he really did look as if
+          he enjoyed it. His home is in Virginia, and he
+          says the people there are very fond of horses.
+          Lulu says Mrs. Randolph owns a large plantation,
+          and I suppose a plantation is something like a
+          ranch.
+
+          "Now I really must stop writing, for my hand is
+          getting tired, and I have made two big blots on
+          this page. So good night, Auntie darling. If I
+          could send all the love that is in my heart, I am
+          afraid no postman would be able to carry the
+          letter, it would be so heavy. So you must just
+          imagine it is there. I am really very happy,
+          though I can't help feeling homesick sometimes,
+          especially at night. I am going to work hard, and
+          try to learn so much this winter that you will all
+          be proud of me when I come home. I have already
+          begun counting the weeks; there are just
+          twenty-eight and a half till the first of June. A
+          winter does seem a very long time, but this week
+          has gone by faster than I expected. I will write
+          to Mother on Sunday, and your next letters ought
+          to be here by Monday. Letters are the best thing
+          in the world when one is so far away from home, so
+          please all write just as often as you can to
+
+                                        "Your own loving
+                                                  "MARJORIE."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI
+
+MARJORIE ENGAGES IN BATTLE
+
+
+"THE most glorious thing is going to happen, Marjorie," announced Elsie,
+as her cousin came into the drawing-room to breakfast one November
+morning, about two weeks after the writing of that long letter to Aunt
+Jessie.
+
+"What is it?" inquired Marjorie, regarding Elsie's radiant face and
+sparkling eyes, with interest. Elsie was not, as a rule, a very
+enthusiastic young person.
+
+"The most delightful invitation you ever heard of," Elsie explained with
+a glance at the letter her mother was reading. "It's from my cousin
+Percy Ward. You know he's a sophomore at Yale, and he wants Mamma and me
+to come to New Haven for the football game next Saturday. It's the big
+Yale-Harvard game, you know, and I've been simply crazy to go, but it's
+almost impossible to get tickets. It really was angelic of Percy to get
+two for us, and he wants us to come up on Friday afternoon so we can go
+to the dance that evening. He has engaged a room for us at the hotel."
+
+"It must be wonderful to see a great match like that," declared
+Marjorie, with hearty appreciation of her cousin's good fortune. "I have
+seen pictures of the college games, and Father always reads the football
+news in the papers. He is a Harvard man himself, you know, and used to
+be on the team."
+
+"I'm sorry you can't go with us," said Elsie, regretfully, "but of
+course Percy couldn't get more than two tickets. Perhaps you wouldn't
+enjoy it much, though. It can't be much fun unless you know a lot of the
+boys. Percy is such a dear; he is sure to introduce me to all his
+friends."
+
+"I wish your father had not gone to Washington on that tiresome business
+just now," remarked Mrs. Carleton, laying down her nephew's letter, and
+looking a little worried. "I should have liked to consult him before
+answering Percy."
+
+"Why, Mamma, you surely don't think he would object!" cried Elsie in
+dismay. "What possible reason could he have for not wanting us to go?"
+
+"Oh, no reason whatever, of course, dear. I was only thinking of
+Marjorie. I am not sure that he would like the idea of her being left
+here alone while we are away."
+
+"Oh, bother! Marjorie won't mind--will you, Marjorie? Besides, she
+needn't be alone; Hortense can sleep in my room, and it's only for one
+night."
+
+"Please don't worry about me, Aunt Julia," said Marjorie, blushing. "I
+shall get on all right, I am sure, and it would be terrible to have you
+and Elsie miss the game on my account. I can have my meals up here while
+you are away, and go out with Hortense."
+
+But Mrs. Carleton did not look quite satisfied.
+
+"You are very sweet and unselfish, dear," she said, "but I wish Percy
+had bought another ticket; then we could have taken you with us. I
+cannot bear to disappoint Elsie, so I suppose I shall have to accept the
+invitation, though I dislike the idea of leaving you behind, especially
+at a time when your uncle is away, too."
+
+So the matter was settled, and as soon as breakfast was over Mrs.
+Carleton sat down to write her note of acceptance, while the two girls
+started for school, accompanied as usual by Hortense. Elsie was in high
+spirits, and entertained her cousin with a vivid description of the
+delight and excitement of a college football match.
+
+"Not that I have ever seen one myself," she explained. "Papa hates
+crowds, and has always said it was too difficult to get tickets, and
+last year Percy couldn't get any either, being only a freshman. Carol
+Hastings has been, though, and she told me she was never so excited in
+her life. The Bells are going this year, and have invited Winifred
+Hamilton and Gertie Rossiter to go with them. I can't see why they want
+to take Winifred; she is such a baby, and I don't believe a boy will
+notice her; but she and Lulu are such chums, one never seems able to go
+anywhere without the other."
+
+"Beverly Randolph and his mother are going, too," said Marjorie, who was
+making a great effort to keep down the feeling of envious longing, and
+to show a real interest and sympathy in her cousin's anticipations. "He
+told me so yesterday. His uncle, Dr. Randolph, is going to take them in
+his automobile."
+
+"Yes, I know; I heard him talking about it. I must be sure to tell him
+Mamma and I are going, so he will look us up. Oh, here come Bessie and
+Carol; I must tell them the good news."
+
+Percy Ward's letter arrived on Wednesday morning, and on Friday
+afternoon soon after luncheon, Mrs. Carleton and Elsie departed for New
+Haven. Mr. Carleton had been called to Washington on business, and was
+not expected home before Saturday night. Aunt Julia was very kind, and
+kissed Marjorie with more affection than usual.
+
+"I really hate to leave you," she said regretfully. "If it were not for
+the disappointment it would have been to Elsie, I would never have
+accepted. I hope you will not be very lonely."
+
+"Oh, no, I won't," promised Marjorie cheerfully. She was really touched
+by her aunt's solicitude, and had almost, if not quite, succeeded in
+banishing the feelings of envy and disappointment. "I've got some hard
+lessons for Monday, and I want to have them all perfect, so I can write
+Mother that I haven't missed in any of my classes for a week. Then
+Hortense says she likes walking, so we can have some fine long tramps.
+To-morrow night will be here before I've begun to realize that you are
+away."
+
+But despite her cheerful assurances, Marjorie's heart was not very light
+when she accompanied her aunt and cousin to the lift, and saw them
+start, Elsie's face wreathed in smiles, and even Aunt Julia looking as
+if she had not altogether outgrown her interest in a football game. She
+went slowly back to her own room, and taking up her Greek history,
+determined to forget present disappointment, and spend the next hour
+with the Greek heroes. But to make up one's mind to do a thing, and to
+carry out one's good intentions are two very different matters. Marjorie
+conscientiously tried to fix her thoughts on "The Siege of Troy," but
+the recollection of Elsie's radiant face kept obtruding itself between
+her eyes and the printed page, and at the end of half an hour she threw
+down her book in despair.
+
+"There isn't any use," she said to herself, with a sigh; "I can't
+remember a single date. I'll ring for Hortense, and ask her to take me
+for a walk. Perhaps by the time we come back my wits will have left off
+wool-gathering, and I shall have a good long evening for studying and
+writing letters."
+
+Hortense was quite ready for a walk, and really the afternoon was much
+less forlorn than Marjorie had anticipated. The French maid had taken a
+fancy to the little Western girl, who was always kind and friendly in
+her manner, and did not--as she told a friend--treat her as if she were
+"_seulement une machine_." Elsie never talked to Hortense during their
+walks, but this afternoon Marjorie was longing for companionship, and
+she and the maid chatted together like old friends. They were both young
+and far away from home, and perhaps that fact had a good deal to do
+towards drawing them together. Marjorie was always glad to talk of her
+life on the ranch, and Hortense told in her turn of the little French
+village, where she had spent her childhood, and of the widowed mother
+and little brothers and sisters, to whom she sent more than half of her
+earnings. She spoke in broken English, with here and there a French
+expression thrown in, but Marjorie had no difficulty in understanding,
+and her interest and sympathy for the plucky little French girl, who had
+left home and friends to earn her own living, grew rapidly.
+
+They took a long walk, for Hortense was almost as fond of tramping as
+Marjorie herself, and it was almost dusk when they at last came in sight
+of the big hotel. Then Hortense suddenly remembered an errand she had to
+do for Mrs. Carleton, and Marjorie--who was not in the least
+tired--declared her intention of accompanying her.
+
+"It is not far," the maid explained; "only to Sixth Avenue. We shall not
+be more than a quarter of an hour."
+
+The errand accomplished they turned their steps in a homeward direction,
+and were about half way up Fifty-seventh Street, on their way to the
+Plaza, when Marjorie's attention was attracted by a horse and cart,
+which had come to a standstill only a few feet in front of them. The
+cart was loaded with boxes and packages, and the horse, which was a mere
+skeleton, and looked as if his working days had long been over, had
+evidently completely given out. The driver, a boy of sixteen or
+seventeen, had sprung down from his seat, and was endeavoring to
+discover the cause of the trouble.
+
+"Oh, look, Hortense," cried Marjorie, her quick sympathies instantly
+aroused, "look at that poor horse. He isn't strong enough to drag that
+heavy wagon, with all those boxes in it. Oh, what a shame! That boy
+mustn't beat him so--he mustn't!" And before the horrified maid could
+interpose, impulsive Marjorie had sprung forward to remonstrate.
+
+"Stop beating that horse," she commanded, with flashing eyes; "can't you
+see he isn't able to go any farther with that load? You ought to be
+ashamed to load a poor creature like that in such a way!"
+
+The boy stared at her for a moment in stupid amazement; then an ugly
+look came into his face. He gave one quick glance up and down the
+street, to make sure there was no policeman in sight; and turned on
+Marjorie with rough fury.
+
+"You leave me alone, will you? It ain't none of your biz what I do with
+this here horse." And before the indignant Marjorie could protest he had
+again laid the whip lash, sharply across the poor animal's back.
+
+Then for one moment Marjorie forgot everything--forgot that she was in
+the streets of a big city--forgot all Aunt Julia's lectures and Elsie's
+warnings--and with one quick movement she seized the whip handle, trying
+with all her strength to drag it away from the boy. She was strong, but
+her antagonist was stronger, and the end of that momentary struggle was
+a sharp cry of pain from Marjorie, a muttered imprecation from the
+driver, and in another second he had sprung into his seat, and horse and
+wagon were clattering away down the street.
+
+"Oh, Mademoiselle, Mademoiselle," gasped Hortense, seizing Marjorie's
+arm, and fairly trembling with fright and horror; "how could you do such
+a terrible thing? A young lady to fight with a _canaille_! Oh, what will
+Madame say when she hears?"
+
+[Illustration: WITH ONE QUICK MOVEMENT SHE SEIZED THE WHIP
+HANDLE.--_Page 145._]
+
+"He is a wicked, cruel boy," panted Marjorie; "he ought to be arrested.
+He is killing that poor old horse."
+
+"Yes, I know, he is cruel, a beast, but young ladies must not interfere
+with such things. You might have been hurt. Let us go home quickly; I am
+near to faint. Thank Heaven no one saw. Madame would never forgive such
+a disgrace."
+
+"But some one ought to interfere," protested Marjorie, her wrath
+beginning to cool, "and there wasn't anybody else to do it. I would have
+taken that whip away from him if I could, but he was so strong, and he
+has hurt my wrist."
+
+"Hurt your wrist! Let me see. Ah, but it is red. How could you have held
+on so tight? Come home quickly, and we will bathe it with arnica. How
+fortunate that Madame and Mademoiselle Elsie are away! Ah, here comes
+the young gentleman, Mademoiselle Elsie's friend from the hotel; he must
+not know that anything is wrong."
+
+But Marjorie had no intention of keeping her indignation to herself, and
+she turned to greet Beverly Randolph with eyes that flashed and cheeks
+that tingled.
+
+"Oh, Mr. Randolph," she exclaimed, as the young man smilingly took off
+his hat, and paused beside her, "the most dreadful thing has
+happened. A cruel, wicked boy has been ill-treating a poor old horse.
+The poor creature had a terribly heavy load, and when he refused to go
+any further, the boy beat him, and--"
+
+"Where is he?" inquired Beverly, his own eyes beginning to flash. "I'll
+report the case to the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to
+Animals."
+
+"He has gone," said Marjorie, regretfully. "He gave the horse a dreadful
+cut with the whip, and it was so frightened it started, and then he
+jumped into the wagon and went off. I tried to get the whip away from
+him, but he was terribly strong, and he hurt my wrist so much I had to
+let go."
+
+Beverly Randolph's face was a mixture of astonishment, amusement and
+horror.
+
+"You don't mean that you tackled the fellow yourself?" he demanded
+incredulously.
+
+Marjorie nodded. Now that the excitement was over she was beginning to
+feel a little startled at what she had done.
+
+"I had to," she said humbly; "there wasn't any one else to do it.
+Hortense thinks it was very unladylike, but I don't see what else I
+could have done. I couldn't just stand by and do nothing while that
+poor horse was being ill-treated."
+
+"No, I don't suppose you could," said Beverly, smiling. "I don't think I
+would do it again, though; you might get hurt. Hello! what's the
+matter?--don't you feel well?"
+
+For Marjorie had suddenly grown very pale, and leaned against the
+lamp-post.
+
+"It's--it's my wrist," she faltered; "it hurts dreadfully, and--and I
+think I feel a little faint."
+
+Without a moment's hesitation Beverly drew the girl's arm through his.
+
+"Come along," he said, peremptorily, and without another word he
+conducted the wounded soldier back to the hotel. Marjorie, too, was
+silent; the pain in her wrist was very bad, and she had to bite her lips
+hard to keep back the rising tears. Hortense, still covered with shame
+and confusion, followed close behind. At the door of the lift Beverly
+paused.
+
+"Is your aunt at home?" he inquired.
+
+"No," said Marjorie, unsteadily; "she and Elsie have gone to New Haven
+for the football game."
+
+"To be sure they have; I had forgotten. Your cousin told me they were
+going this afternoon. Well, I think I will take you to our apartment.
+My mother is used to sprains and bruises, and will know what to do for
+your wrist."
+
+Marjorie protested that she could not think of disturbing Mrs. Randolph,
+but Beverly, who appeared to be accustomed to having his own way,
+remained firm, and in the end his companion was forced to yield, much to
+the distress and horror of Hortense, who considered that the story was
+already known to more persons than Mrs. Carleton would approve.
+
+Mrs. Randolph and her brother-in-law were having tea in the former's
+pretty sitting-room, when the door was unceremoniously flung open, and
+Beverly appeared on the threshold, leading in a trembling, white-faced
+girl, who immediately collapsed into the nearest chair, and looked as if
+she were about to faint.
+
+"It's Miss Marjorie Graham, Mother," Beverly explained, "and she has
+hurt her wrist. Her aunt is away, so I brought her in here. Oh, here's
+Uncle George; what luck! This is my uncle Dr. Randolph, Miss Marjorie;
+he is a surgeon, you know, and he'll fix you up in no time."
+
+"To be sure I will if I can," said a pleasant voice, not unlike
+Beverly's. "Let me see what the trouble is. Ah, this is the hand, isn't
+it?" And Marjorie felt her wrist taken in firm, kind fingers. She
+winced at the touch, but the doctor's next words were reassuring.
+
+"I see; only a slight sprain, nothing serious. Have you some arnica,
+Barbara, and some linen that I can use for a bandage?"
+
+"How did it happen, dear?" Mrs. Randolph inquired sympathetically, as
+Marjorie leaned back in her chair, with a sigh of intense relief, and
+the doctor applied a cooling lotion to her aching wrist.
+
+Marjorie's cheeks were crimson again, but not for a moment did she
+hesitate about telling the truth. Beverly had gone off to his own room,
+having left his charge in safe hands.
+
+"I am afraid it was my own fault," she said, honestly. "I saw a boy
+ill-treating a poor old horse, and tried to stop him by getting the whip
+away from him, but he was much stronger than I, and in the struggle I
+suppose he must have twisted my wrist. I am afraid your son and my
+aunt's maid both think I was very unladylike."
+
+Mrs. Randolph and the doctor exchanged amused glances, and the latter
+said kindly:
+
+"I wish more people were moved by the same spirit, though I don't know
+that I should advise young girls to attack rough drivers. I imagine you
+have not been very long in New York or you would be accustomed to such
+sights."
+
+"No," said Marjorie, much relieved. "I have only been in New York three
+weeks. My home is on a ranch in Arizona, but I have been accustomed to
+horses all my life. I think my father would almost kill any boy who
+dared to treat one of ours like that."
+
+"I daresay he would. Your father raises horses, I suppose?"
+
+"Yes, and cattle, too. I have lived on the ranch ever since I was two
+years old, and New York seems very strange in some ways."
+
+"It must," said Dr. Randolph gravely, but his eyes twinkled, and
+Marjorie felt sure he was trying not to laugh. "There, I think the wrist
+will do nicely now. You can wet this bandage again in an hour, and if I
+am not mistaken the pain will be gone by that time. I must be going now,
+Barbara; I have two patients to see before dinner. I'll call for you and
+Beverly in the car at nine to-morrow morning; that will give us plenty
+of time to make New Haven before lunch." And with a hurried leave-taking
+the doctor departed, leaving Mrs. Randolph and Marjorie alone together.
+
+The next half-hour was a very pleasant one. Mrs. Randolph would not
+allow the girl to go back to her own apartment until the pain in her
+wrist had subsided, and she made her lie on the sofa, and petted her in
+a way that recalled Mother and Aunt Jessie so strongly that Marjorie had
+some difficulty in keeping back the homesick tears. Almost before she
+knew it, she was chatting away to this new acquaintance as if they had
+been old friends.
+
+"I hope I shall get accustomed to New York ways soon," she said humbly.
+"I am afraid I make a great many mistakes, and they distress my aunt and
+cousin very much. You see, it is all so different on the ranch. I
+suppose your son told you how I spoke to him that morning in the park,
+and asked him to take me home. It seemed quite a natural thing to do,
+because I knew he lived in this hotel, but Aunt Julia was dreadfully
+shocked."
+
+Mrs. Randolph laughed.
+
+"Beverly was not at all shocked," she said. "He and I have rather
+old-fashioned ideas about some things; we like little girls to be
+natural."
+
+"I am so glad you think me a little girl still," said Marjorie in a
+sudden burst of confidence. "All the girls here seem so grown-up, and I
+don't want to grow up just yet; I am only fourteen."
+
+"My little girl would have been just about your age if she had lived,"
+said Mrs. Randolph, with a rather sad smile. "I am sure I should not
+have begun to think of her as grown-up yet."
+
+Marjorie was interested. She would have liked to ask Mrs. Randolph about
+her little girl, but feared the subject might be a painful one, and just
+that moment Beverly came back, and the conversation turned on other
+matters. In a little while Marjorie rose to go.
+
+"You have been very kind to me," she said to Mrs. Randolph. "My wrist
+feels ever so much better already. I do hope I haven't been a bother."
+
+"Not a bit of it," Mrs. Randolph declared, laughing. "On the contrary, I
+have enjoyed your call very much, and I hope you will come often, for I
+am very fond of little girls. By the way, what are you going to do
+to-morrow?"
+
+"Oh, I don't know," said Marjorie; "walk and read and study, I suppose.
+Aunt Julia said I might drive in the afternoon, but the horses go so
+slowly I always feel as though I should like to get out of the carriage
+and run. Galloping over the prairie is much more fun."
+
+Mrs. Randolph and her son both laughed, and Beverly remarked rather
+indignantly:
+
+"It's a shame you couldn't have gone to the game with the others."
+
+"Oh, that wasn't Aunt Julia's fault," said Marjorie, loyally. "Her
+nephew only sent two tickets, and Elsie says it's almost impossible to
+get extra ones. They were very kind about it, and Aunt Julia hated to
+leave me behind."
+
+Beverly and his mother exchanged a significant glance, and then Beverly
+offered to accompany the visitor as far as her own apartment for the
+purpose of carrying the arnica bottle, which Mrs. Randolph insisted she
+should keep in case of necessity. Marjorie protested, but Beverly was
+firm, and the two young people left the room together, after Mrs.
+Randolph had kissed the girl, and told her she must come again very
+soon.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII
+
+A MOTOR RIDE AND A FOOTBALL GAME
+
+
+"I THINK your mother is perfectly lovely," declared Marjorie, the moment
+the door of the Randolph's apartment had closed behind them. "Is she
+always so kind to strangers?"
+
+"Mother's a brick," said Beverly, heartily. "She's kind to everybody,
+and always doing things for people. She's a good sport, too. I really
+believe, she is looking forward to the game to-morrow almost as much as
+I am. It's because she's so unselfish; she never stops to think of
+herself so long as other people are having a good time."
+
+"My aunt is like that," said Marjorie, with shining eyes. "She is a
+great invalid, and suffers very much most of the time, but she never
+complains, and is always interested in everything we do. Is your uncle a
+surgeon?"
+
+"Yes," said Beverly, rather surprised by the abruptness of the question;
+"he is a very fine surgeon, I believe. Why do you want to know? Aren't
+you satisfied with the way your wrist is bandaged?"
+
+"Oh, it isn't that," said Marjorie, blushing; "it was only something I
+was thinking of that made me ask the question. This is our apartment;
+now I can take the bottle, and not bother you any more. Oh, there's a
+letter in the box; perhaps it's for me!" And forgetting everything else
+in her eagerness for home news, Marjorie sprang forward to possess
+herself of the contents of the letter-box.
+
+"It is for me!" she cried joyfully, glancing at the postmark. "It's from
+Undine; the first one I've had from her."
+
+"Undine," repeated Beverly, his eyes beginning to twinkle; "I had no
+idea you counted water sprites among your acquaintances."
+
+"She isn't a water sprite," laughed Marjorie. "She's just a girl like
+anybody else. We call her Undine because nobody knows what her real name
+is. It's a very strange story indeed. She was found under some ruins in
+the streets of San Francisco right after the earthquake, and we think a
+stone or something must have fallen on her head, for she was unconscious
+for a long time, and now she can't remember anything that happened
+before the earthquake, not even her own name. She isn't crazy, or
+anything like that, but she has simply forgotten everything. Did you
+ever hear of a case like that before?"
+
+"I think I have read of such cases, but I imagine they are rather rare.
+It is very interesting, but if you don't mind, Miss Marjorie, please
+don't mention it to my mother. Any mention of the San Francisco
+earthquake is very painful to her. My little sister was killed there."
+
+"No, indeed I won't," promised Marjorie, "but how very sad about your
+sister. Would you mind telling me how it happened? Don't talk about it,
+though, if you would rather not."
+
+"I don't mind in the least," said Beverly, "but it was such a frightful
+shock to my mother that we don't like to have her dwell on it any any
+more than can be helped. My sister Barbara was in San Francisco with my
+aunt at the time of the earthquake. She had been very ill with scarlet
+fever in the winter, and the doctor had ordered a change for her. My
+aunt was going to California for a few weeks, and offered to take
+Barbara with her. Mother couldn't leave home, for she was taking care of
+my grandmother, who was ill at the time, and I was away at school. So it
+ended in my aunt and Barbara going by themselves. My aunt intended
+taking a maid, but the one she had engaged disappointed her at the last
+moment, and as all the railroad accommodations had been secured, she
+decided to start, and trust to finding a suitable maid in San Francisco,
+which was to be their first stopping place. They reached San Francisco,
+and my aunt wrote my mother that she had engaged a very satisfactory
+girl, and two days later came the earthquake."
+
+Beverly paused abruptly, and Marjorie, her face full of sympathy, laid a
+kind little hand on his arm.
+
+"Don't tell me any more," she said, gently; "it must have been very
+terrible."
+
+"It was," said Beverly, sadly. "Part of the wall of the hotel where they
+were staying fell in, and they were both instantly killed. We feared for
+a time that my mother would never recover from the shock."
+
+"And was the maid killed, too?" Marjorie asked. She was longing to hear
+more, but did not like to ask too many questions.
+
+"We never knew; you see, she was a stranger to us. My uncle advertised
+in all the California papers, in the hope of finding her, and perhaps
+learn more particulars, but no answer ever came. She was probably
+killed, poor thing."
+
+"Your mother spoke of her little girl this afternoon," said Marjorie;
+"she said she would have been just about my age."
+
+"Yes, she would have been fifteen this January. It is rather odd, but
+when I saw you that first morning in the park you somehow reminded me of
+Babs. She was such a jolly little girl. She was four years younger than
+I, but there were only we two, and we were always chums."
+
+There was a look of such genuine sorrow on the boy's face that impulsive
+Marjorie held out her hand.
+
+"I'm so sorry," she said and that was all, but Beverly understood, and
+he went back to his mother's apartment with a very kindly feeling for
+the little girl from Arizona.
+
+Once in her own room Marjorie speedily forgot the Randolphs and their
+troubles in the delight of a letter from home. Undine's handwriting was
+rather immature for a girl of her age, but the letter itself was most
+interesting and satisfactory.
+
+
+                                        "November Fifteenth.
+
+          "DEAR MARJORIE:
+
+          "Your aunt thinks you would like to have a letter
+          from me, and although I can't see how you can
+          possibly care about hearing from such a stupid
+          person, I am very glad to write.
+
+          "You have no idea how much I have missed you. If
+          your mother and aunt had not been so very kind I
+          don't think I could have borne it, but, oh,
+          Marjorie dear they are so good; I do hope I can
+          deserve just a little of all they are doing for
+          me. Your mother is making me a new dress--isn't it
+          sweet of her? She sent to Albuquerque for the
+          material; it is dark blue serge with a little
+          stripe in it, and just as pretty as it can be. I
+          take a sewing lesson every day from Miss Jessie,
+          but I know as well as can be that I shall never
+          learn to make things as you do.
+
+          "Another thing that makes me very happy is that
+          your mother is giving me lessons, and letting me
+          recite to her every evening. Even if I am stupid
+          and can't remember my own name, I don't want to
+          grow up ignorant. We are reading English history
+          together, and it is very strange, but I almost
+          always know what is coming next. Mrs. Graham says
+          she feels sure I must have learned the same things
+          before.
+
+          "A very strange thing happened to me one day last
+          week; I think I almost remembered. It was the day
+          your long letter to Miss Jessie came, and she was
+          reading it aloud to us when it happened. It was
+          just like the day I heard Jim singing 'Mandalay'
+          for the first time. It seemed to me just for one
+          minute that I was going to remember everything,
+          and I was so excited I screamed, and frightened
+          Mrs. Graham and Miss Jessie. Then in a flash it
+          was all gone again, and I was so unhappy I
+          couldn't help crying. I am afraid I gave them a
+          good deal of trouble, but they were so kind!
+          Afterward Miss Jessie talked to me for a long
+          time, and made me promise to try not to worry any
+          more about not remembering. She said some lovely
+          comforting things about my being helpful and
+          trying to take your place, and they made me very
+          happy, although I am afraid I didn't really
+          deserve them.
+
+          "I ride almost every afternoon, and I think Roland
+          is beginning to like me. I never forget his sugar,
+          and I am teaching him to put his nose in my pocket
+          for it. I think I must have taught another horse
+          that some time, it seemed so natural, but I am not
+          sure. I have promised your aunt not to talk about
+          the things I think I used to do.
+
+          "I had such a beautiful dream last night. I
+          thought some one came and told me I was very rich,
+          and I was so happy, because I would have the money
+          to pay a surgeon to come and see Miss Jessie. I
+          was just planning out how I was to do it when I
+          woke up. I have thought a great deal about what
+          you told me that last evening, but of course I
+          have never mentioned it to any one. I don't
+          suppose you have had time to meet a surgeon yet.
+
+          "I must stop writing now, and study my history.
+          Everybody is well, and they all send heaps of love
+          and kisses. Your mother says 'don't let Marjorie
+          know how much we miss her,' but I am sure you know
+          that without any telling. I don't want to be
+          selfish, but I should just love a letter all to
+          myself some time. New York must be a very
+          interesting place, and your letters telling about
+          it all are wonderful.
+
+                      "With a heart full of love, I am
+                        "Your true but nameless friend,
+                                                    "UNDINE."
+
+Marjorie spent a busy evening over her lessons, and went to bed at nine
+o'clock instead of writing the home letters she had intended.
+
+"They would be so sorry to know I was here all by myself while the
+others were off having a good time," she thought, resolutely crushing
+down that troublesome little feeling of envy. "If I wrote to-night I
+should have to mention it, but if I wait till Sunday when Aunt Julia
+and Elsie are back again, I won't have to say anything about their
+having been away. I promised Mother to let her know about all the
+things, but some of them will keep till I get home and can tell her
+myself."
+
+But in spite of the throbbing pain in her wrist, and the disappointment
+in her heart, Marjorie soon feel asleep, and did not wake until it was
+broad daylight, and Hortense, with a note in her hand, was standing by
+her bedside.
+
+"It is only seven," the maid said apologetically, as Marjorie sat up in
+bed, and rubbed her eyes. "I would not have called you so early, but the
+hall boy has brought this note, and waits for an answer."
+
+"What in the world can it be?" exclaimed Marjorie in astonishment, as
+she tore open the envelope, but at the first glance at the contents her
+face brightened, and she uttered a joyful little cry. This is what she
+read.
+
+          "MY DEAR MARJORIE:
+
+          "I know you won't object to my calling you
+          Marjorie, because you say you like being a little
+          girl. I am writing to ask if you will go with us
+          to New Haven to-day. We are going in my
+          brother-in-law's car, and are to be ready to start
+          at nine o'clock. The friend we expected would go
+          with us has been prevented at the last moment,
+          which gives us an extra seat in the car as well as
+          a ticket for the game, and we should be delighted
+          to have you with us. I am sure your aunt would not
+          object, and I will explain everything to her
+          myself. I would have written you last evening, but
+          it was after ten when we learned that the friend
+          we had expected would be unable to go. We have
+          ordered breakfast for eight o'clock, and would be
+          glad to have you take it with us. Be sure to wrap
+          up well, for it may be a cold ride, and we shall
+          not get back till late.
+
+          "Hoping that you will be able to join us, I remain
+
+                                  "Sincerely your friend,
+                                           "BARBARA RANDOLPH."
+
+Marjorie was out of bed almost before she had finished the last line.
+Her eyes were dancing, and her heart pounding with excitement.
+
+"Tell the boy to say I shall be delighted to go," she cried. "There
+isn't time to write a note; I shall have to hurry. Oh, Hortense, did you
+ever hear of anything quite so splendid?"
+
+It was a very radiant Marjorie who presented herself at the Randolphs'
+apartment an hour later, and Beverly and his mother felt fully repaid
+for the kindly impulse which had prompted the invitation. The breakfast
+that followed was a very pleasant one, and Marjorie chatted away to her
+new friends as if she had known them all her life, and enjoyed herself
+more than she had done at any time since coming to New York.
+
+"I really didn't know how disappointed I was about not going till your
+mother's note came," she said to Beverly, when breakfast was over, and
+Mrs. Randolph had gone to put on her hat. "I have always longed to see a
+football game. My father was on the team at Harvard."
+
+"You seemed to take your disappointment rather cheerfully," said Beverly
+with characteristic bluntness.
+
+Marjorie blushed.
+
+"It was just one of the things that couldn't be helped," she said
+simply. "My aunt says there are some things every one has to make the
+best of."
+
+"Your aunt must be a sensible woman," remarked Mrs. Randolph, who had
+returned just in time to hear Marjorie's last sentence. Thereupon
+Marjorie launched forth into an account of Aunt Jessie's bravery and
+cheerfulness, in which both her companions seemed interested.
+
+Marjorie was sure she would never forget the delight of that motor ride
+to New Haven. It was her first ride in an open touring car, and the
+bright sunshine, the keen frosty air, and the swift motion, all combined
+to render the trip a truly enjoyable one. She sat in the tonneau,
+between Mrs. Randolph and the doctor, and Beverly occupied the front
+seat with the chauffeur.
+
+"It's the most heavenly motion I ever imagined," murmured Marjorie, as
+they bowled swiftly out of the park and along the grand boulevard. "I
+always thought riding was the most delightful thing in the world, but I
+believe motoring is even better."
+
+The doctor laughed.
+
+"You must be an accomplished horsewoman," he said. "Beverly tells me you
+have spent a good part of your life on a ranch."
+
+"I rode my first pony before I was five, and helped Father train a colt
+when I was nine," said Marjorie. "I suppose that is one reason why I
+love horses so much, and can't bear to see one ill-treated."
+
+"I have no doubt of it, but if I were you I think I would leave the
+punishment of cruel drivers in future to the Society for the Prevention
+of Cruelty to Animals. By the way, how is the wrist this morning?"
+
+"Oh, it's ever so much better," said Marjorie, blushing at the memory of
+her escapade. "I don't believe I have thought of it once since Mrs.
+Randolph's note came. I have been so anxious to see a real college
+football match. My father was on the team at Harvard."
+
+"Indeed!" said the doctor, looking interested. "I am a Harvard man
+myself, and there was a Graham on the team in my time; a splendid
+chap--what is your father's name?"
+
+"Donald, and he was in the class of 1890," said Marjorie, eagerly. "Oh,
+I wonder if you can really have known Father."
+
+"I certainly did. Ninety was my class, too, and I remember Donald Graham
+very well, though we have never met since the old college days."
+
+"How perfectly delightful!" cried Marjorie, with sparkling eyes. "Father
+will be so interested when I write him about it."
+
+Dr. Randolph was really pleased to hear of his old classmate, forgotten
+for nearly twenty years, and he and Marjorie were soon in the midst of
+an animated conversation; she telling of her father's busy life on the
+Arizona cattle ranch, and he relating college stories, and growing young
+again himself in recalling those old merry days.
+
+That was a wonderful ride, and Marjorie enjoyed every moment. Dr.
+Randolph told her the names of all the towns they passed through, and
+Beverly and his mother were so kind and so merry. It was noon when they
+reached New Haven, where they found the streets crowded with people and
+automobiles, and many of the buildings decorated with flags and Yale
+colors.
+
+"Have all these people come to see the game?" Marjorie asked
+breathlessly.
+
+"Yes, and a good many more as well," Dr. Randolph told her. "There is
+always a big crowd for these games; the railroads run special trains on
+purpose. We are going to have lunch now, and then go out to Yale Field."
+
+"I wonder if we shall meet Aunt Julia and Elsie," said Marjorie. "How
+surprised they will be to see me if we do. Aunt Julia will be pleased, I
+know, for she hated to leave me at home."
+
+"We shall meet the Bells and their party at any rate," said Beverly.
+"They came yesterday by train, and are saving a table for us at the
+restaurant. You know Lulu Bell, don't you, Marjorie?"
+
+"Yes, she is in my class, and I like her ever so much. I like Winifred
+Hamilton, too, and she is to be with the Bells, I believe."
+
+At that moment they drew up before the hotel where they were to lunch,
+and Mrs. Randolph and Marjorie hurried away to the dressing-room to
+remove wraps and motor veils, while the doctor and his nephew went to
+order luncheon.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII
+
+MARJORIE SURPRISES HER RELATIVES
+
+
+"I REALLY don't know when I've been so pleased about anything!"
+exclaimed Lulu Bell, a pretty, bright-faced girl of fourteen, as she and
+her friends greeted Marjorie in the restaurant. "We were all so glad
+when Beverly Randolph told us you were here. Won't Elsie be surprised?
+She hadn't the least idea you were coming. Come here and sit between
+Winifred and me."
+
+"I don't believe any one can be much more surprised than I am myself,"
+said Marjorie, laughing, as she took the proffered seat, and received
+the kindly greeting of her other schoolmates. "Wasn't it just heavenly
+of the Randolphs to bring me with them?"
+
+"It was nice," Winifred Hamilton agreed heartily. "This is my first
+football game, too, and I'm almost too excited to eat. Did you ever see
+such a crowd in your life?"
+
+"No, never," said Marjorie, with a glance round the packed restaurant.
+"I wonder if they will really have lunch enough for all these people.
+Do you suppose Aunt Julia and Elsie are here?"
+
+"No, I don't think so," said Winifred. "We saw Elsie at the dance last
+night, and she said they were going to lunch with some friends of her
+cousin's. She will be at the game, of course, and perhaps you may see
+her there."
+
+"I think it was real mean of Elsie to come without you," chimed in
+Gertie Rossiter, who was not noted for tact. "I should have hated to go
+off for a good time and leave my cousin at home alone."
+
+"Oh, Elsie couldn't help it," protested Marjorie; "her cousin could only
+get two tickets."
+
+"Nonsense!" retorted Gertie indignantly. "He could have gotten an extra
+one as well as not if he had known in time; he told me so last night. I
+know Percy Ward very well, and he's an awfully nice boy. He felt
+dreadfully sorry when he heard about your being left behind. He said it
+was just like Elsie."
+
+"Isn't Mrs. Randolph pretty?" broke in Winifred, anxious to change the
+subject before Gertie made any more uncomfortable revelations. "She
+looks awfully young to be that big boy's mother."
+
+"She is perfectly lovely," declared Marjorie, and Lulu added, by way of
+keeping the conversation in safe channels:
+
+"Papa knows her brother-in-law, Dr. Randolph, very well, and he says she
+is the bravest woman he has ever met. You've heard about her little
+girl, haven't you?"
+
+"Yes," said Marjorie, "it was very sad; I don't see how poor Mrs.
+Randolph ever got over it."
+
+"She didn't," said Lulu. "Dr. Randolph says it nearly killed her, and
+even now she can't bear to speak of it, but she doesn't think it right
+to sadden her son's life, and so she is always bright and cheerful. If I
+ever write a book I shall make my heroine just that sort of person."
+
+At this moment Beverly, who had gone to speak to some friends at another
+table, joined the party, and the subject of his family was dropped. The
+luncheon was a very merry one. They were a large party, for besides
+Lulu's father and mother and the three girls, there were a couple of
+Yale students, friends of the Bells, and everybody seemed in excellent
+spirits. Marjorie felt a little shy at first, but soon thawed under the
+genial atmosphere, and before the meal was over she was chatting and
+laughing as merrily as any of the others.
+
+"Isn't Marjorie a nice girl?" whispered Winifred to Lulu, as they were
+leaving the restaurant. "I'm so glad she got the chance to come, but I
+do wonder what Elsie will say."
+
+It seemed to Marjorie that the next three hours must be the most
+exciting period of her life. To most girls a college football game is
+looked upon as a rather important event, but to Marjorie, fresh from her
+Arizona home, it was an experience never to be forgotten. It was on the
+whole a peaceful game, and there were no serious accidents to mar the
+general enjoyment and as the sun continued to shine, and the day was
+comfortably warm, there were not even the usual discomforts of weather
+to be endured. Marjorie and her friends were about equally divided in
+their championship; Lulu, Winifred and Gertie being for Yale, while
+Beverly and Marjorie herself favored Harvard, and joined in the cheers
+and rejoicing when the "Crimson" at last carried off the honors of the
+day, although Yale ran so close behind that at one time fears had been
+entertained that the game would be a tie.
+
+"Are you tired, Marjorie?" Beverly asked, as they were making their way
+through the dense throng to the waiting motor-car.
+
+"I don't know whether I am or not," said Marjorie, laughing. "It has
+all been so wonderful, and I don't feel as if I could quite realize it
+yet. Oh, there they are!"
+
+"Who?" demanded Beverly, looking round in surprise. "Oh, I see, your
+aunt and cousin--do you want to speak to them?"
+
+"Yes, of course I do; they'll be so surprised. Why, Elsie is staring at
+me as if she didn't know me."
+
+To say that Mrs. Carleton and her daughter were surprised would be but a
+mild way of expressing their feelings. They were for the moment
+literally speechless with astonishment. Elsie was the first to recover
+her power of articulation.
+
+"Is it really and truly you, Marjorie?" she demanded, regarding her
+smiling cousin with round-eyed amazement.
+
+"Yes, it really and truly is," laughed Marjorie. "I've been trying to
+find you all the afternoon, but there was such a crowd. I knew you'd be
+surprised."
+
+"Surprised!" echoed Elsie, looking from Marjorie to her tall companion,
+"I was never so surprised in my life. But how did it happen--who brought
+you?"
+
+"Mr. Randolph and his mother," said Marjorie, "wasn't it perfectly
+lovely of them?" And she proceeded to give her aunt and cousin an
+account of recent events.
+
+"I am sure it was extremely kind of Mrs. Randolph," Mrs. Carleton said,
+when Marjorie had finished her story. "I only hope this little girl
+hasn't been a trouble to your mother, Mr. Randolph."
+
+"Indeed she hasn't," declared Beverly, not without some indignation in
+his tone. "We've had a splendid time, haven't we, Marjorie?" To which
+Marjorie, who felt suddenly as if a pail of ice water had been dashed
+over her, answered rather meekly:--
+
+"It was beautiful. I never had such a good time in my life."
+
+"I am afraid that we must hurry along, Mrs. Carleton," said Beverly. "My
+mother and uncle have gone ahead, and will be waiting for us at the
+entrance. Don't worry about Marjorie; we'll take good care of her, and
+bring her home safely. We may be a little late, as my uncle doesn't like
+to run his car fast after dark."
+
+"Oh, I shall not worry," said Mrs. Carleton, with her sweetest smile. "I
+know Marjorie is in excellent hands, and between ourselves, I think she
+is a very fortunate little girl."
+
+Marjorie was rather silent during the long ride back to New York that
+evening. Mrs. Randolph and the doctor thought she was tired after all
+the excitement of the day, and kindly left her alone, but Beverly was of
+a different opinion, and his feelings towards Marjorie's aunt and cousin
+were not of the kindest.
+
+"I suppose your aunt was very much surprised to see you," Mrs. Randolph
+said kindly, merely for the sake of conversation.
+
+"Very much indeed," said Marjorie, in a tone that was not altogether
+steady. "Oh, Mrs. Randolph, I do hope I haven't been a trouble to you."
+
+"A trouble! My dear child, what nonsense. It has been perfectly
+delightful to have you with us, and you have added greatly to our
+pleasure. I hope we may have many more little trips together before the
+winter is over. You know I am very fond of little girls."
+
+Marjorie was much relieved, but her heart was not as light as it had
+been all day.
+
+"Be sure to remember me to your father when you write," were Dr.
+Randolph's parting words to Marjorie, as they drew up before the big
+hotel at ten o'clock that night. "Tell him he mustn't forget to look me
+up when he comes to New York."
+
+"Indeed I will," promised Marjorie; "he will be so interested. I don't
+suppose--" with sudden eagerness--"that you ever go to Arizona?"
+
+"I have never been there as yet, but nobody knows what may happen. If I
+ever go to Arizona, though, I shall certainly call on my old college
+friend, Donald Graham."
+
+"Isn't your uncle a dear?" remarked Marjorie to Beverly, as her friend
+was taking her upstairs to the Carletons' apartment.
+
+"He's a brick," was the young man's hearty rejoinder. "I'm glad you like
+him, for I know he likes you. He doesn't take to everybody, but he's
+been awfully good to Mother and me, and he was very fond of my little
+sister. Here's your door, so I'll say good-night. Hasn't it been a jolly
+day?"
+
+"It has been one of the loveliest days I've ever had," said Marjorie
+earnestly. "I'm sorry Aunt Julia thought I might have been troublesome,
+but your mother said I wasn't."
+
+"Troublesome! I should say not. Don't bother about what your aunt says;
+she doesn't know anything about it, and it's all nonsense, you know."
+
+Elsie had already gone to bed, and Mr. Carleton had telegraphed that he
+was taking the midnight train from Washington, and would not reach home
+till the following morning. But Aunt Julia was still up and dressed, and
+awaiting her niece's return.
+
+"My dear child, how late you are," was the rather reproachful greeting.
+"Do you know it is nearly half-past ten? Elsie went to bed more than an
+hour ago; she was quite worn out, poor child, as indeed I am myself, but
+I couldn't make up my mind to undress until I knew you were safely at
+home. I am horribly afraid of those automobiles."
+
+"I'm so sorry you worried about me, Aunt Julia," said Marjorie,
+regretfully. "I think we were quite safe, though; Dr. Randolph's
+chauffeur seems very careful, and they don't like going fast. I wasn't a
+bit frightened."
+
+"No, I don't suppose you were; children seldom realize danger. Sit down,
+Marjorie; I want to have a little talk with you before you go to your
+room."
+
+Marjorie complied, drawing a chair close to the fire, and stretching her
+cold hands out to the welcome blaze. She was longing to tell all about
+the day's pleasures, and was glad of the prospect of a little chat with
+Aunt Julia before going to bed.
+
+"Now my dear," began Mrs. Carleton, speaking fast and rather nervously,
+"I don't want you to let what I am going to say make you unhappy. I am
+not in the least displeased with you, because I am sure you had no
+intention of doing anything wrong; I have told Elsie so. But, Marjorie
+dear, it is not quite the proper thing for a girl of your age to accept
+invitations from strangers without first consulting the people under
+whose care she has been placed."
+
+"Oh, Aunt Julia," cried Marjorie, clasping her hands in dismay, while
+all the brightness died suddenly out of her face, "I am so sorry! I had
+no idea you would object to my going with the Randolphs; I thought you
+would be pleased because you were so sorry about leaving me at home.
+Mrs. Randolph said she was sure you wouldn't mind."
+
+Mrs. Carleton moved uneasily in her chair, and her eyes did not meet
+Marjorie's honest, astonished gaze.
+
+"I am sure it was very kind of Mrs. Randolph to think of giving you so
+much pleasure," she said. "I am not displeased with you either,
+Marjorie; I am only warning you not to make such a mistake another time.
+The Randolphs are merely slight acquaintances of ours, and one doesn't
+like being under obligations to strangers, you know. Elsie feels this
+quite as strongly as I do."
+
+"Elsie," repeated Marjorie, with a start, "why does she care? Didn't she
+want me to go to the game?"
+
+"Nonsense, dear; of course Elsie wanted you to go. She would have been
+delighted if only the circumstances had been a little different. Don't
+look so distressed, Marjorie; there is really nothing tragic in the
+situation. You have done nothing wrong, and I am glad you have had such
+a pleasant day, but don't accept another invitation without consulting
+either your uncle or me. Now kiss me good-night; I am tired to death and
+simply cannot sit up another minute."
+
+Marjorie cried herself to sleep that night for the first time in weeks.
+In spite of the memories of her happy day, she was more homesick than
+she had been at any time since coming to New York. She was so anxious to
+do right; to please her uncle and aunt in every way, and show them how
+grateful she was for all they were doing for her. And now, without
+having the slightest idea of having done anything wrong, she had annoyed
+Aunt Julia. She was thankful Hortense had not mentioned the episode of
+the cruel driver, and that her wrist no longer required a bandage. What
+would her aunt say if she knew of this delinquency as well as the other?
+But Marjorie was a very honest, truthful girl, and she decided to make a
+clean breast of everything to Uncle Henry when he came home. There was
+only one thing she could not understand, and that was why Elsie should
+have objected to her going to New Haven with the Randolphs.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV
+
+THE POETRY CLUB
+
+
+THERE was a marked coolness in Elsie's manner to her cousin the next
+morning, which Marjorie found decidedly uncomfortable as well as
+perplexing, but even Elsie was not proof against the weakness of
+curiosity, and after a few veiled hints, which Marjorie quite failed to
+understand, she finally softened, and demanded a full account of
+yesterday's doings, which her cousin was only too glad to give.
+
+"Tell me about Lulu Bell," said Elsie, when Marjorie had reached the
+part of her story where they had arrived at New Haven, and gone to lunch
+at the hotel restaurant. "Did Beverly Randolph pay her a lot of
+attention?"
+
+"Why, no, I don't think so," said Marjorie, innocently, "at least not
+any more than he paid to any of us. He was very polite to everybody, and
+I think he's the nicest boy I've ever met."
+
+"Probably that is because you have never met many people except
+Mexicans and Indians," remarked Elsie sarcastically.
+
+Marjorie, who had a quick temper of her own, flushed angrily, and was
+just going to say something sharp when Mrs. Carleton called them to get
+ready for church. Sunday was always a homesick day with Marjorie; there
+was not so much to do as on week-days, and she generally wrote a long
+home letter in the afternoon. Mr. Carleton had returned in time for
+breakfast, but it was not until after luncheon that Marjorie succeeded
+in getting him to herself. Then he proposed taking a walk, and asked the
+girls to accompany him. Elsie protested that she was too tired after the
+exertions of yesterday, but Marjorie gladly accepted her uncle's
+invitation, and it was during that walk that she told her little story,
+concealing nothing not even the battle royal with the brutal driver. Mr.
+Carleton could not help smiling over his niece's account of that affair,
+although he grew grave again in a moment, and told Marjorie she must
+never interfere in such a case. But he saw nothing wrong in her having
+accepted Mrs. Randolph's invitation.
+
+"I daresay your aunt is right in wishing you to consult her before
+accepting invitations as a rule," he said, "but in this case I really
+don't see how you could have acted differently. The Randolphs are
+charming people, and it was very kind of them to offer to take you with
+them. It would have been scarcely courteous to refuse."
+
+Marjorie returned from her walk with a much lighter heart, and in
+writing a long and detailed account of the game to her father, she quite
+forgot to worry over Elsie's sulks, or Aunt Julia's warnings.
+
+When the two girls arrived the next morning at the building where Miss
+Lothrop held her daily classes, they found several of their classmates
+gathered in an eager group, all talking fast and earnestly.
+
+"The most interesting thing is going to happen," announced Gertie
+Rossiter, pouncing upon the two new arrivals. "Lulu is getting up a
+club, and she wants us all to join."
+
+"What sort of a club?" inquired Elsie, doubtfully.
+
+"Oh, an awfully nice one. It's to meet at our different houses on Friday
+evenings, and we are to sew for the poor for the first hour, and dance
+and play games the rest of the evening."
+
+"I don't believe I should care to join," said Elsie, indifferently, as
+she took off her hat, and smoothed out her crimps; "I hate sewing."
+
+"So do I, but the sewing is only for the first hour, and the rest will
+be such fun. The boys will be invited to come at nine and stay till
+half-past ten."
+
+"Boys!" repeated Elsie her face brightening; "are there to be boys in
+the club, too?"
+
+"Yes, but of course they can't sew, so Lulu is going to put them on the
+amusement committee. My brother Rob is going to be asked, and Bessie's
+two cousins, and any others we can think of. You'll be sorry if you
+don't join, Elsie; it's going to be splendid."
+
+"I never said I wasn't going to join," said Elsie loftily, and
+sauntering over to the window where Lulu Bell and several other girls
+were still in earnest conversation, she inquired with an air of would-be
+indifference:
+
+"What's all this about a club somebody is getting up?"
+
+"It's Lulu," said Winifred Hamilton, proudly; "she thought of it
+yesterday and we all think it's such a good idea."
+
+"The first meeting is to be held at my house next Friday evening," Lulu
+explained, "and every member has got to read an original poem."
+
+"What for?" demanded Elsie, beginning to look rather blank. "I don't
+see what poems have to do with a sewing club."
+
+"Oh, we all have to be initiated," said Lulu, "the way college boys are,
+you know, and the way we are going to initiate is to make everybody
+write a poem. It needn't be more than eight lines, and it doesn't matter
+what it's about, so long as it's poetry. It will be such fun reading the
+poems and deciding which is the best. The one who writes the best poem
+is to be president of the club. It will be decided by vote."
+
+"I think the club sounds very interesting," said Elsie, with a little
+air of condescension, "but if I were you I would give up the initiation;
+it's so silly."
+
+"Oh, the initiation is half the fun!" cried Lulu and Bessie both
+together, and Lulu, who was not very fond of Elsie, added with decision:
+
+"Any one who isn't willing to take the trouble to write a poem can't
+join the club."
+
+"I am sure I have no objection to writing a poem," said Elsie, shrugging
+her shoulders. "It's perfectly simple; I could write one every week if I
+chose, but it's so foolish."
+
+Bessie and Gertie looked at each other, and Gertie formed the word
+"brag" with her lips, but did not say it aloud. Marjorie saw the look
+that passed between the two girls, and her cheeks grew suddenly hot.
+
+Elsie was certainly very clever, but she could not help feeling that it
+would be better taste on her cousin's part not to talk about it.
+
+"I wish I found it easy to write a poem," said Winifred, mournfully. "I
+never made a rhyme in my life, but Lulu says I've got to try. She made
+me write a story once when we were little girls, and it was the most
+awful nonsense you ever heard. Have you ever written a poem, Marjorie?"
+
+"Only a few silly doggerels. One of my aunt's favorite games is capping
+verses, and we used sometimes to play it on winter evenings."
+
+Just then more girls arrived, and in a few moments Miss Lothrop rang her
+bell, and school began.
+
+"Well, Marjorie, what do you think of the idea of the club?" Elsie
+inquired of her cousin, as the two were walking home from school
+together that day.
+
+"I think it will be splendid," declared Marjorie, heartily. "Lulu must
+be a clever girl to have thought of such a plan, especially of the
+initiation. I am sure the poems will be great fun."
+
+"They won't amount to anything," said Elsie, with her superior smile.
+"Nobody will write a decent poem, and I do hate poetry that isn't really
+good. Papa would never allow me to learn anything but the classics."
+
+"Lulu says we mustn't read our poems to any one until the night of the
+initiation," said Marjorie. "I know yours will be splendid, Elsie; you
+are so clever."
+
+Elsie smiled, well pleased by the compliment, and added rather
+irrelevantly:
+
+"I asked Lulu why she didn't invite Beverly Randolph to join the club.
+He hasn't many friends in New York and might enjoy it. She says he is
+older than any of the other boys, but she would be glad to have him if
+he cares to join, so I am to ask him and let her know to-morrow. The
+boys are not to be initiated, because they are only the amusement
+committee, but they are all to come to the first meeting, and vote on
+the poems."
+
+Nothing more was said on the subject just then, but Elsie was careful to
+deliver the message to Beverly that evening, and the invitation was
+readily accepted.
+
+"The girl who writes the best poem is to be president, you know," Elsie
+explained, with her sweetest smile. "You must be sure to come to the
+first meeting and vote for the one you like best."
+
+"I am afraid I'm not very well up on poetry," said Beverly, laughing.
+"It's a lucky thing the boys aren't expected to write poems as well as
+the girls; I am sure I should disgrace myself hopelessly if I were to
+attempt anything original."
+
+"Oh, no, you wouldn't," Elsie protested. "You have no idea how easy it
+really is. Of course some of the poems will be dreadfully silly, but you
+don't have to vote for them."
+
+It was Thanksgiving week, so school closed on Wednesday, not to open
+again till the following Monday. Elsie had several invitations for the
+holidays, but Marjorie, whose New York acquaintances were still limited
+to the girls at Miss Lothrop's, had only the first meeting of the Club
+on Friday evening to which to look forward. She wrote her poem on
+Wednesday evening, while Elsie was at a theater party, and although far
+from satisfied with it, decided that it would have to do, as she had
+several hard lessons to prepare for Monday, and there was no more time
+for writing poetry.
+
+"Of course it won't be nearly as good as Elsie's," she told herself
+cheerfully. "She is sure to be voted president."
+
+She had asked her cousin that evening if she had written her poem, and
+Elsie had replied carelessly that there was plenty of time, and she
+would probably do it to-morrow.
+
+"It really isn't worth bothering about," she had added, with some scorn;
+"it won't take me half an hour."
+
+The next day was Thanksgiving, and the Carletons and their niece were
+invited to a family dinner at Mrs. Lamont's. Elsie spent a long time in
+her room that afternoon, and came out looking rather cross. Marjorie,
+going into her cousin's room for something later in the day, noticed
+that the waste-paper basket was full of torn papers.
+
+"I wonder if she can be having trouble with her poem," Marjorie thought
+innocently, but when she questioned Elsie on the subject, that young
+lady colored angrily, and replied that of course she wasn't, and she did
+wish people would stop talking about that silly Club; she was sick of
+the subject and had a great mind not to join at all.
+
+The dinner at the Lamonts was very pleasant, and Marjorie could not help
+being conscious of the fact that she looked unusually well in her new
+dress. Every one was kind to the little Western girl, and she liked Mrs.
+Lamont and her daughter better than ever. The Ward family were also of
+the party, and Marjorie was introduced to the Yale boy, Percy, whom she
+found most agreeable, though not, as she wrote her mother afterward,
+quite so nice as Beverly Randolph.
+
+"Why didn't you tell me what a jolly girl Marjorie Graham was?" Percy
+demanded of Elsie, when the cousins were alone together for a moment
+after dinner.
+
+Elsie flushed.
+
+"I didn't know you'd like her," she said, evasively. "She's dreadfully
+young for her age, and not a bit like the New York girls."
+
+"Well, she's all right anyway," maintained Percy. "I only wish I'd known
+about her in time to get another ticket for the game last Saturday. But
+she went with some other friends, didn't she?"
+
+"Oh, yes, she went," said Elsie, with a rather sarcastic smile. "She got
+some people at the hotel to take her in their car. You needn't worry
+about Marjorie; she knows how to take care of herself."
+
+Elsie spent another hour in her room on Friday morning, and was so cross
+and disagreeable at luncheon, that Marjorie wondered more and more what
+the matter could possibly be. But in the afternoon Elsie cheered up, and
+her cousin came to the conclusion that whatever the trouble had been, it
+was evidently over.
+
+The meeting was to begin at eight o'clock, so immediately after an early
+dinner, the two girls, accompanied as usual by Hortense, started in the
+carriage for Lulu's home, which was on Madison Avenue, only a few blocks
+away.
+
+Lulu was a charming little hostess, and gave her friends a cordial
+greeting, explaining that her mother and aunt would come down later, but
+it had been a stipulation with some of the Club members that nobody
+grown up was to hear the poems or take part in the initiation. Several
+of Miss Lothrop's girls had already arrived, and there were also present
+a few more young people, particular friends of Lulu's, who had been
+invited to join the Club.
+
+"I want you to meet my friend, Betty Randall," Lulu said to Marjorie, as
+Elsie turned away to speak to other friends. "She's English, and just as
+nice as can be. She and her mother and brother are visiting us. She
+can't be a member, because they are all going back to England next week,
+but she and Jack are the special guests of the evening, and they are
+both to be allowed to vote on the poems."
+
+Betty Randall was a quiet, sweet-faced girl of fifteen, and Marjorie
+liked her at once.
+
+"Have you been in this country long?" she asked, when Lulu had left them
+together, and gone to greet other arriving guests. She could not help
+feeling a good deal interested in meeting "a real English girl."
+
+"Only since September," Betty answered, "but we used to live in New
+York. My mother is English, but she and my father came to this country
+when they were married, and my brother and I were both born in New York.
+We lived here until four years ago, when my uncle took us back to
+England to live with him."
+
+"I should think it would be wonderfully interesting to live in England,"
+said Marjorie. "I suppose of course you have been in London, and seen
+the Tower and Westminster Abbey?"
+
+"Oh, yes," said Betty, smiling. "One of my uncle's places is quite near
+London, and we often motor into town. I like America, though; it always
+seems more like home. Do you know the names of all these girls?"
+
+"I know most of them; we go to the same school, but I haven't been in
+New York nearly as long as you have. My home is in Arizona, and I have
+only come here to spend the winter, and go to school with my cousin."
+
+Betty looked a little disappointed.
+
+"Then I suppose you can't tell me something I want to know very much,"
+she said. "Lulu told me Dr. Randolph's nephew was to be here, and I do
+want to see him."
+
+"Oh, I can point him out to you," said Marjorie. "He lives at the Plaza,
+where my uncle has an apartment, and Elsie and I know him very well.
+There he is, that tall boy, who has just come in. Isn't he handsome?"
+
+"Yes, very," agreed Betty, regarding the new arrival with considerable
+interest. "I never met him, but his uncle was such a good friend to us
+once."
+
+"I know Dr. Randolph, too," said Marjorie; "he took us to New Haven in
+his car to see the game last Saturday. He is very kind."
+
+"Kind!" repeated Betty, with shining eyes; "he is more than kind, he is
+wonderful. He cured my brother, and made him walk, when he had been a
+cripple all his life."
+
+Marjorie gave a little gasp, and some of the color went out of her face.
+
+"Tell me about it," she said, clasping her hands, and regarding her new
+acquaintance with such an eager expression in her eyes, that Betty was
+quite startled.
+
+"It was before we went back to England," she said. "We were living here
+in New York, and Winifred Hamilton and her father and mother had an
+apartment in the same house. My mother was taken very ill, and Winifred
+went for Lulu Bell's father, whom you know is a doctor. He was very good
+to us, and while attending mother he became very much interested in my
+brother, who was nine years old then, and had never walked a step since
+he was born. He brought Dr. Randolph to see Jack, and he felt sure
+something could be done for him, and persuaded Mother to let him be
+taken to a hospital. Mother consented, and Dr. Randolph performed a
+wonderful operation."
+
+"And does your brother walk now?" Marjorie asked almost breathlessly.
+
+"There he is," said Betty, smiling, and pointing to a tall boy of
+thirteen, who was standing near the door, talking to Winifred Hamilton.
+"You would never believe that he was a helpless cripple only four years
+ago, would you?" she added proudly.
+
+"No, indeed," said Marjorie; "it seems very wonderful. Do you suppose
+Dr. Randolph often performs such operations?"
+
+"I think so. Dr. Bell says he is one of the finest surgeons in the
+country. Why are you so much interested? Do you know some one who is a
+cripple, too?"
+
+"Yes," said Marjorie, with a sigh. "It's my aunt; she had a terrible
+accident eight years ago, and has never walked since. But she is away in
+Arizona; we could never ask Dr. Randolph to go all that distance to see
+her."
+
+"No, I suppose not," Betty admitted regretfully, "but couldn't your aunt
+be brought here to him? I know people come from all parts of the country
+to consult him. There was a little girl at the hospital when Jack was
+there, who had been brought all the way from Texas."
+
+Marjorie thought of the long three-days journey, and of her father's
+desperate struggle to make both ends meet, but before she could answer,
+Lulu, as mistress of ceremonies--rapped sharply on the table, and the
+Club was called to order.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XV
+
+ELSIE TRIUMPHS
+
+
+"LADIES and gentlemen," began Lulu, speaking in the tone she had heard
+her mother use when conducting a meeting of a charitable board of which
+she was president, "I think every one is now here, and I must request
+you all please to keep quiet during the reading of the poems. After the
+reading, votes will be taken as to the best poem, and the girl who gets
+the most votes will be elected president of this Club. The boys are
+particularly requested not to laugh at any of the poems. The first to be
+read is by Miss Winifred Hamilton, and is called 'Ria and the Bear.'
+Miss Hamilton wishes me to explain that she has never heard the name
+Ria, but chose it because it was the only word she could think of that
+rhymed with fear."
+
+There was a general titter from the audience, followed by a burst of
+applause, as Winifred, very red, and looking as if she were being led to
+execution, rose and announced:
+
+"It's perfectly awful, but it's the first poem I ever wrote in my life,
+and I want to say that I sha'n't be in the least offended if everybody
+laughs." Then, unfolding a small sheet of paper, she began to read very
+fast.
+
+          "RIA AND THE BEAR.
+
+          "The sky was of the darkest hue,
+           The grass beneath was wet with dew,
+           And through the trees the wind did howl,
+           Causing the hungry bears to growl.
+
+          "All were protected from the storm,
+           All but one wee, shivering form,
+           She stood beneath an old elm tree,
+           The boughs of which from leaves were free.
+
+          "A big bear darted through the wood,
+           His instinct told him where she stood.
+           Soon the monster came close to Ria,
+           But the child showed no sign of fear.
+
+          "As the big bear drew very close,
+           She gave a pat to his cold nose,
+           At this touch the bear did cease to growl,
+           And for response a joyful howl.
+
+          "Then these two friends lay down together,
+           Quite heedless of the raging weather,
+           Upon the hard and frozen ground,
+           The two friends slept, both very sound.
+
+          "But one of the two never awoke;
+           Long, long after the wind storm broke,
+           She was discovered lying there,
+           Where she had died beside the bear."
+
+"Bravo! Winifred, that's fine!" shouted Jack Randall, and then followed
+a shout of laughter, in which everybody joined, Winifred herself as
+heartily as any of the others.
+
+"I told you it was awful," she said between gasps, "but Lulu said no one
+could be a member who didn't write a poem, so I had to do my best."
+
+"I should die of mortification if I were laughed at like that,"
+whispered Elsie to Carol, who sat next to her. To which her friend
+replied sympathetically:
+
+"Of course you would, but then everybody isn't a genius like you."
+
+"The next poem," announced Lulu, when order had been restored, "is by
+Miss Marjorie Graham of Arizona. Get up, Marjorie."
+
+Marjorie's heart was beating rather fast as she rose, but there was a
+merry twinkle in her eye, and if her voice shook a little when she began
+to read, it was more from suppressed laughter than from fear.
+
+
+          "THE BORING LIFE OF NEW YORK.
+
+
+          "Some think it delightful to live in New York,
+             But with them I do not agree;
+           'Tis nothing but hustle and bustle and talk,
+             All very distasteful to me.
+
+          "I love all the pleasures the country can give,
+             The beautiful flowers and the birds;
+           The city produces not one of these things,
+             Only traffic and crowds by the herds.
+
+          "The city is good as a workshop for men,
+             Who in parks idle moments may pass,
+           But the pleasure for children e'en there is quite spoiled,
+             When a sign bids them 'Keep off the Grass.'"
+
+A burst of genuine applause followed this production, and Marjorie sat
+down again quite covered with confusion.
+
+"It's splendid; I couldn't have written anything half so good,"
+whispered Betty encouragingly. "I am rather glad I am not to be a member
+of the Club, for I know I could never have written two lines that
+rhymed."
+
+"The next poem," continued Lulu, in her business-like tone, "is by Miss
+Gertrude Rossiter," and Gertie, looking very much embarrassed, rose, and
+began:
+
+
+          "THE STORM AT SEA.
+
+          "The waves did beat on a rocky shore;
+           The noise resounded more and more;
+           A little craft was tossed on the sea,
+           And all knew that saved she might not be.
+
+          "The crew were gathered on the deck,
+           Awaiting the crash of the awful wreck;
+           Many hearts stopped beating as the time drew near
+           To bid good-bye to their children dear.
+
+          "The babies and children all did shriek,
+           And now their voices grew very weak.
+           The staunch big men grew white with fear,
+           At the thought of death that was so near.
+
+          "But all at once the winds did cease,
+           The waves stopped tossing, and there was peace,
+           The children stopped crying; with joy they all laughed,
+           And gladness prevailed on that safe little craft."
+
+There was more applause, mingled with laughter, and Elsie whispered to
+Carol, quite loud enough to be heard by several others:
+
+"Did you ever hear anything so silly? Even the meter is wrong; there are
+too many words in some lines, and not enough in others."
+
+"Read yours next, Lulu," said Winifred, before her friend could make
+another announcement. "Lulu writes beautiful poetry," she added in a
+lower tone to Jack Randall; "I'm crazy to know what she's written this
+time."
+
+Lulu protested that as hostess her turn should come last, but several
+other girls joined their entreaties to Winifred's, and she was forced to
+yield. Blushing and smiling, she took a sheet of paper from her pocket,
+and began to read:
+
+          "THE FIRE.
+
+          "The forest trees were waving in the wind;
+             The sun was slowly sinking o'er the hill,
+           The clouds in purple, gold and blue outlined,
+             Were mirrored in the still pond by the mill.
+
+          "The birds were twittering their last good-night;
+             The dainty flow'rets closing up their eyes,
+           When all at once a fearful lurid light
+             Shone in the many-colored sunset skies.
+
+          "Quickly that awe-inspiring fire spread,
+             And many a tall and stately tree there fell.
+           The timid animals and birds all fled,
+             And naught but charred remains were left the tale to tell.
+
+          "At morn when in his glory rose the sun,
+             Over the blackened, devastated hill,
+           The scene that there the traveler looked upon
+             Seemed to his inmost heart to send a chill."
+
+"Isn't she wonderful?" whispered Winifred excitedly to Jack. "I told you
+hers would be the best."
+
+"It's very pretty," Jack admitted, "but I think I like the one about Ria
+and the Bear the best of all."
+
+"The next poem," announced Lulu, when the applause had subsided, "is by
+Miss Elsie Carleton."
+
+There was a little flutter of excitement as Elsie rose--as the brightest
+girl in the school, a good deal was expected of her. Some of the girls
+noticed with surprise, that Elsie had grown rather pale, but her voice
+was as calm and superior as ever, when she unfolded her paper, and
+began:
+
+          "GOD KNOWS.
+
+          "Oh, wild and dark was the winter's night
+             When the emigrant ship went down,
+           But just outside the harbor bar,
+            In the sight of the startled town.
+           And the wind howled, and the sea roared,
+             And never a soul could sleep,
+           Save the little ones on their mothers' breasts,
+             Too young to watch and weep.
+
+          "No boat could live in that angry surf,
+             No rope could reach the land--
+           There were bold, brave hearts upon the shore;
+             There was many a helping hand;
+           Men who strove, and women who prayed,
+             Till work and prayer were vain;
+           And the sun rose over that awful void,
+             And the silence of the main.
+
+          "All day the watchers paced the sand;
+             All day they scanned the deep;
+           All night the booming minute guns
+             Echoed from steep to steep.
+           'Give up thy dead, oh cruel sea!'
+             They cried athwart the space,
+           But only a baby's fragile form
+             Escaped from its stern embrace.
+
+          "Only one little child of all,
+             Who with the ship went down,
+           That night while the happy babies slept
+             All warm in the sheltered town.
+           There in the glow of the morning light
+             It lay on the shifting sand,
+           Pure as a sculptor's marble dream,
+             With a shell in its dimpled hand.
+
+          "There were none to tell of its race or kin--
+             'God knows,' the pastor said,
+           When the sobbing children crowded to ask
+             The name of the baby dead.
+           And so when they laid it away at last,
+             In the churchyard's hushed repose,
+           They raised a slab at the baby's head,
+             With the carven words 'God knows.'"
+
+There was a general murmur of admiration, as Elsie sat down again, in
+the midst of a burst of applause louder than had greeted any of the
+other productions.
+
+"Wasn't it lovely?" whispered Winifred to Jack, as she wiped her eyes.
+"I do love those sad pieces, don't you?"
+
+"They're all right," said Jack, a little doubtfully, "but don't you like
+the funny ones that make you laugh, better? Ria and the Bear was so
+funny."
+
+"That poem is really beautiful," declared Betty Randall, turning to
+Marjorie, and speaking in a tone of hearty admiration. "She must be an
+awfully clever girl to have written it; it's quite good enough to be
+published."
+
+But Marjorie did not answer. She had given one violent start when Elsie
+began the first line of her poem, and at the same moment she had caught
+the expression on Beverly Randolph's face. After that she had sat quite
+still, with crimson cheeks, and a heart that was beating so loudly she
+was almost afraid people must hear it. In her mind was a mild confusion
+of feelings; astonishment, mortification, and incredulity, and, worst of
+all, the knowledge that at least one other person in the room besides
+herself knew. When the burst of applause came she was conscious of a
+momentary sensation of relief. At least no one was going to speak yet.
+She cast an imploring glance at Beverly, but his face expressed nothing
+beyond amusement and a sort of indifferent contempt.
+
+There were more poems read; some funny, some sentimental; but Marjorie
+scarcely heard them. In her thoughts there was room but for one thing.
+Even the wonderful story Betty had told about her brother and Dr.
+Randolph was swept away in the shock of the discovery she had made.
+Several times she glanced at Elsie, fully expecting to see some
+expression of shame or remorse but that young lady was looking the
+picture of smiling content.
+
+When the poems had all been read, there was a general move, and pencils
+and bits of paper were handed around.
+
+"One of the boys will pass round a hat," Lulu explained, "and you must
+all drop your votes into it." Then, with a sudden generous impulse, she
+went up to Elsie and held out her hand.
+
+"Yours was ever so much the best, Elsie," she said, frankly; "you
+certainly deserve to be president."
+
+Elsie just touched the outstretched hand with the tips of her fingers,
+and for one moment her eyes dropped and her color deepened.
+
+There was a moment of dead silence while the names were being written,
+then Gertie Rossiter's brother passed round the hat, and each girl and
+boy dropped a bit of paper into it.
+
+"I shall vote for Elsie Carleton, sha'n't you?" whispered Betty to
+Marjorie, but Marjorie shook her head.
+
+"I am going to vote for Lulu Bell," she said shortly.
+
+It was an exciting moment when Beverly Randolph and Rob Rossiter--the
+two oldest boys present--counted the votes and announced the results:
+"Elsie Carleton, thirteen. Lulu Bell, nine. Marjorie Graham, five.
+Gertie Rossiter, three, and Winifred Hamilton, one."
+
+The presidency of the Club was unanimously accorded to Elsie.
+
+Then came an hour of games and dancing, followed at half-past nine, by
+light refreshments. But although Marjorie entered into the gayety with
+the rest, her heart was very heavy, and she did not join in the
+congratulations which were being showered upon the new president, in
+which even Lulu's mother and aunt, who had come downstairs as soon as
+the initiation was over, joined heartily. Beverly Randolph was a general
+favorite, and devoted himself in turn to almost every girl in the room,
+but he, too, held aloof from the new president. He and Marjorie had no
+opportunity for private conversation till the refreshments were being
+served, when he approached her corner, with a plate of ice-cream.
+
+"Your 'Boring Life of New York' was fine," he remarked, pleasantly,
+taking the vacant chair by her side. "I quite agree with your sentiment.
+I voted for you."
+
+"You are very kind," said Marjorie, blushing, "but it wasn't nearly as
+good as several of the others. Lulu's was splendid. You--you didn't like
+Elsie's?"
+
+"No, I didn't," said Beverly bluntly, "and you didn't, either."
+
+Marjorie's cheeks were crimson, but she made one desperate effort to
+save her cousin.
+
+"It was a beautiful little poem," she faltered, "only--only I
+thought--but perhaps I was mistaken--I'm sure Elsie wouldn't have done
+such a thing; it must have been a mistake."
+
+Beverly said nothing, but he did not look convinced.
+
+"Where--where did you see it before?" Marjorie went on desperately.
+
+"In an old volume of 'St. Nicholas' at home. My mother used to take the
+magazine when she was a little girl, and has all the volumes bound. I
+used to be very fond of some of the old stories, and so was my sister
+Barbara. I remember she learned that poem once to recite to Mother on
+her birthday."
+
+Marjorie's heart sank like lead. Well did she remember the old worn
+volumes of St. Nicholas--relics of her own mother's childhood--over
+which she had pored on many a rainy day at home. She cast an appealing
+glance at Beverly.
+
+"You won't tell?" she said unsteadily.
+
+"Of course I won't; I'm not a cad. And look here, Marjorie; I wouldn't
+bother my head about it if I were you. Miss Elsie is quite able to fight
+her own battles."
+
+"But she is my cousin," said Marjorie in a very low voice, "and I'm so
+ashamed."
+
+Beverly's face softened, and his voice was very kind when he answered:
+
+"You're a brick, Marjorie; lots of girls wouldn't care. But don't let it
+make you unhappy. If I were you I'd have it out with Elsie; perhaps
+she'll have some excuse to offer."
+
+Before Marjorie could answer Lulu came up to ask Beverly to come and be
+introduced to Betty Randall, who was particularly anxious to meet him,
+and he was obliged to hurry away.
+
+"What were you and that English girl talking about so long?" Elsie
+inquired, as she and Marjorie were driving home together half an hour
+later.
+
+Marjorie roused herself from uncomfortable reflections with a start.
+
+"Oh, nothing in particular," she said, "at least nothing you would be
+interested in. She was telling me about her brother, who used to be a
+cripple till Beverly Randolph's uncle cured him. He is a fine,
+strong-looking boy now--did you notice him?"
+
+"Yes. Did you know their uncle was a lord?"
+
+"Is he?" said Marjorie indifferently, and once more relapsed into
+silence. Elsie regarded her cousin in evident surprise.
+
+"What's the matter, Marjorie?" she inquired curiously. "You seem to be
+in the dumps, and I'm sure I can't see why. You really danced much
+better than I supposed you could. You're not jealous, are you?"
+
+"Jealous," repeated Marjorie, stupidly, "what about?"
+
+"Why, your poem, of course, because you didn't get more votes. It really
+wasn't bad; I heard several of the girls say so."
+
+"Of course I wasn't jealous," said Marjorie, indignantly. "I never
+dreamed of getting many votes. I think people were very kind to vote for
+me at all; it was just silly doggerel."
+
+"Well, you needn't fly into a temper even if you're not jealous,"
+laughed Elsie. "Do you know you never congratulated me on my poem. I
+think people thought it rather queer, when every one was saying how much
+they liked it."
+
+"I couldn't," said Marjorie in a low voice.
+
+"Why not?" demanded Elsie, sharply. She was evidently startled but
+beyond a slightly heightened color, she showed no sign of embarrassment.
+
+"I'll tell you when we get home," whispered Marjorie, with a glance at
+Hortense, who was sitting in the opposite seat.
+
+Not another word was spoken until the carriage drew up before the big
+hotel. Mr. and Mrs. Carleton were out, and the girls went at once to
+their rooms, without exchanging the usual good-nights. Marjorie's heart
+was beating painfully fast, and her cheeks were burning, but she did not
+waver in her determination to "have it out" with Elsie before they went
+to bed. So instead of beginning to undress, she sat down to wait until
+Hortense should have finished waiting on her cousin and gone away. She
+had, with some difficulty, at last succeeded in convincing the maid that
+she did not require assistance herself.
+
+"Elsie will be terribly angry," she told herself mournfully, "and it
+will be very horrid and uncomfortable, but it wouldn't be honest not to
+let her know I recognized that poem. Perhaps she can explain--oh, I do
+hope she can--and then I can tell Beverly, and everything will be all
+right again."
+
+She heard the outer door close behind Hortense, and was just about to go
+to her cousin's room, when her door was pushed unceremoniously open and
+Elsie herself came in. Elsie's cheeks were flushed, and her eyes were
+flashing, but whether with anger or excitement Marjorie could not tell.
+
+"Well," she began in a tone which she evidently intended to be quite
+cheerful and indifferent, "I've gotten rid of Hortense. She seemed to
+think she ought to stay till Papa and Mamma came home, but I told her we
+didn't need her. Now you can tell me what you said you would when we
+got home. Do be quick about it, though, for I'm awfully sleepy, and I
+want to go to bed."
+
+Before answering Marjorie went over to her cousin's side, and laid a
+timid hand on her shoulder.
+
+"Elsie," she said gently, "I'm so sorry; I hate to say it, but I've got
+to. It's--about that poem; I've read it before. You didn't think you
+really made it up, did you?"
+
+With an angry gesture Elsie pushed away her cousin's hand.
+
+"Of course I made it up," she said angrily; "how dare you say I didn't?
+I don't believe you ever saw a poem like it before in your life; you
+only say so because you're jealous."
+
+"Oh, Elsie, how can you say such dreadful things?" cried poor Marjorie,
+clasping her hands in her distress, and on the verge of tears. "How
+could I possibly be jealous of any one so much cleverer than myself?
+I've been so proud of you, Elsie--indeed, indeed I have--but I read that
+poem in an old 'St. Nicholas' at home. I remembered it because it was so
+pretty. Beverly Randolph remembers it, too; he--"
+
+"Beverly Randolph!" cried Elsie, her eyes flashing ominously; "so you
+told him about it, did you? That accounts for his not congratulating me
+when all the others did. Marjorie Graham, you are the meanest, most
+contemptible girl I have ever known. To think of your doing such a thing
+after all Papa and Mamma have done for you! But if you suppose for one
+moment that any one is going to take your word against mine, you'll find
+yourself very much mistaken. I shall write a note to Beverly Randolph
+to-morrow. A nice opinion he must have of you already--boys hate
+sneaks."
+
+"I'm not a sneak," retorted Marjorie, her own eyes beginning to flash.
+"I wouldn't have told Beverly Randolph or any one else such a thing for
+the world; I would have been ashamed to have them know. He recognized
+the poem, too. I saw he did the minute you began to read--and afterwards
+he spoke of it. But he won't tell; he promised not to, and--oh, Elsie I
+thought you might be able to explain it in some way."
+
+"There isn't anything to explain," said Elsie, obstinately. "If you and
+that horrid Randolph boy choose to say wicked things about me you can,
+but you are not everybody, and when my friends hear about it I think
+they'll have something to say." And without another word, Elsie walked
+out of the room, slamming the door behind her, and her cousin was left
+to cry herself to sleep undisturbed.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVI
+
+THE THINGS THAT HURT
+
+
+MARJORIE awoke the next morning with a very heavy heart. Although
+Elsie's companionship had not proved quite all she had anticipated,
+still they had hitherto been perfectly good friends. Marjorie had looked
+upon her clever cousin with genuine admiration, and if in some things
+Elsie had disappointed her, she had explained the fact to herself by
+remembering how different life in New York was from life in Arizona.
+
+"Elsie has so many friends," she had told herself over and over again;
+"of course I can't expect her to be as fond of me as I am of her."
+
+But last night's discovery had been a cruel disappointment, and her
+cousin's parting words had hurt more than perhaps Elsie herself fully
+realized. She had lain awake a long time, hoping--almost expecting--that
+Elsie would come back to tell her she was sorry. She was so ready to
+forgive, herself, and even to make allowances, but no sound had come
+from the adjoining room, and she had fallen asleep at last, still
+hoping that morning might bring about the longed-for reconciliation.
+
+It was still very early, but accustomed all her life to the early hours
+of the ranch, she had not yet learned to sleep as late as the other
+members of the family. She tossed about in bed for half an hour, vainly
+trying to go to sleep again, and then suddenly determined to get up.
+
+"If I could only have a canter on Roland, or a good long tramp before
+breakfast," she thought, with a regretful sigh, "I know it would clear
+the cobwebs from my brain, and I should feel ever so much better. But
+since that is out of the question, I may as well answer Undine's letter.
+She will like a letter all to herself, and I shall have plenty of time
+to write before the others are up."
+
+Accordingly, as soon as she was dressed, she sat down at her desk, and
+began a letter, which she was determined to make as bright and cheerful
+as possible.
+
+
+                               "NEW YORK, November 28th.
+
+          "DEAR UNDINE:
+
+          "I was delighted to get your nice letter last
+          week, but this is the very first spare moment I
+          have had in which to answer it. It is still very
+          early--only a little after six--and nobody else is
+          up, but I can't get accustomed to the queer New
+          York hours. Just think, nobody has breakfast much
+          before half past eight, and instead of dinner at
+          twelve or one, we don't dine till half past seven.
+          I thought I should be dreadfully hungry when I
+          first heard at what hour New York people dined,
+          but really luncheon--which they have in the middle
+          of the day--is almost the same as dinner. I have
+          eaten so much since I came here that I am sure I
+          must have gained pounds already.
+
+          "I wrote Father all about the football game, and
+          what a wonderful day I had. Since then we have had
+          Thanksgiving, and that was very pleasant too,
+          though of course not as exciting as the football
+          match and the motor ride. We all dined with Aunt
+          Julia's sister, Mrs. Lamont. Mrs. Lamont's son,
+          who is an artist, and very clever, drew funny
+          sketches on all the dinner cards, and his sister
+          made up the verses. I think my card was lovely; it
+          had a picture of a girl riding a horse, and the
+          verse underneath was:
+
+          "'Welcome, Western stranger
+             To our Thanksgiving board,
+           May you have a jolly time,
+             And not be very bored.'
+
+          "Miss Annie says she isn't a poet, and I don't
+          suppose any of the verses were really very good,
+          but they made everybody laugh. It was funny to
+          have 'board' and 'bored' in the same verse, but
+          Miss Lamont said she got hopelessly stuck when she
+          had written the first two lines, and had to end up
+          with 'bored,' because it was the only word she
+          could think of to rhyme with 'the Thanksgiving
+          board.' I sat next to Mr. Ward--Aunt Julia's other
+          sister's husband--and he was very kind, and told
+          funny stories all the time. After dinner we had
+          charades, and played old-fashioned games, which
+          were great fun.
+
+          "Lulu Bell, one of the girls at school, has gotten
+          up a Club, which is to meet every Friday evening
+          at the different girls' houses. We had the first
+          meeting last night, and every girl had to write a
+          poem in order to become a member. Some of the
+          poems were very clever, and some very funny. One
+          girl made 'close' rhyme with 'nose.' My poem was
+          silly, but I am going to send it to Aunt Jessie,
+          because she likes to keep all my foolish little
+          things.
+
+          "I am so glad you are happy, and are growing so
+          fond of Mother and Aunt Jessie. The more people I
+          meet, the more convinced I am that they are the
+          two of the very best in the world. I am glad,
+          too, that you are trying not to worry about the
+          things you can't remember. I have told the girls
+          at school about you, and they all think you are
+          the most wonderful person they have ever heard of.
+          The lady who took me to the football game had a
+          little girl who was killed in the San Francisco
+          earthquake. Her brother told me about it, and it
+          is a very sad story. He asked me not to mention
+          you to his mother, because it always distresses
+          her to hear anything about the earthquake. She is
+          perfectly lovely, and so bright and jolly that it
+          seems hard to realize she has had such a great
+          sorrow, but her son says that is because she is so
+          unselfish, and is always thinking of other people.
+          Isn't it wonderful how many brave, unselfish
+          people there are in the world?
+
+          "I have met a surgeon. He is the gentleman in
+          whose car we went to New Haven last Saturday, and
+          he is just as nice and kind as he can be. He is
+          very clever too, and has performed some wonderful
+          operations, but oh, Undine dear, I am afraid I
+          shall never have the courage to speak to him about
+          Aunt Jessie. Arizona is so far away, and it would
+          be so terribly presumptuous to even suggest the
+          possibility of a great surgeon's taking such a
+          journey to see a person he didn't even know.
+          Still, if it could only happen--I pray about it
+          every day.
+
+          "I must stop writing now, and study a little
+          before breakfast. Be sure to write again very
+          soon, and don't forget to give me every scrap of
+          news about every one and everything. Kiss Roland's
+          dear soft nose for me, and tell him not to forget
+          his old mistress. Heaps of love and kisses for
+          everybody, with a good share for yourself thrown
+          in, from
+
+                                  "Your true friend,
+                                         "MARJORIE GRAHAM."
+
+When Elsie entered the sitting-room, she found her uncle and cousin
+already at the breakfast table. Mrs. Carleton had a headache, and was
+breakfasting in bed. Mr. Carleton's morning greeting was as pleasant and
+affectionate as usual, but Elsie merely vouchsafed a slight nod, and a
+muttered "good-morning," and then kept her eyes steadily on her plate,
+as though to avoid any friendly overtures on Marjorie's part.
+
+"What are you little girls going to do to-day?" Mr. Carleton inquired
+pleasantly, as he rose from the table.
+
+"I'm going to dancing-school this morning," said Elsie, "and then to
+lunch with Carol."
+
+Mr. Carlton glanced inquiringly at Marjorie.
+
+"And you?" he asked kindly--"are you going to dancing-school, too?"
+
+Marjorie hesitated, and her color rose. It had been suggested that she
+should accompany Elsie to the dancing class that morning, and that Aunt
+Julia should make arrangements about having her admitted as a regular
+pupil, but after what had happened last night she did not feel at all
+sure that Elsie would desire her society.
+
+"I'm--I'm not quite sure," she faltered; "I think Aunt Julia may want me
+to go out with her."
+
+Mr. Carleton looked a little troubled, and when he left the room he
+beckoned his daughter to follow him.
+
+"Elsie dear," he said in a rather low voice, as he put on his overcoat
+in the entry, "I wish you would try to do something to give Marjorie a
+good time to-day. She is looking rather down-hearted this morning, and
+I'm afraid she may be a little homesick. Can't you arrange to take her
+out to luncheon with you?"
+
+Elsie shrugged her shoulders.
+
+"She hasn't been invited," she said, shortly. She did not think it
+necessary to add that Carol Hastings had proposed that Marjorie should
+make one of the party, but that she herself had opposed the plan,
+declaring that they would have a much pleasanter time by themselves.
+
+Mr. Carleton frowned.
+
+"I should think you knew Carol Hastings well enough to ask her if you
+might bring Marjorie with you," he said impatiently. "Remember, Elsie,
+what I have told you several times before; I won't have Marjorie
+neglected."
+
+Now it was rather unfortunate that Mr. Carleton should have chosen just
+this particular time for reminding his daughter of her duty. As a rule,
+his words would have produced the desired effect, for Elsie stood
+considerably in awe of her father, but just at present she was very
+angry with Marjorie, and this admonition only made her angrier still.
+
+"Marjorie is all right," she said, sulkily; "she manages to have a good
+time wherever she goes. If you knew as much about her as I do you
+wouldn't worry for fear she might be neglected."
+
+Mr. Carleton did not look satisfied, but he had an appointment to keep,
+and there was no time for argument, so, after giving his daughter a
+good-bye kiss, and telling her to be an unselfish little girl, he
+hurried away, and had soon forgotten the incident in the interest of
+more important matters.
+
+Elsie did not go back to the parlor, but went at once to her mother's
+room, where she remained for some time with the door closed. Marjorie,
+having finished her breakfast, wandered aimlessly over to the window,
+where she stood looking down at the crowds of people and vehicles in the
+street below. It was a lovely morning and, early as it was, the park
+seemed full of children. Some had already mounted their ponies, and
+others were on roller skates or bicycles. How Marjorie longed to join
+them, but going out alone was strictly forbidden. She was feeling very
+unhappy, and more homesick than at any time since coming to New York.
+
+"I must get something to do or I shall make a goose of myself and begin
+to cry," she said desperately, and picking up the first book she found
+on the table, she plunged into it haphazard, and when Elsie returned she
+found her cousin to all appearances quite absorbed in "The Letters of
+Queen Victoria."
+
+Elsie did not speak, but seating herself at the piano, began practicing
+exercises as if her life depended on it. Marjorie closed her book, and
+sat watching her cousin in silence for several minutes; then she spoke.
+
+"Elsie."
+
+"Well, what is it?" inquired Elsie, wheeling round on the piano stool.
+
+"Aren't you going to be friends with me?"
+
+"I certainly am not unless you intend to apologize for the outrageous
+things you said to me last night. I've been telling Mamma about it, and
+she is very angry."
+
+Marjorie rose.
+
+"I can't apologize, Elsie; you know I can't," she said, steadily, and
+without another word she turned and left the room.
+
+When Mrs. Carleton entered her niece's room an hour later, she found
+Marjorie curled up in a little disconsolate heap on the bed, her face
+buried in the pillows. Aunt Julia was still in her morning wrapper, and
+was looking decidedly worried.
+
+"Marjorie," she began in a rather fretful tone, as she closed the door,
+and sank wearily into the arm-chair, "I am very much distressed by what
+Elsie tells me. I have come to ask you what it all means."
+
+Marjorie raised a swollen, tear-stained face from the pillows.
+
+"What has Elsie told you?" she inquired anxiously.
+
+Mrs. Carleton pressed her hand to her forehead.
+
+"O dear!" she sighed, "my head aches so this morning, and I do dislike
+all these quarrels and arguments. I did hope you and Elsie would get on
+together without quarreling."
+
+"I don't want to quarrel," protested Marjorie; "what does Elsie say
+about me?"
+
+"She says you have been very unkind and unjust to her. She won't tell me
+what it is all about. I tried to make her tell, but Elsie is so
+honorable; she hates tale-bearing. But I know you have hurt her pride,
+and made her very unhappy."
+
+Marjorie was silent; what could she say? And after a moment her aunt
+went on in her fretful, complaining voice.
+
+"I don't believe you have the least idea what a noble, splendid girl
+Elsie is. It was rather hard for her at first when she heard you were
+coming to spend the winter, for of course it couldn't help making some
+difference. She has never had to share anything with any one else
+before. But she was so sweet and unselfish about it, and I did hope
+things might go on as they had begun. But now you have begun to
+quarrel, and I suppose there will be nothing but trouble and
+unpleasantness all winter."
+
+"She was so sweet and unselfish about it!" How those words hurt
+Marjorie, and all the time she had been thinking that Elsie had looked
+forward to meeting her almost, if not quite as much, as she had looked
+forward to knowing the cousin who was "the next best thing to a sister."
+It was only by a mighty effort that she managed to choke back the flood
+of scalding tears, which threatened to overwhelm her.
+
+"I'm very sorry, Aunt Julia," she said tremulously; "I didn't mean to
+quarrel with Elsie. If she had told you what it was about perhaps you
+would have understood."
+
+"Well, she wouldn't tell," said Mrs. Carleton, crossly, "so there is no
+use in talking about that. All I want to say to you is that I am very
+much annoyed, and sincerely hope nothing so unpleasant will happen
+again. Elsie has gone to dancing-school, and Hortense has gone with her,
+as my head was so bad. Now I am going back to my room to lie down for a
+while; perhaps I may be better by luncheon time."
+
+That was the most unhappy day Marjorie had ever spent in her life. It
+seemed to her as if the morning would never end, and when her aunt
+appeared at luncheon she still wore an air of injured dignity, and
+entertained Marjorie during the meal, with a long account of Elsie's
+many accomplishments, a subject of which her niece was becoming heartily
+tired, although she would scarcely have admitted the fact even to
+herself. Soon after luncheon Mr. Carleton telephoned to say that he
+would come uptown in time to drive with his wife, and Aunt Julia
+proposed that Marjorie should go for a walk with Hortense. The girl's
+own head was aching by this time, and she was glad of a brisk walk in
+the keen, frosty air, but she was so unusually silent and preoccupied,
+that the maid asked her anxiously if she "had the homesickness."
+
+"Yes," said Marjorie, with a catch in her voice, "I've got it badly
+to-day."
+
+"Ah, I understand," murmured Hortense, softly, "Mademoiselle is like
+me--I, too, often have the homesickness."
+
+Elsie did not reach home till after five, as Carol's mother had taken
+the two girls to the theater, and even then she took no notice of
+Marjorie, but went at once to her mother's room, where Marjorie heard
+her giving a long and animated account of the play she had seen.
+
+"By the way," remarked Mr. Carleton at dinner that evening, "I forgot to
+ask about the Club--how did the poems turn out?"
+
+There was a moment's embarrassed silence, and Marjorie's heart began to
+beat very fast; then Elsie spoke.
+
+"They were all very silly," she said, indifferently. "I told Lulu it was
+nonsense having all the girls write poems."
+
+"Whose poem was the best?" Mr. Carleton asked.
+
+"They made me president of the Club," said Elsie, her eyes bent on her
+plate; "my poem got the most votes."
+
+"I was sure it would," murmured Mrs. Carleton, with an adoring glance at
+her clever daughter. "Why didn't you tell us about it before,
+darling--you knew how interested we would be?"
+
+"Let me see the poem," said Mr. Carleton, good-naturedly; "I should like
+to judge its merits for myself."
+
+"I can't; I've torn it up." Elsie tried to speak in a tone of complete
+indifference, but her cheeks were crimson, and her father watched her
+curiously.
+
+"My darling child, how very foolish!" remonstrated Mrs. Carleton. "You
+know your father and I always want to see everything you write. Why in
+the world did you tear it up?"
+
+"Oh, it wasn't any good," said Elsie, with an uneasy glance at Marjorie;
+"some of the girls thought Lulu's poem was better."
+
+"I don't believe it was, though," Mrs. Carleton maintained with
+conviction. "Wasn't Elsie's poem much the best, Marjorie?"
+
+It was a dreadful moment for poor Marjorie. She had never told a lie in
+her life, and yet how could she offend her uncle and aunt, who were
+doing so much for her, and who both adored Elsie? She cast an appealing
+glance at her cousin, and remained silent.
+
+"Oh, you needn't ask Marjorie," remarked Elsie, with a disagreeable
+laugh; "she doesn't like my poem. She only got five votes herself, so I
+suppose it's rather hard for her to judge of other people's poetry."
+
+Mr. Carleton frowned, and Mrs. Carleton looked distressed, but no more
+was said on the subject, for which Marjorie felt sincerely thankful.
+
+The next day was Sunday, and the most unhappy, homesick day Marjorie had
+spent in New York. Her uncle was the only member of the family who
+continued to treat her as usual. Elsie scarcely spoke to her, and Aunt
+Julia, though evidently making an effort to be kind, showed so plainly
+by her manner that she was both hurt and displeased, that poor
+Marjorie's heart grew heavier and heavier. They all went to church in
+the morning, and in the afternoon Elsie went for a drive with her
+mother, and Mr. Carleton retired to his own room to read and write
+letters. Marjorie began her usual home letter, but had not written half
+a page when she broke down, and spent the next half hour in having a
+good cry, which was perhaps the most satisfactory thing she could have
+done under the circumstances.
+
+She had just dried her eyes, and having made a brave resolution not to
+be so foolish again, was sitting down with the intention of going on
+with her letter, when she heard her uncle's voice calling her from the
+sitting-room.
+
+"Come here, Marjorie," said Mr. Carleton, kindly, as his niece appeared
+in answer to his summons. "Sit down and let us have a little talk before
+the others come home."
+
+Marjorie complied. She hoped devoutly that her uncle would not notice
+that she had been crying, but perhaps Uncle Henry's eyes were sharper
+than his family always suspected.
+
+"Marjorie," he said abruptly, "I want you to tell me what this trouble
+is between you and Elsie."
+
+Marjorie gave a little gasp, and her cheeks grew pink.
+
+"I--I'm afraid I can't tell you, Uncle Henry," she faltered; "you had
+better ask Elsie."
+
+"I have asked her, and so has your aunt, but she refused to tell us
+anything except that you have quarreled about something, and that you
+have treated her rather unkindly."
+
+Marjorie's eyes flashed indignantly, and she bit her lips to keep back
+the angry words.
+
+"Now I happen to know a good deal about these little quarrels of
+Elsie's," Mr. Carleton went on quietly. "She is a good girl, and a
+clever one, too, but she has her faults and I have no reason to suppose
+that you are any more to blame than she in this case. All I want is a
+clear account of what happened, and then I can settle this tempest in a
+teapot, which I can see has been making you both unhappy for the past
+two days."
+
+By this time Marjorie had succeeded in controlling her temper, and her
+voice was quite clear and steady as she answered--
+
+"I am very sorry, Uncle Henry, but if Elsie hasn't told you what the
+trouble is, I am afraid I can't tell either. Please don't be angry, or
+think me disrespectful, but I can't tell; it wouldn't be fair."
+
+Mr. Carleton was evidently displeased.
+
+"Very well," he said, turning away coldly, and taking up a book, "I have
+no more to say on the matter. I am sorry, for I hoped you would have
+sufficient confidence in your aunt and me to trust us, and confide in
+us. I do not wish to force you to tell us anything against your will,
+but you must remember that your mother has placed you under our care."
+
+The tears rushed to Marjorie's eyes.
+
+"Oh, Uncle Henry!" she began, then checked herself abruptly, and, with a
+half suppressed sob, turned and fled back to her own room.
+
+It was more than an hour later when Elsie presented herself at her
+cousin's door.
+
+"May I come in, Marjorie?" she inquired in a rather conciliatory tone.
+
+Marjorie looked up from the letter she was writing; her face brightening
+with sudden hope.
+
+"Of course you may," she said, heartily.
+
+"Oh, Elsie, do let us make up; I can't stand not being friends with
+people I love."
+
+Elsie advanced slowly into the room and closed the door.
+
+"Papa has been talking to me," she said, "and I have promised him to
+forgive you for what you said to me the other night. You--you didn't
+tell him anything, did you?"
+
+"No," said Marjorie indignantly, "of course I didn't. He asked me, but I
+wouldn't tell. I'm afraid I made him angry."
+
+Elsie looked much relieved.
+
+"That's all right," she said, speaking more pleasantly than she had done
+since the meeting of the Poetry Club. "We won't say any more about it.
+I've torn up that silly poem, and nobody is going to remember it. If
+Beverly Randolph should ever say anything to you, you can tell him it
+was just a joke. Now come into my room, and I'll tell you all about the
+good time Carol and I had yesterday."
+
+But although Marjorie accepted the olive branch, and she and Elsie were
+apparently as good friends as ever that evening, her confidence in her
+cousin had been cruelly shaken, and she told herself sadly that she
+could never feel quite the same towards Elsie again. Still, it was a
+great comfort to be on good terms once more, and to see the worried
+expression disappear from Aunt Julia's face, even though she could not
+help feeling a slight shock on hearing her aunt remark in a low tone to
+her uncle at the dinner table:
+
+"Isn't Elsie sweet? I really think she has the most lovable, forgiving
+disposition I have ever known."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVII
+
+BEVERLY SINGS "MANDALAY"
+
+
+IT was a stormy December afternoon, about ten days later, and Marjorie
+was alone in her room preparing her lessons for the next day. Elsie had
+gone shopping with her mother, and Hortense had been sent on an errand.
+Marjorie was aroused from the intricacies of a difficult mathematical
+problem by a ring at the bell, and on going to the door, found Beverly
+Randolph standing on the threshold.
+
+It was the first time the two had been alone together since the evening
+of the Initiation, and in spite of herself, Marjorie felt her cheeks
+growing hot as she asked the visitor to come in. But Beverly had no
+intention of referring to unpleasant bygones.
+
+"I'm so glad to find you at home," he said, with his pleasant smile and
+in the voice that always put people at their ease. "My mother sent me to
+ask if you would come and sit with her for a while this afternoon,
+provided you have nothing more important to do. She is laid up with a
+cold, and is feeling rather blue and forlorn."
+
+"I should love to come," said Marjorie, her face brightening at the
+prospect. "I was afraid your mother might not be well when I didn't see
+her at luncheon. I hope she isn't really ill."
+
+"Oh, no; nothing but a disagreeable cold, that has kept her in the house
+for the past two days. I'm glad you can come, for I'm sure it will cheer
+her up."
+
+"All right," said Marjorie; "I'll come in just a minute. I must leave a
+note for Aunt Julia in case she should get home before I do."
+
+Marjorie found Mrs. Randolph sitting in an arm-chair by the fire,
+looking rather pale and tired, but her greeting to the girl was just as
+kind and cheerful as usual, and Marjorie hoped that it was only in her
+imagination that she saw that sad, wistful expression in her kind
+friend's eyes.
+
+"Now sit down and tell me about all you have been doing," said Mrs.
+Randolph, when the first greetings had been exchanged. "I love to hear
+about the things girls are interested in. My little Barbara used to tell
+me of all her good times as well as her troubles. I am so glad you have
+brought your work--what are you making?"
+
+"A shawl for my aunt's Christmas present; one of the girls at school
+taught me the stitch, and I think it's going to be very pretty. I shall
+have to work hard, though, to finish it in time. Do you like the color?"
+
+"Very much," said Mrs. Randolph. "I suppose this will be your first
+Christmas away from home?"
+
+A shadow crossed Marjorie's bright face. "I try not to think of it," she
+said. "It's going to be pretty hard, but every one has been so kind, and
+Uncle Henry and Aunt Julia are doing so much for me, that it wouldn't be
+right to be unhappy. I think perhaps if I keep very busy I shall manage
+to get on all right. Aunt Jessie says that's a good way of making the
+best of things that can't be helped."
+
+Mrs. Randolph said nothing, but the look she gave Marjorie was such an
+understanding one that the girl's heart warmed towards her more and
+more. The next half-hour slipped away very pleasantly. Mrs. Randolph was
+one of those rare people who have the power of drawing others out, and
+Marjorie chatted away to her of school and school-friends, and all the
+little unimportant happenings of her New York life, with almost as much
+freedom as she would have talked to her mother or aunt. Then Mrs.
+Randolph asked her if she liked reading aloud, and when Marjorie
+assured her that she had read a great deal to Aunt Jessie, she explained
+that, owing to a cold in her eyes, she had not been able to read herself
+for several days. Marjorie was delighted to be of real use, and they
+were soon deep in an interesting story. Marjorie read aloud very well,
+and it was an accomplishment of which she was rather proud.
+
+At five o'clock Beverly, who had gone to his room to "cram," as he
+expressed it, returned, and his mother rang the bell for tea.
+
+"Marjorie and I have had a delightful afternoon," she said; "she seems
+to be almost as fond of reading aloud as I am of listening. I am going
+to be very selfish and ask her to come again to-morrow, provided she can
+spare the time. The doctor doesn't want me to use my eyes much for
+several days."
+
+"I shall just love to come," declared Marjorie eagerly, "and I can
+easily manage it. My lessons aren't very hard, and I always have a good
+deal of time to myself every day."
+
+"Don't you and your cousin ever go off together in the afternoons?"
+Beverly inquired bluntly.
+
+Marjorie blushed.
+
+"Not very often," she admitted reluctantly. "You see, Elsie has so many
+more friends than I have, and they are always doing things together. I
+like the girls at school ever so much, and they are all very nice and
+kind to me, but of course they don't know me very well yet."
+
+"How did the last meeting of the Club come off?" Beverly asked. "I was
+sorry I couldn't go, but I had another engagement."
+
+Marjorie was conscious of a sensation of embarrassment at this mention
+of the Club, for she had not forgotten the secret that she and Beverly
+shared together, but she tried to answer quite naturally.
+
+"Oh, it was very pleasant. The girls have decided to sew for the little
+blind children at the 'Home For Blind Babies.' We sewed for three
+quarters of an hour, and then Carol said we might as well stop, and
+begin to get ready for the boys. They weren't invited till nine, but
+some of the girls seemed to think it would take some time to get ready
+for them, though there really wasn't anything in particular to do. I
+hope they'll sew a little longer next time, for if they don't I'm afraid
+the Club won't accomplish very much."
+
+Mrs. Randolph and Beverly both laughed, and then Beverly sauntered over
+to the piano, and began to drum.
+
+"Sing something, dear," said his mother. "Are you fond of music,
+Marjorie?"
+
+"I think I should be if I had a chance of hearing much," said Marjorie,
+smiling, "but until I came to New York I had scarcely ever heard any
+music except the boys singing on the ranch. Mother used to play a little
+when she was a girl, but we haven't any piano. I love to hear Elsie
+play."
+
+"Well, I think you will like to hear Beverly sing; you know he is on the
+college Glee Club. Sing that pretty Irish ballad, 'She Is Far From the
+Land,' Beverly; I am sure Marjorie will like that."
+
+Beverly laughingly protested that he had no voice whatever, and was sure
+Marjorie would want to run away the moment he began to sing, but
+good-naturedly yielded to his mother's request, and after striking a few
+preliminary chords, began in a clear tenor voice--
+
+        "'She is far from the land where the young hero lies.'"
+
+Marjorie--who had a real love for music--was much impressed, and at the
+close of the ballad, begged so earnestly for more, that Beverly could
+not help being flattered, and his mother beamed with pleasure.
+
+Beverly sang several more ballads, and one or two college songs, and
+then, after strumming idly on the piano for a moment, as if uncertain
+what to sing next, he suddenly broke into an air Marjorie knew.
+
+          "'In the old Mulniam pagoda,
+             Lookin' eastward to the sea;
+           There's a Burma gal a-waitin',
+             And I know she thinks of me;
+           For the wind is in the palm-trees,
+             And the Temple bells they say,
+           Come you back, you British soldier,
+             Come you back to Mandalay.
+
+          "'Come you back to Mandalay,
+             Where the old flotilla lay,
+           Can't you 'ear their paddles chunkin'
+             From Rangoon to Mandalay?
+           On the road to Mandalay,
+             Where the flyin' fishes play,
+           And the sun comes up like thunder,
+             Outer China 'cross the bay.'"
+
+Marjorie turned with a start, arrested by the sound of a low,
+half-suppressed sob. Mrs. Randolph had covered her face with her hands,
+and was crying softly. At the same moment Beverly also turned, and, with
+an exclamation of dismay, hastily sprang to his feet, and hurried to
+his mother's side.
+
+"Oh, Mother dear, I'm so sorry!" cried the boy, dropping on his knees,
+and trying to draw Mrs. Randolph's hands down from her face. "I never
+thought; it was very careless. Oh, Mother darling, please don't
+cry--please forgive me!"
+
+At the sound of her son's voice, Mrs. Randolph looked up, and tried to
+smile through her tears.
+
+"Never mind, dear," she said, gently, "it was very foolish of me, but
+that song--you know how fond she was of it."
+
+"Yes, Mother, I know; I was a brute to have forgotten." And Beverly put
+his strong young arms tenderly round his mother. Mrs. Randolph laid her
+head on his shoulder for a moment, as if she found comfort in the touch,
+and then she roused herself with an effort, dried her eyes, and turned
+to Marjorie.
+
+"You must excuse me for being so foolish, dear," she said, "but that was
+my little Barbara's favorite song; she was always asking Beverly to sing
+it. I don't think I have heard it since--since she went away."
+
+There were tears of sympathy in Marjorie's eyes, and although she said
+nothing, the look she gave her friend touched Mrs. Randolph, and
+perhaps comforted her more than any words would have done.
+
+[Illustration: "OH, MOTHER DEAR, I'M SO SORRY!"--_Page 243._]
+
+Beverly did not sing again, but quietly closed the piano, and for the
+rest of the afternoon his merry boyish face was unusually grave.
+
+"You have given me a great deal of pleasure," Mrs. Randolph said, when
+Marjorie at last rose to go. "I hope you will come again to-morrow. It
+is very tiresome to have to stay in the house all day, especially when
+one hasn't the solace of reading."
+
+Marjorie said she would surely come again, and then she hurried back to
+their own apartment, where she found her aunt and cousin, who had come
+in some time before.
+
+Mrs. Carleton had read Marjorie's note, and had no objection to the
+girl's spending as much time with the invalid as she liked.
+
+"Was Beverly at home?" Elsie inquired, anxiously, following her cousin
+to her room.
+
+"He was there some of the time," said Marjorie; "he had lessons to do at
+first, but he came in for tea. Mrs. Randolph asked him to sing--he has a
+beautiful voice."
+
+"You certainly have a way of getting what you want," remarked Elsie
+in a rather dissatisfied tone; "I wonder how you manage."
+
+"Manage what?" demanded Marjorie in amazement; "what in the world do you
+mean, Elsie?"
+
+Elsie shrugged her shoulders.
+
+"Oh, I guess you know," she said, sarcastically, and walked out of the
+room, leaving Marjorie very much puzzled, and more than a little
+uncomfortable.
+
+Mrs. Randolph did not recover from her cold as quickly as she had hoped,
+and she was confined to the house for nearly a week. Her eyes, too,
+continued troublesome, and reading and sewing were strictly forbidden.
+So it came to be quite a natural thing that Marjorie should spend an
+hour every afternoon in the Randolphs' apartment, and the girl grew to
+look forward to those hours as the pleasantest of the whole day.
+
+"You remind me more of my little Barbara every day," Mrs. Randolph said
+to her once, and Marjorie felt that she had received a great compliment.
+She was growing to feel a deep interest in this Barbara, whose tragic
+death had cast such a shadow of sorrow over her mother's life, but she
+had too much tact, and was too kind-hearted, to show undue curiosity on
+a painful subject, and so, though there were many questions she would
+have liked to ask about this unknown Barbara, she refrained from asking
+one, and was fain to content herself with the stray bits of information
+that Mrs. Randolph or Beverly occasionally let fall.
+
+When Mrs. Randolph was well again Marjorie greatly missed the daily
+chat, and pleasant hour of reading aloud. The drives with Aunt Julia,
+shut up in the brougham, with only one window open, proved a most
+unsatisfactory substitute, but her aunt was very kind, and showed so
+much real interest in the Christmas box she was preparing for her dear
+ones at home that Marjorie reproached herself bitterly for not finding
+Aunt Julia's society as agreeable as Mrs. Randolph's. But Christmas was
+drawing near, and there were times when Marjorie fought desperately
+against the homesickness, which seemed almost greater than she could
+bear.
+
+To add to everything else, she caught a feverish cold, and Mrs.
+Carleton, who was always nervous about illness, insisted on her
+remaining in the house; a state of affairs hitherto unknown to healthy
+Marjorie, who had never in her life spent a day in bed.
+
+It was on the second afternoon of headache and sore throat that Mrs.
+Randolph came to the rescue. Marjorie had come to the end of her
+resources. She had read till her eyes ached, and sewed on Christmas
+presents until she felt that she couldn't take another stitch. The
+longing for fresh air and exercise was almost beyond her endurance, and
+yet she dared not even open a window, for fear of incurring her aunt's
+displeasure. Mrs. Carleton and Elsie were out, but Hortense had been
+left in charge, with strict injunctions to see that Mademoiselle
+Marjorie kept out of draughts, and took her medicine regularly. Marjorie
+was just wondering in her desperation whether a walk up and down the
+steam-heated hotel corridor would be regarded in the light of an
+imprudence, when there was a ring at the bell, and Hortense announced
+Mrs. Randolph.
+
+"I have only just heard you were ill," the visitor said kindly, taking
+Marjorie's hand in hers, and looking with sympathetic interest into the
+pale, woe-begone face. "Your aunt told Beverly at luncheon that you had
+a bad cold. You should have let me know sooner; I can't have my kind
+little friend laid up without trying to return some of her goodness to
+me."
+
+"It wasn't goodness at all," said Marjorie, flushing with pleasure; "it
+was just having a lovely time. I was thinking only yesterday, what a
+very selfish girl I must be, for I couldn't help being sorry you didn't
+need me any more, it's so pleasant to be needed."
+
+Marjorie's voice trembled a little, for she was feeling rather weak and
+forlorn, and Mrs. Randolph drew her down beside her on the sofa.
+
+"I think I always need you, dear," she said. "I have missed your visits
+very much, and reading to myself doesn't seem half as pleasant as having
+a nice little girl read aloud to me. Still, I am glad to have the use of
+my eyes again, especially as we are going away next week."
+
+"Going away!" repeated Marjorie, and her face expressed so much dismay
+that Mrs. Randolph could not help smiling.
+
+"We are not going for good," she explained, "but Beverly's vacation
+begins next Wednesday, and he is anxious to spend Christmas at our
+Virginia home. We shall only be away about ten days."
+
+Marjorie looked much relieved.
+
+"I was afraid you meant you were going to Europe, or somewhere far
+away," she said, "and that I shouldn't see you any more. I don't know
+what I should do without you."
+
+"And I should miss you very much, too," said Mrs. Randolph, "but nothing
+so unpleasant is going to happen, I hope. What are your plans for the
+holidays?"
+
+"Oh, nothing in particular. Elsie and I are invited to several parties,
+and Aunt Julia's sister, Mrs. Ward, is having a tree on Christmas night.
+I can't help wishing the holidays were over. It will be my first
+Christmas away from home, you know."
+
+"I suppose your family will miss you as much as you miss them," Mrs.
+Randolph said, sympathetically.
+
+"Yes, I know they will, and that is one of the hardest things to bear. I
+had a letter from Undine to-day, and she says they are all very sad,
+though they are trying hard to be brave and cheerful."
+
+"Who is Undine?"
+
+"Oh, haven't I told you about her? She's a girl who lives at the ranch,
+and we call her Undine, but it isn't her real name."
+
+Mrs. Randolph looked interested.
+
+"What is her real name?" she asked, anxious to cheer Marjorie by talking
+of home and friends.
+
+Marjorie opened her lips to explain, but suddenly remembered something
+Beverly had told her. It would be scarcely possible to tell Undine's
+story without mentioning the fatal subject of the earthquake, so she
+only said:
+
+"We don't know her real name, but the people she lived with before she
+came to the ranch called her Sally. She didn't like Sally, and asked us
+to call her something else, and I suggested Undine."
+
+Mrs. Randolph laughed. "A rather romantic name for a flesh and blood
+girl," she said; "how old is your Undine?"
+
+"About fifteen, we think, but we are not sure, and she doesn't know
+herself. Lulu Bell says you have a beautiful home in Virginia. I suppose
+you will be glad to go there for the holidays."
+
+"Yes, we all love it very much. It is a dear old place; my husband's
+family have lived there for generations, and my old home, where I lived
+before I married, is only a couple of miles away."
+
+"I have always thought Virginia must be a very interesting place," said
+Marjorie. "I have read ever so many books about the early settlers in
+Jamestown. Have you read 'To Have and to Hold,' and 'White Aprons'?"
+
+"Yes, I have read both. Our home is on the James River, not far from
+Jamestown--would you like to see it?"
+
+"I should love it," said Marjorie, heartily. "I don't suppose I ever
+shall though," she added, with a sigh.
+
+"I don't see why not," said Mrs. Randolph, smiling. "How would you like
+to go home with us for the holidays?"
+
+Marjorie was speechless. For the first moment she could scarcely believe
+that her friend was in earnest.
+
+"I came this afternoon on purpose to propose it," Mrs. Randolph went on,
+convinced by the girl's flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes that there was
+no doubt about her wanting to accept the invitation. "Beverly and I were
+speaking of it last evening. We shall be alone except for Dr. Randolph,
+who is going with us, but we have some pleasant young people in the
+neighborhood, and there is generally a good deal going on at Christmas.
+I think you would have a pleasant time."
+
+"It would be the next best thing to going home," declared Marjorie,
+"but, oh, dear Mrs. Randolph, are you sure you really want me?"
+
+"Quite sure," said Mrs. Randolph, kissing her. "It will make us all
+very happy to have our nice little friend with us."
+
+"If only Aunt Julia will let me go," said Marjorie, with a vivid
+recollection of her aunt's rebuke on the evening after the football
+game.
+
+But, contrary to Marjorie's expectations, Mrs. Carleton made no
+objection to the plan, beyond hoping that the Randolphs would not find
+her niece too much care. Neither did Elsie make any of the unpleasant
+remarks her cousin expected. Since the first meeting of the Poetry Club,
+Beverly and she had not had much to say to each other. Beverly was
+always polite, but Elsie could never feel quite comfortable in his
+society, and the knowledge that he was not to share in any of the
+holiday gayeties was something of a relief. She and Marjorie were
+apparently very good friends, but there was a look in Marjorie's eyes
+sometimes when they rested on her cousin, which Elsie did not like. So
+when Mrs. Carleton consulted her daughter on the subject of Marjorie's
+going to Virginia with the Randolph's, Elsie said good-naturedly:
+
+"Oh, let her go, Mamma; she'll have a much better time than she would
+here. It would be such a bother to have to take her everywhere, and see
+she had partners at the dances, and all that. Papa would be sure to ask
+questions and make a fuss if she didn't have a good time."
+
+So the invitation was accepted, and Marjorie wrote a long, joyful letter
+to her mother, and went to bed that night, feeling happier than she had
+done since coming to New York.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVIII
+
+IN THE SUNNY SOUTH
+
+
+"IT'S the most beautiful place I've ever even imagined!" Marjorie spoke
+with conviction, and drew in a long, deep breath of the fresh morning
+air.
+
+She and Beverly were standing on the wide veranda at Randolph Place
+gazing off over the wide landscape, of low Virginia hills, with the wide
+river less than half a mile away. It was a glorious morning, and the
+peace and quiet seemed indescribably delightful after the noisy, stuffy
+night on the train. Beverly was very proud of his Southern home, but boy
+like, he tried not to show it.
+
+"It's pretty enough," he admitted, "but this isn't the season to see it
+at its best; you ought to come here in the spring."
+
+"It's perfect just as it is," declared Marjorie. "I've read about such
+places, but never expected to see one myself. Is that river really the
+James, and did your great-grandfather truly live in this very house?"
+
+"He most certainly did," said Beverly, laughing; "my people have lived
+here for over a hundred years. You should have heard some of my father's
+war stories. He was only a boy at the time of the war, but he had some
+exciting experiences. When I was a little chap I used to wish I had been
+alive then, too."
+
+"Oh, I love war stories!" cried Marjorie, rapturously; "are there any
+people here now who can tell them?"
+
+"Yes, indeed, plenty. I'll introduce you to old Uncle Josh. He was my
+grandfather's body servant, and went all through the war with him. He's
+over seventy now, and doesn't work any more, but he and his wife live in
+a cabin down at the quarters."
+
+"It all sounds just like a story-book," said Marjorie, with a little
+sigh of utter content. "I should think you would be tremendously proud
+of your home."
+
+"I like it all right," said Beverly, "but now hadn't you better come in
+and have some breakfast? I hear Mother and Uncle George in the
+dining-room, and I should think you'd be hungry, for it's after nine,
+and you were up before six."
+
+"Of course I was," laughed Marjorie; "I was much too excited to sleep. I
+wasn't going to miss the first sight of Virginia."
+
+The dining-room at Randolph Place was very large, and the walls were
+lined with portraits. Marjorie was so much interested in the portraits
+of great-grandfather and great-grandmother Randolph, that she came near
+forgetting to eat her breakfast, although the fried eggs and bacon, and
+waffles with maple syrup, were certainly the most delicious she had ever
+tasted. Mrs. Randolph and the doctor watched her with kindly amusement.
+Her eyes were sparkling with excitement, and there was a bright color in
+her cheeks; she seemed quite a different creature from the pale, subdued
+girl of a week before.
+
+"I declare, Barbara, I had no idea that little girl was so pretty," Dr.
+Randolph remarked in a low tone to his sister-in-law, when Marjorie and
+Beverly were in the midst of an animated discussion about Captain John
+Smith and Pocahontas.
+
+"She is charming," Mrs. Randolph answered, smiling. "It is strange how
+much environment has to do with appearance."
+
+"And now I am going to take you to your room, Marjorie," said Mrs.
+Randolph as they rose from the breakfast table. "You will want to
+unpack and wash up a little after that dusty journey. I have asked some
+cousins of ours, the Pattersons, to luncheon, and perhaps this afternoon
+you and Beverly will like to go for a ride. I needn't ask if you are
+accustomed to riding; every girl brought up on a ranch must be."
+
+"I have ridden ever since I can remember," said Marjorie, her eyes
+sparkling at the prospect of the coming pleasure. "I would rather ride a
+horse than do anything else in the world."
+
+Mrs. Randolph laughed, and led the way up a broad oak staircase, and
+along a wide hall, to the prettiest little room imaginable, all
+furnished in pink and white; a typical girl's room, as Marjorie saw at
+the first glance.
+
+"I have put you here because this room is next to mine," Mrs. Randolph
+explained. "I thought you would like it better than being away down at
+the other end of the hall. This was my little Barbara's room," she added
+softly; "no one has slept here since she left it, and nothing has been
+changed."
+
+"Oh, Mrs. Randolph," cried Marjorie, gratefully, "how very good you are
+to me, but are you sure you really want me to have this room?"
+
+"Yes, dear, I am quite sure I do. If my Barbara were alive I know she
+would love you, and I like to think I shall have a little girl next to
+me again to-night."
+
+With a sudden impulse, Marjorie flung her arms round Mrs. Randolph's
+neck and hugged her. She did not speak--words did not come easily just
+then--but Barbara's mother understood, and the kiss she gave in return
+was a very tender one.
+
+When Marjorie was left alone, her first occupation was to look about the
+room, and examine all its details. It was very simple, but everything
+was in perfect taste, and the girl admired it all, from the pretty china
+ornaments on the bureau, to the row of books on a shelf over the
+writing-desk. She took down one of the books reverently; it seemed
+almost like sacrilege to touch these things that had belonged to another
+girl, whose death had been so very sad. It was "Lorna Doone," and on the
+fly-leaf Marjorie read, "To Barbara Randolph, from her affectionate
+cousin, Grace Patterson." Then she examined the framed photographs on
+the mantelpiece; Mrs. Randolph and Beverly, and a gentleman whom she
+supposed must have been Barbara's father. There were other photographs
+as well, one in particular of a girl with curly hair, and a very
+friendly expression, and Marjorie wondered if she could be the cousin,
+who had given Barbara "Lorna Doone." It was strange how intimate she was
+beginning to feel with this Barbara, who had died nearly three years
+ago.
+
+Marjorie had just finished her unpacking when there was a tap at her
+door, and in answer to her "Come in," a girl of about her own age
+presented herself. One glance was sufficient to assure Marjorie that she
+was the same curly-haired, friendly-faced girl, whose photograph, in a
+silver frame, stood in a prominent place on the writing-desk.
+
+"I'm Grace Patterson," announced the visitor, in a voice as friendly as
+her face. "Cousin Barbara told me to come right up; my brother and I
+have come over especially to see you."
+
+"I'm very glad to meet you," said Marjorie, shaking hands, and drawing
+forward a chair for her guest. "I've just been looking at your picture,"
+she added, smiling.
+
+Grace Patterson glanced about the room, and a shade of sadness crossed
+her bright face.
+
+"It seems so strange to be in this room again," she said; "I haven't
+been here since poor Babs--you've heard about Babs, of course?"
+
+Marjorie nodded.
+
+"She was my chum," said Grace, with a little catch in her voice, "and
+one of the dearest girls that ever lived. We were almost the same age,
+and as neither of us had any sisters, we were together a great deal.
+Babs had a governess, and my younger brother and I used to come over
+here every day for lessons. Our place is only two miles away, and my
+mother and Cousin Barbara are great friends. It nearly killed poor
+Cousin Barbara."
+
+"I know," said Marjorie. "It was lovely of Mrs. Randolph to let me have
+this room. I have been so interested in Barbara ever since I first heard
+about her, but I don't like to talk to her mother or brother about her."
+
+"You know how it happened, I suppose?"
+
+"Oh, yes; Beverly told me that. It must have been a frightful shock to
+you all."
+
+"Frightful! I should say it was. Even Beverly has never been quite the
+same since. He was devoted to Babs, and they were such chums. I don't
+think it would have been quite so terrible if they could have recognized
+her afterward, but she was so frightfully injured--oh, I can't bear to
+talk about it! They recognized Miss Randolph, Bab's aunt, but poor Babs
+was completely crushed, and--oh, let's come downstairs. I can't stand it
+up here; it gives me the horrors."
+
+There were more questions Marjorie would have liked to ask, but the
+subject was evidently a very painful one to her new acquaintance, for
+Grace had grown rather pale, and there was a look of horror in her eyes.
+So she said no more, and the two girls went downstairs, where they found
+the family assembled, and where Marjorie was introduced to Harry
+Patterson--Grace's brother--a pleasant-faced boy of seventeen.
+
+The Pattersons stayed to luncheon, and Marjorie liked them immensely.
+Grace soon recovered from the momentary depression, caused by recalling
+painful memories, and Marjorie was quite ready to endorse Beverly's
+opinion that "she was one of the jolliest girls going." They had a very
+merry morning, and after luncheon it was proposed that Marjorie and
+Beverly should ride home with the Pattersons, who had come over on their
+ponies.
+
+"Marjorie is pining for a gallop, I know," said Beverly, laughing; "she
+is as wild about horses as you are, Grace, and trained a colt when she
+was nine."
+
+"How jolly!" cried Grace; "you and I can have some fine rides together,
+Marjorie. I haven't had a girl to ride with since--" Grace did not
+finish her sentence, but Marjorie knew by her suddenly heightened
+color, and the glance she gave Beverly, that she was thinking of her
+cousin Barbara.
+
+"I declare they've brought Nelly Gray for you to ride!" whispered Grace
+to Marjorie, as the two girls stood on the veranda, waiting to mount. "I
+didn't know any one rode her now."
+
+"She's a beauty," said Marjorie, with an admiring glance at the handsome
+little chestnut mare, which was being led up to the door by a groom.
+
+"Oh, she's a love! She was Babs's pony, and Babs loved her dearly. I
+remember she taught her to take sugar out of her pocket."
+
+Nelly Gray certainly was "a love" and Marjorie enjoyed that ride as she
+had enjoyed few things since leaving her Western home. It was a
+beautiful afternoon, and Nelly herself appeared to enjoy it almost as
+much as her rider. They took the longest way round to the Patterson
+home, and when they had left their friends, Beverly proposed that they
+should ride a few miles farther, and come home by a different road.
+
+"I think I could ride all night without getting tired," laughed
+Marjorie. "This is an adorable pony."
+
+"She was my sister's pony," said Beverly.
+
+"Yes, I know, your cousin told me. It was awfully good of you and your
+mother to let me ride her."
+
+Beverly said nothing, and they rode on for a few moments in silence,
+both young faces unusually grave. Marjorie was the first to speak.
+
+"I wish I could make your mother understand how much I appreciate all
+she has done for me," she said, impulsively. "Do you know she has given
+me your sister's room?"
+
+"Yes, she told me she was going to. Mother is very fond of you, and she
+says she thinks Babs would have loved you, too."
+
+"I know I should have loved her," said Marjorie, earnestly. "Grace has
+been telling me about her, and I have been looking at all her things."
+
+"She was almost as fond of riding as you are," said Beverly. "She was
+such a plucky little girl; never afraid of anything. She rode better
+than any girl in the neighborhood."
+
+Beverly's voice sounded a little husky, and Marjorie thought it might be
+best to change the subject, so she launched into an account of a "round
+up" she had once seen, and the rest of the ride was a very merry one.
+
+"Will you mind if I stop for a moment to speak to my old mammy?"
+Beverly asked, as they were on their way home. "She lives in one of
+these cabins, and I know she'll be on the lookout for me."
+
+"Of course I won't mind," said Marjorie, promptly; "I shall love it.
+I've never seen a real colored mammy, but I've often read about them in
+stories."
+
+"Well, you shall see one now. Ours was the genuine article, though
+people pretend to say the old-fashioned darky is a thing of the past.
+She was devoted to Babs and me, although she was a firm believer in the
+efficacy of the rod. We loved her dearly, and minded her better than we
+minded Mother. She was put on the pension list several years ago, and
+now has a cabin to herself. Here it is, and there's Mammy on the watch
+for us, as I was sure she would be. Hello, Mammy, here's your bad boy
+back again!"
+
+Beverly sprang to the ground, and the next moment was being rapturously
+hugged by a very stout old negress, with a turban on her head. She was
+so exactly Marjorie's idea of what a mammy ought to be, that the girl
+was delighted, and sat looking on with deep interest, while Beverly and
+his old nurse exchanged greetings. Then Marjorie herself was introduced,
+and Mammy begged them both to tie their horses, and come in for a cup
+of tea. But Beverly declared it was too late, and they finally made
+their escape, having promised to come another day, for a feast of the
+waffles, for which it appeared Mammy was famous.
+
+"It has been one of the loveliest days I've ever had," Marjorie
+declared, as they rode up the avenue at Randolph Place, in the light of
+the setting sun. "I shall never forget it as long as I live, and I shall
+have so much to write home in my next letter, that I believe it will
+fill a volume."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIX
+
+A VIRGINIA CHRISTMAS
+
+
+
+                                     "Randolph Place,
+                                            "December 26th.
+
+          "DARLING AUNT JESSIE:
+
+          "Christmas is over, and it really wasn't half as
+          bad as I thought it was going to be. But before I
+          begin writing about anything else, I must tell you
+          how happy I was to get all your dear home letters.
+          Uncle Henry was so kind about forwarding them as
+          soon as they reached New York, and I had them all
+          on Christmas Eve. Aunt Julia wrote me the box has
+          come, too, but she will have to keep that until I
+          get back the end of next week. How I shall adore
+          every single thing in it!
+
+          "I sent mother a few lines the morning I got here,
+          but that was before I had found out how beautiful
+          it all is. It is just like the Southern
+          plantations one reads about in stories, and
+          everything is very interesting. There is even a
+          dear old black mammy, who lives in a cabin, and
+          has asked Beverly and me to come and have waffles
+          some afternoon. All the servants are black, and
+          the butler has lived in the family nearly forty
+          years. Then the neighbors are just the kind one
+          reads of, so kind and hospitable, and always
+          having good times. I think I like Southerners
+          better than New Yorkers; they make me feel much
+          more at home. I have met a good many of them, for
+          we went to a Christmas dance at the Pattersons',
+          on Christmas Eve, and I had a perfectly gorgeous
+          time. The Pattersons are cousins of the
+          Randolphs', and Grace, the girl, is just my age,
+          and awfully nice; but then everybody here is nice,
+          and I am having the very best time that it is
+          possible for a girl to have.
+
+          "The riding is the greatest pleasure of all.
+          Beverly and I have been out for a ride every day,
+          and he enjoys it almost as much as I do. They have
+          given me the dearest little chestnut to ride, and
+          it is a great honor, because she belonged to
+          Beverly's sister, who was killed in the San
+          Francisco earthquake, and scarcely any one has
+          ridden her since. She is very gentle, and so
+          friendly that she will take sugar out of my
+          pocket. Beverly says his sister taught her to do
+          that.
+
+          "But if I go on chattering like this, I shall
+          never get to Christmas, which was the most
+          interesting of all. The Virginians seem to think a
+          great deal of Christmas, and nearly all the day
+          before we were busy dressing a tree for the little
+          negroes on the plantation. Mrs. Randolph had
+          brought presents from New York for all of them,
+          and for the fathers and mothers as well. Beverly
+          says she has done the same thing every Christmas
+          since her little girl died; it is a sort of
+          memorial, I suppose. We all hung up our stockings,
+          even Mrs. Randolph and the doctor, who is just as
+          nice and jolly as he can be, though Grace
+          Patterson says some people are afraid of him. It
+          was late when we got back from the Pattersons'
+          party on Christmas Eve, but after I was in bed I
+          heard Mrs. Randolph going about softly, filling
+          the stockings, which were all hung outside our
+          doors.
+
+          "I was so tired after the party, that I didn't
+          wake till after seven, and then the very first
+          thing I did was to run and look at my stocking. It
+          was stuffed full of good things; oranges, candy,
+          figs and dates, and just as I thought I had
+          reached the bottom, I felt something hard away
+          down in the toe. What do you think it was? You
+          will never guess, so I may as well tell you right
+          away; it was a little velvet box, and inside was
+          a ring, a beautiful gold ring, with two adorable
+          little pearls in it! That was Mrs. Randolph's
+          Christmas present, and the loveliest thing I have
+          ever had in my life. I was so happy when I saw it
+          that I cried; I know it was dreadfully silly, but
+          I couldn't help it. Oh, how I wish I could show it
+          to you this minute, but you will see it when I
+          come home next June, and all my other presents,
+          too, for the ring wasn't the only one. When I came
+          down to breakfast there were more parcels beside
+          my plate; two nice books from Beverly, and a gold
+          bracelet from the doctor. Just think of it, two
+          pieces of jewelry in one day! I am sure I didn't
+          deserve such beautiful things, but when I told
+          them so, and tried to thank them, they only
+          laughed.
+
+          "In the morning we went to church, and the
+          Christmas music was lovely. We met the Pattersons
+          at church, and they all came home with us to
+          dinner. Oh, such a dinner! I don't see how any one
+          could possibly ever eat so many things. There were
+          more dishes than I have ever imagined possible for
+          one meal, and every single one was delicious.
+
+          "After dinner came the tree for the children, and
+          that was the best fun of all. I quite lost my
+          heart to some of the piccaninnies, and one little
+          chap, as black as coal, was so adorable that I
+          wanted to hug him. The children all had a
+          beautiful time, and screamed with delight over
+          their presents. How I wished you and Mother could
+          have seen Mrs. Randolph going about among them,
+          speaking so pleasantly to every one, and making
+          them all feel at home. After the tree had been
+          stripped they all had ice cream, and I got hold of
+          my little black boy, and made him sit on my lap
+          while I fed him until I don't believe he could
+          have swallowed another mouthful. Then the old
+          butler, who is just like a negro servant in a
+          book, proposed three cheers for Mrs. Randolph, and
+          you should have heard those darkies yell!
+
+          "The Pattersons left as soon as the fun was over,
+          and we all went upstairs to our rooms to rest. But
+          I wasn't a bit tired, and was afraid that if I sat
+          down to think I might be homesick, so I thought I
+          would go for a walk. I was just starting when I
+          saw Mrs. Randolph come out from the greenhouse,
+          with her hat on, and her hands full of beautiful
+          roses, and I stopped to ask if she were going for
+          a walk, too, and if I might go with her. She
+          hesitated for a minute, and then said I might come
+          if I liked, but she was afraid I would find it
+          sad; she was going to the cemetery to put flowers
+          on her little girl's grave. She said it quite
+          calmly, but there was such a sad look in her eyes,
+          and I was horribly embarrassed, for I was afraid I
+          ought not to have suggested going with her. But
+          she assured me she would really like to have me,
+          if I didn't mind, so of course I went, and, oh,
+          Aunt Jessie, I am so glad I did. It was all
+          beautiful and sacred--almost too sacred to write
+          about, even to you and Mother. The cemetery was
+          such a lovely, peaceful place, and as it was quite
+          warm and pleasant, we sat down by Barbara
+          Randolph's grave, and her mother talked to me
+          about her. It was the first time she has ever told
+          me much about Barbara, and I was so interested in
+          all she said. I don't think I shall ever be afraid
+          of dying again; Mrs. Randolph spoke so beautifully
+          about it. She says she can never feel that her
+          little girl is far away, and she is quite sure
+          they will be together again some day. I think
+          Barbara must have been an awfully nice girl; every
+          one seems so fond of her. Grace Patterson was her
+          chum, and she can hardly speak of her without
+          crying. As for Beverly, he just can't bear to talk
+          about her at all, and I don't dare ask him a
+          single question. Grace says he was devoted to her,
+          and she adored him. I wish I could see a picture
+          of Barbara, but there are no photographs of her
+          about. Mrs. Randolph wears a little gold locket,
+          and I am sure there is a miniature of Barbara
+          inside, but I have never had the courage to ask
+          her to show it to me. I was just making up my mind
+          to do it yesterday, when we heard footsteps, and
+          there was Beverly himself, bringing more flowers.
+          He didn't know we were there, and looked horribly
+          embarrassed when he saw us. Boys always hate to
+          show their feelings, and I think he would have
+          gone away again without speaking to us, if his
+          mother hadn't called him. She was so pleased to
+          see him, and after the first minute I don't think
+          he really minded. I thought they might like to be
+          alone, so I slipped away as quietly as I could,
+          and on the way home I met the doctor, and he asked
+          me to go for a walk with him. I know you would
+          like Dr. Randolph; he is so clever, and has
+          traveled almost all over the world. He told me
+          such an interesting story about a Christmas he
+          once spent in Jerusalem. It is so pleasant that he
+          met Father at Harvard, and remembers all about
+          him. He says Father was a very handsome boy, and a
+          great favorite with the girls. Doesn't it seem
+          queer to think of Father's going to dances and
+          flirting with girls! He looks so much older than
+          Dr. Randolph, and yet I suppose they must be about
+          the same age.
+
+          "Mrs. Randolph and Beverly were quite cheerful
+          when they came home, and I noticed that Beverly
+          was very gentle with his mother all the evening.
+          He is always nice to her, and that is one of the
+          reasons why I like him so much. One of the things
+          that has surprised me most of all in New York, is
+          the way some of the girls and boys speak to their
+          fathers and mothers. I really don't know what
+          Mother would do to me if I were ever to answer her
+          back the way Elsie sometimes answers Aunt Julia,
+          but her mother doesn't seem to mind.
+
+          "We had a quiet evening at home, but it was
+          pleasant, for we were all a little tired. Mrs.
+          Randolph and the doctor played cribbage, and
+          Beverly sang; he has a lovely voice, but he won't
+          often sing. Altogether my Christmas was a very
+          happy one, and if I did 'weep a little weep' after
+          I was in bed, it was only natural, considering it
+          was my first Christmas away from you all. Oh, Aunt
+          Jessie, darling, I am having a beautiful visit,
+          but I never forget you, or Father or Mother, a
+          single minute! I love your letters better than
+          anything else, and I am just longing to get my
+          hands on that precious Christmas box. I hope you
+          will all like the presents I sent. Uncle Henry was
+          so kind; he gave me twenty-five dollars to spend
+          for Christmas presents. I never had so much money
+          in my life, but Aunt Julia helped me select the
+          presents, which was a great relief, for I should
+          never have known what to buy without her. Things
+          seem to cost so much more than one expects them
+          to.
+
+          "I felt sure you and Mother would want something I
+          had made myself, and I hope you will like the
+          color of the shawl; Mrs. Randolph thought it very
+          pretty. I chose the little daisy pin for Undine,
+          because I liked it so much myself. I am so glad
+          you have all grown so fond of her, and that she is
+          happy, and doesn't worry so much about not
+          remembering.
+
+          "Beverly is calling me to go for a ride, so I must
+          stop writing. Heaps of hugs and kisses for
+          everybody from
+
+                                        "Your own
+                                             "MARJORIE."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XX
+
+MARJORIE SEES A PHOTOGRAPH
+
+
+"DON'T you think there is always something very sad about last days in
+places?"
+
+Beverly laughed, and cast an amused glance at his companion's sober
+face. He and Marjorie were trotting leisurely along a road where the
+trees met overhead in summer, although now the boughs were leafless, and
+there was a light covering of snow on the ground. It was their last
+afternoon in Virginia, and they were making the most of it, despite a
+lowering sky, and a frostiness in the air, which threatened more snow
+before night.
+
+"Just think," Marjorie went on mournfully, "I sha'n't have another ride
+for five whole months. School doesn't close till the first of June."
+
+"Why don't you ride in the park? Lots of girls do, you know. Ask your
+uncle to hire a horse for you from the riding academy."
+
+Marjorie blushed.
+
+"I don't like to," she said, frankly. "Uncle Henry and Aunt Julia are
+doing so much for me already, I don't think I ought to ask for anything
+more. Elsie doesn't ride in New York."
+
+"Well, I have no doubt she could if she wanted to. I imagine Miss Elsie
+generally gets what she wants."
+
+"You don't like Elsie, do you?" The words were out before Marjorie
+realized she had uttered them. The next moment she wished she had not
+asked the question.
+
+"No, I don't," said Beverly, honestly.
+
+"I'm sorry; I wish you did; she's so clever, and--and there are lots of
+nice things about her. You see, she is an only child, and her father and
+mother worship her. I suppose she can't help being a little spoiled."
+
+"Well, you are an only child, too, and I have no doubt your family are
+as fond of you as Elsie's are of her, but you are not spoiled."
+
+Marjorie was silent. She felt that loyalty to her cousin required her to
+say something in Elsie's defence, and yet what could she say? After a
+moment's silence Beverly went on.
+
+"I should like your cousin a lot better if she resigned from being
+president of that Club."
+
+"She--she tore up the poem," faltered Marjorie. "She said it was trash.
+I don't think she meant to do anything mean, but she is so clever, she
+couldn't bear to have any other poem better than hers."
+
+"You're a loyal little soul, Marjorie," said Beverly, approvingly, "but
+all you can say won't alter the fact that your cousin did a mean,
+contemptible thing. She knows I found her out, and she hasn't looked me
+straight in the face since. I don't like sneaks in girls any better than
+in boys."
+
+Marjorie felt the conversation had gone far enough. She did not wish to
+discuss Elsie even with Beverly Randolph, although the two had become
+great friends during the past ten days, so after a little pause, she
+changed the subject by asking her companion if he did not think they had
+better be turning towards home.
+
+Beverly glanced at his watch.
+
+"I suppose we'd better," he said, reluctantly. "I hate to cut our last
+ride short, but Mammy will be heart-broken if we keep her waffles
+waiting."
+
+"I'm so glad we are going to Mammy's cabin," Marjorie said, as they
+turned the horses' heads in a homeward direction. "It makes me think of
+so many things I have read. Don't you remember in 'Uncle Tom's Cabin,'
+how George Selby used to slip away from the big house, and go down to
+Uncle Tom's for waffles and fried chicken? Mammy is such an old dear; I
+do want to hear her talk again."
+
+"She certainly is a character," said Beverly, laughing. "We'll get her
+to tell some anecdotes about Barbara and me. According to Mammy I must
+have been a pickle."
+
+Marjorie was conscious of a feeling of relief at having successfully
+turned the conversation away from Elsie and her affairs, and she and
+Beverly chatted on pleasantly until they reached Mammy's cabin, where
+they dismounted and Beverly tied the horses to the hitching post. Mammy
+was on the watch for them, and gave them a hearty welcome.
+
+"Now you jes lay off yo' tings, and set down by de fiah," she commanded,
+placing chairs for the visitors, "an' I'll have dem waffles done in a
+jiffy. Lor', Mas'r Bev'ly, it jes' does my heart good to see you settin'
+heah in my kitchen, like you used to do when you an' Miss Babs--now
+Mas'r Bev'ly, don't you tease my Josephus; he mighty 'telligent cat, he
+is. He won't stan' no foolin'."
+
+"He's a beauty," said Marjorie, stooping to stroke the big maltese, who
+responded to the caress by springing on the arm of her chair.
+
+Mammy beamed with satisfaction.
+
+"Josephus likes you fust rate, Missy," she said, approvingly. "He don't
+make friends with mos' folks; he's too 'ristocratic. He knows what's
+what, Josephus does."
+
+"Mammy is the most delicious snob," laughed Beverly; "she only allows
+Josephus to associate with aristocratic cats. All the unfortunate
+plebeian cats in the neighborhood are driven away with a stick."
+
+"Cose dey is," declared Mammy, indignantly. "What yo s'pose I want
+common, no-'count cats botherin' round heah for? Ain't I always lived in
+de most 'ristocratic Virginia fam'lies, and wasn't my paw own
+body-servant to ole General Putnam, an' my maw bought by Mas'r
+Randolph's father when she weren't more'n ten years old, an' brought up
+in de house, to be maid to de young ladies? I'se lived in de fust
+fam'lies, I has, and I'm proud of it, too."
+
+"What a perfectly heavenly place!" whispered Marjorie to Beverly, with a
+glance round the neat little kitchen, as the old negress bustled away
+intent on household duties.
+
+"You must get Mammy to show you the family photographs before we go,"
+said Beverly; "she has quite a gallery, and can give you the separate
+history of each picture. Ah, here come the waffles. Nobody can beat you
+on waffles, Mammy."
+
+The old woman grinned.
+
+"Cose dey cyan't," she said, placidly. "Dere cyan't nobody in dese parts
+beat me on waffles and corn-bread. Folks comes askin' for my recipes,
+but it ain't de recipe dat does it, it's de light hand. Now Mas'r
+Bev'ly, don't you take de whole dishful; dere's plenty more comin'. Lor'
+sakes, Missy, you jes' oughter seen de way dat boy would go in for
+waffles an' maple syrup when he was little. Do you 'member de day, Mas'r
+Bev'ly, when yo maw was havin' lot of comp'ny for tea, an' yo' an' Miss
+Babs sneaked into de pantry, and eat up all de lobster salad 'fo' de
+comp'ny got a chance to have it? What a swattin' I did give de two of
+you' for dat!"
+
+"Yes, indeed I remember it," said Beverly, laughing. "I deserved the
+'swatting' more than Babs did, for she was only four and I was eight."
+
+"Dat's true; but yo' bofe deserved it bad enough. Lordie! How dat chile
+Babs could stuff! Notin' ever hurted her, and de wust of it was, she
+didn't mind castor oil no more'n if it was molasses. Have some more
+syrup, Missy; waffles ain't no good without plenty of syrup. You was
+forever gettin' Miss Babs into mischief, Mas'r Bev'ly. I'll never forget
+de day I dressed de two of you in yo' best white suits, cause yo'
+grandmother Randolph was comin' on a visit, an' de minute my back was
+turned you was bofe off to de swamp. My, what sights you was when I
+found you! Miss Babs had tumbled in, an' yo' two faces was as black as
+mine, and you was all over black mud. You bofe got a good whippin', an'
+was put to bed in de middle of de day, but Lordie! What good did it do?
+Miss Babs was sound asleep in ten minutes, and never woke up till nex'
+mornin'. Nottin' ever upset her fo' long; God bless her."
+
+The old woman's voice grew very gentle and Beverly, who had been smiling
+over the childish reminiscences, grew suddenly grave. But Mammy was a
+cheerful soul, and she did not intend to sadden the young people's
+visit.
+
+"Well, de Lord has his reasons, I s'pose," she said, with a sigh, "but
+dey does seem hard to make out sometimes. Jes' 'scuse me one minute; I
+got some hot ones on de fiah."
+
+When Marjorie and Beverly had eaten so many waffles that they felt as
+though they should not require anything more in the way of food for
+days, Mammy reluctantly desisted from her hospitable efforts to force
+another plateful upon her visitors, and the hospitably entertained young
+people rose to go.
+
+"I've had a lovely time," declared Marjorie, heartily. "It was dear of
+you to let me come, Mammy; I shall never forget it."
+
+"Any frien' of de Randolph fam'ly is always welcome to my cabin," said
+Mammy, with the air of a queen dispensing hospitality to her subjects.
+"Would you like to see de fam'ly pictures 'fo' you go?"
+
+Marjorie said she would like nothing better, and while Beverly went out
+to untie the horses, she followed Mammy into her tiny bedroom, the walls
+of which were literally covered with photographs.
+
+"Dis," announced Mammy, pausing in the doorway, and pointing to a
+gentleman in uniform, "is Mas'r Will Randolph, Mas'r Bev'ly's
+gran'father, took in de clothes he wore when he went to de wah. Dis lady
+is his wife, de mis' Randolph dat brought up my maw; a gran' lady she
+was too. Dis is Mas'r Bev'ly's father when he went away to school, jes
+after de wah was over. Dis one is Mas'r Bev'ly's maw in her first ball
+dress. Dat's Mas'r Bev'ly when he was a baby, and here's Miss Babs in
+her fust short clothes. Over on dis side is Mas'r Bev'ly when he was
+seven, and dis is--oh, good Lordie, Missy, whatever is de matter?"
+
+Marjorie--who had been following Mammy from one photograph to another,
+with amused interest--had suddenly uttered a sharp cry of astonishment,
+and was staring blankly at the photograph of a girl of twelve, which was
+occupying the place of honor over Mammy's bed.
+
+"Who--who is that?" she gasped, seizing the old woman's arm, and
+beginning to tremble with excitement.
+
+"Dat Miss Babs, took jes' 'fo' she went away to Californy," said Mammy,
+sadly. "Land sakes, Missy! What is it? You jes' sit right down heah, an'
+I'll go call Mas'r Bev'ly."
+
+When Beverly appeared in answer to Mammy's hasty summons, he found
+Marjorie ghastly white, and shaking from head to foot.
+
+"Good gracious, Marjorie!" exclaimed the boy, springing to her side,
+"what's the matter? Don't you feel well--is it the waffles?"
+
+"It's--it's Undine!" faltered Marjorie, with shaking lips, and she
+pointed to the photograph on which her eyes still rested, in a wild,
+incredulous stare.
+
+[Illustration: "LAND SAKES, MISSY! WHAT IS IT?"--_Page 283._]
+
+"'Undine,'" repeated Beverly, stupidly, "who is Undine? That is the
+picture of my sister Barbara."
+
+"It's Undine," repeated Marjorie, with obstinate persistence; "it's
+exactly like her; I would know her anywhere."
+
+"But who is Undine? I never even heard of her?"
+
+"Yes, you did; I told you about her once, and you said I mustn't mention
+her to your mother, because she was hurt in the earthquake. We called
+her Undine, because she couldn't remember her real name, or anything
+that happened to her before the earthquake. That's her photograph,
+Beverly, I tell you it is--it is!"
+
+Beverly had grown very pale, but he made a great effort at self-control.
+
+"Don't talk nonsense, Marjorie," he said, almost angrily; "I tell you
+that is my sister's photograph. I can show you another just like it at
+home."
+
+"Beverly," cried Marjorie, clasping her hands, and speaking in a tone of
+sudden conviction, "I am not talking nonsense. That is the picture of
+the girl who has been at the ranch since last August. She was found
+in the street just after the earthquake, half buried under some ruins.
+She was unconscious, and they took her to a hospital. She has never been
+able to remember anything about herself since. Your sister was in the
+earthquake, too; you think she was killed, but perhaps--oh, Beverly
+dear, let us go home quick, and tell your uncle all about it."
+
+Mrs. Randolph was in the library reading. Twice she had put down her
+book, and gone to the window to look out. It was growing dark, and had
+begun to snow.
+
+"How late they are," she said to herself, with an anxious glance at the
+clock. "They ought to be back by this time, but I suppose they have
+stayed listening to Mammy's stories, and forgotten the time."
+
+She sat down again by the fire, and took up her book. But she was
+feeling restless and nervous that afternoon, though she could not have
+told why, and after reading a page, she closed the book again.
+
+"I wish they would come," she said, impatiently. "No one knows what may
+have happened; they may never have reached Mammy's cabin. I think I will
+go and speak to George. He will laugh at me for worrying, but that will
+be better than sitting here by myself. There's the clock striking six;
+they should have been in an hour ago."
+
+She rose, and was moving towards the door when she heard an approaching
+footstep, and in another moment her brother-in-law himself came into the
+room.
+
+"I was just coming to look for you, George," she said; "I am getting a
+little anxious about the children."
+
+"The children are all right," said the doctor, quietly, sinking into the
+arm-chair by the fire; "they came in half an hour ago, and have gone to
+their rooms. Marjorie was feeling a little upset, and I advised her to
+go and lie down till dinner-time."
+
+Mrs. Randolph turned towards the door again.
+
+"I think I will go and see if there is anything I can do for her," she
+said. "It isn't like Marjorie to give up; I'm afraid she isn't well."
+
+But Dr. Randolph held out a detaining hand.
+
+"Sit down, Barbara," he said, "I want to talk to you. There is nothing
+the matter with Marjorie or Beverly either. They have had a long ride,
+and stopped at Mammy's for waffles. I want to ask you a favor. I have
+just received some important news, which will necessitate my going West
+at once, and I want you to let Beverly go with me."
+
+Mrs. Randolph was very much surprised.
+
+"But, George dear," she remonstrated gently, "college begins again on
+Monday--do you think it wise to take the boy away just now?"
+
+"I shall not be gone more than a week, and I want Beverly for company.
+He has never seen much of his own country, and this trip to Arizona will
+do him an immense amount of good. As for college, a few days more or
+less won't make any material difference, and he can make up for lost
+time when he gets back."
+
+Mrs. Randolph still looked doubtful, but the doctor was Beverly's
+guardian, and since her husband's death she had been accustomed to
+depend upon his judgment and advice. So instead of arguing the point,
+she only said:
+
+"Of course he may go if you think best, George, only it does seem
+foolish to take him away so soon again after his holidays."
+
+"I do think it best, Barbara," said the doctor, decidedly. "I want the
+boy with me very much. I must start as soon as possible. Do you think
+you could persuade Emma Patterson to go home with you and Marjorie
+to-morrow, and stay till Beverly and I come back?"
+
+"I can try," said Mrs. Randolph, who was still unconvinced of the wisdom
+of this sudden whim of her brother-in-law's, and a little uneasy as
+well. "Emma has promised to visit us later; perhaps she would be willing
+to come now instead. You know, George dear, I never ask you about your
+cases, but this seems so very sudden--are you going to see a patient?"
+
+"Yes," said the doctor, quietly. "I may be able to tell you more about
+the case when I come back, but I cannot now."
+
+Mrs. Randolph regarded him anxiously.
+
+"I am afraid you are not well, George," she said, "you are dreadfully
+pale. Is that why you don't want to take this long journey alone?"
+
+"Not exactly. I am perfectly well, but--well, the fact is, this may
+prove a very trying business, and I want the boy with me."
+
+"Then you shall certainly have him," said Mrs. Randolph, with decision.
+"Have you spoken to Beverly on the subject?"
+
+"Yes, and he is most anxious to go. Now I must make arrangements about
+accommodations on the train, for I want to be off early in the morning,
+if possible. Wouldn't it be a good idea to telephone Emma Patterson at
+once, and see if she can be ready to go with you and Marjorie?"
+
+Mrs. Randolph stood for a moment, looking after her brother-in-law as he
+left the room.
+
+"There is something wrong," she said: "I never saw George so agitated
+before. I wish I knew what it was, but doctors don't like to be
+questioned. I hate to have Beverly lose a whole week of college, but if
+his uncle needs him, I have nothing more to say." And, with a resigned
+sigh, she went away to telephone to her cousin, Mrs. Patterson.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXI
+
+UNDINE REMEMBERS
+
+          "'A Highland laddie lives over the lea;
+             A laddie both noble and gallant and free,
+           Who loved a lassie as noble as he--
+             A bonnie sweet lassie; the maid of Dundee.'"
+
+
+MRS. GRAHAM glanced up from her sewing, with a smile.
+
+"What a sweet voice that child has," she said; "with training I believe
+she would sing remarkably well."
+
+"I love to hear her singing about the house," said Miss Jessie, also
+pausing to listen to the clear young voice; "I wonder where she learned
+all those old songs. I remember that ballad, but I haven't heard it
+since I was a child."
+
+"She probably picks them up from Jim," Mrs. Graham suggested; "he is
+always singing about the place."
+
+"I don't think I ever heard Jim sing this one," said Miss Jessie,
+reflectively. "Susie, I do wish we could find out something about the
+child's family. I feel sure she has been brought up among people of
+refinement."
+
+"She is a very attractive girl," Mrs. Graham agreed, "but if she has
+relatives it seems incredible that they should never have made the
+slightest effort to find her. Donald and I were talking about her last
+night. He thinks that any relatives she had must have been killed in the
+earthquake. It seems the only explanation. There is nothing for us to do
+but wait patiently in the hope that Undine may some time be able to tell
+us everything herself. I confess I should be very sorry to part with
+her; she has been a great help and comfort since Marjorie went away."
+
+"She has indeed," said Miss Jessie, heartily. "I have grown very fond of
+her, and I think she cares for us, too. We should have another letter
+from Marjorie by this time."
+
+"Yes, Jim has gone for the mail; he may bring one this afternoon. It
+does my heart good to know the dear child is having such a happy
+holiday. I would like to write and thank Mrs. Randolph for all her
+kindness to Marjorie; she must be a lovely woman."
+
+"I am sure she is, and the son must be a nice boy, too, judging from
+what Marjorie says. Our little girl has made some good friends, as I
+felt sure she would."
+
+Mrs. Graham rose, and began folding up her work.
+
+"I must go to the kitchen to look after Juanita," she said. "It is a
+lovely afternoon. Why don't you get Undine to wheel you out in the sun
+for an hour?"
+
+"I think I will," said Miss Jessie, with a glance out of the windows at
+the cloudless sky and brilliant winter sunshine. "Ah, here comes Undine.
+Undine dear, I think I will go out for a little while."
+
+The bright-faced, rosy-cheeked girl who entered the room at this moment
+was a very different being from the pale, timid, little waif of four
+months earlier. She had grown at least two inches, and the clothes which
+had hung loosely about her in her first days at the ranch had now become
+a tight fit. At Miss Jessie's request she smiled, and came hurrying to
+the side of her kind friend.
+
+"It's a glorious day," she said; "it makes one happy just to be alive.
+I've had such a wonderful ride. I went as far as the railroad, and saw
+the West Bound pass; it was two hours late. I'll get your warm coat and
+some wraps and we'll sit behind the playhouse. You won't feel the wind
+there, and it will be heavenly."
+
+"Undine," said Miss Graham suddenly, when the two were comfortably
+established in one of their favorite nooks; the invalid in her chair,
+and her companion on a rug spread on the ground; "where did you learn
+the song I heard you singing when you came in from your ride just now?"
+
+"I forget which it was," said Undine, looking puzzled. "Oh, yes, I
+remember--'A Highland Laddie Lived over the Lea.' I don't know where I
+learned it--isn't it one of Jim's songs?"
+
+"I don't think so, dear, but we can ask him. I never heard you sing it
+before."
+
+Something of the old, troubled, far-away look crept into Undine's face.
+
+"I don't know how I remember things," she said, slowly; "they just come
+into my head sometimes. Now that I think of it, I don't believe I have
+ever heard Jim sing that song. I must have heard it somewhere, though."
+
+Miss Graham said nothing, and there was a short pause, which Undine
+broke.
+
+"You and Mrs. Graham don't like to have me talk about the things I can't
+remember," she said, a little wistfully.
+
+"Only because we don't want you to distress yourself and try to force
+your brain. I have always told you I was sure the memory would come back
+some day."
+
+"I think it is coming soon," said Undine, softly. "I keep having dreams.
+I dreamt of my mother last night."
+
+There was a quiver in the girl's voice, and Miss Jessie leaned forward
+and laid a kind hand on her shoulder.
+
+"Tell me about it, dear," she said, gently.
+
+Undine drew a deep breath that was almost a sob.
+
+"It was a beautiful dream," she said. "My mother and I were in a dear
+little room, all furnished in pink and white. I don't know where it was,
+but it seemed quite familiar in the dream. I was unhappy about
+something, and my mother kissed me, and put her arms round me. She had
+such a dear, beautiful face. Oh, Miss Jessie, do you suppose my poor
+mother was killed in that dreadful earthquake?"
+
+"My dear little girl, we cannot possibly know that; we must have
+patience. Have you had other dreams?"
+
+"Yes. The other night I dreamt I was playing with a boy in a swamp.
+There was a black woman in the dream, too; she scolded us, but I wasn't
+a bit afraid of her. Do you think perhaps they were people I used to
+know?"
+
+"I don't know, dear; it may be possible, but you mustn't let these
+things worry you. You are happy here with us, are you not?"
+
+"Happy!" cried the girl, with sparkling eyes, "I never expected to be so
+happy anywhere. As long as I live I shall never forget all you and Mr.
+and Mrs. Graham have done for me, but I can't help wanting to remember."
+
+"Of course you can't; that is quite natural. We all want you to
+remember, too, but we must have patience. The more you strain your
+brain, the longer it may take for the memory to come back. You have been
+a great comfort to us since Marjorie went away; I told her so in my last
+letter."
+
+"I am so glad," said Undine, smiling. "I promised Marjorie I would try,
+but of course I knew I could never take her place. Oh, Miss Jessie, you
+said I might read Marjorie's last letter. It came when I was out, you
+know, and I didn't hear you read it to Mrs. Graham."
+
+"So I did, I am glad you reminded me, for I had forgotten all about it.
+It was written from the place in Virginia where she has been spending
+the holidays, and tells all about their Christmas festivities. It is in
+the right-hand drawer of my desk--you may read it whenever you like."
+
+Undine glanced at the book in Miss Graham's lap.
+
+"If you don't want me for anything, and are going to stay here for a
+while, I think I will go and read it now," she said; "I love Marjorie's
+letters."
+
+"Very well, dear; I want to finish this book before we begin the one we
+are going to read together. It won't take me more than fifteen minutes."
+
+Undine scrambled to her feet.
+
+"All right," she said; "I'll be back before that. Oh, Miss Jessie, isn't
+the air glorious to-day? It makes me feel so happy and excited; just as
+if something were going to happen."
+
+Undine tripped away to the house, and Miss Graham, as she opened her
+book, heard the clear young voice singing:
+
+          "'A Highland laddie lives over the lea;
+              A laddie both noble and gallant and free.'"
+
+The song died away in the distance, and Miss Jessie became absorbed in
+her story. It was very still, and not a sound came to disturb her until
+she had turned the last page. Then she closed the book, and looked up in
+surprise.
+
+"How long Undine takes to read that letter!" she said to herself, in
+some surprise.
+
+Another ten minutes slipped away, but Miss Jessie was accustomed to
+waiting patiently--she had done little else for the past eight years.
+
+"Susie must have kept the child for something," she decided, and settled
+comfortably back in her chair to await Undine's return.
+
+But it was not like her sister-in-law to detain Undine without sending
+some explanation; neither was it like the girl to remain away so long.
+At the end of another ten minutes Miss Jessie began to be a little
+curious.
+
+"What can be the matter?" she said uneasily, her thoughts reverting to a
+possible accident to her brother, who had gone to try some new horses
+that afternoon. "I think I'll wheel myself back to the house and find
+out."
+
+But at that moment she caught sight of her sister-in-law coming towards
+her across the lawn. Mrs. Graham was looking cheerful and serene as
+usual, and carried some sewing in her hand.
+
+"I thought I would come and join you," she said, as soon as she was
+within speaking distance. "It's much too lovely to stay in doors.
+Where's Undine?"
+
+"I don't know," said Miss Jessie, "I thought she was with you. She went
+in half an hour ago, to read Marjorie's last letter, which I had
+forgotten to show her, and hasn't come back since."
+
+"I haven't seen her," said Mrs. Graham, looking a little annoyed, "but
+then I have been in the kitchen with Juanita. Undine ought not to go off
+like this, and leave you alone so long."
+
+"She never did such a thing before," said Miss Jessie, anxiously. "I
+wish you would go and see where she is, Susie."
+
+"Oh, she is all right, I am sure," Mrs. Graham maintained, but she
+turned back towards the house, nevertheless, for it had also occurred to
+her that it was unlike Undine to neglect her duty.
+
+There was not a sound to be heard when Mrs. Graham reached the house and
+although she called Undine several times, she received no answer.
+
+"Where can the child be?" she said, beginning to feel a little
+frightened, and she hurried to Undine's room. The door was open, and her
+first impression was that the room was empty. She was turning away
+again, more and more puzzled by the girl's mysterious disappearance,
+when her eye was caught by a heap of something white lying on the floor
+by the window, and in another moment she had hurried forward, with an
+exclamation of dismay, and was bending over Undine, who lay, white and
+unconscious on the floor, with Marjorie's letter clasped convulsively in
+her hand.
+
+When Undine opened her eyes she was lying on her bed, and Mrs. Graham
+was bathing her forehead, while the faithful Juanita plied a palm-leaf
+fan and held a bottle of smelling-salts to her nose. For a moment the
+girl gazed about her in a kind of dull bewilderment; then a look of
+recollection came into her eyes, and she started up, with a sharp cry.
+
+"I'm not dead, I'm not dead! Oh, tell them it isn't true! I'm not; I'm
+not!"
+
+"Lie down, dear," said Mrs. Graham in a tone of gentle authority. "Of
+course you are not dead; you fainted, that is all. You are better now,
+and if you lie still for a few minutes you will be all right."
+
+"But the letter said I was dead," persisted Undine, wildly, and she
+fixed her big, terrified eyes on Mrs. Graham's astonished face. "It
+said Barbara Randolph was dead, and her mother put flowers on her
+grave."
+
+Mrs. Graham was beginning to be seriously alarmed for the girl's reason,
+but she made an effort to appear calm.
+
+"My dear child," she said, soothingly, "you don't know what you are
+saying. Barbara Randolph is the daughter of the lady with whom Marjorie
+has been staying; she died long ago; she had nothing to do with you."
+
+"But she didn't die, I know she didn't!" cried Undine, sitting up,
+despite all Mrs. Graham's efforts to keep her quiet. "I knew it when I
+read the letter. For one minute I remembered something horrible. I don't
+remember it any more now, but I was so frightened, and--oh, Mrs. Graham,
+I was so terribly frightened!" And the poor child burst into a fit of
+wild, hysterical sobbing, and clung passionately to her kind friend's
+neck.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Miss Jessie pushed her wheeled-chair out onto the porch, and strained
+her eyes in the gathering dusk, in the vain hope of seeing some
+approaching figure. Fortunately the January evening was warm, but even
+if it had been cold she would scarcely have been aware of the fact. She
+was very anxious, and this long suspense of waiting was hard to bear.
+It was more than two hours since Undine had regained consciousness, and
+in all that time the girl had scarcely uttered an intelligible word. She
+had passed from one hysterical fit into another, and Mrs. Graham and
+Juanita were at their wits' end. For almost the first time in twelve
+years Miss Jessie realized the awful loneliness of their lives. "Donald
+must surely be back soon," she told herself, trying to be patient, "and
+Jim will be here with the mail before long. Oh, that poor child--what
+can it all mean?"
+
+There was a slight sound behind her, and Mrs. Graham, too, stepped out
+on the porch. She was looking pale and distressed.
+
+"How is she now?" Miss Jessie whispered, anxiously.
+
+"I think she has fallen into a doze; she must be quite exhausted, poor
+child. She has had a terrible shock of some kind."
+
+"Do you think it can have been caused by anything in Marjorie's letter?
+She must have been reading it when she fainted."
+
+"I don't know what to think," said Mrs. Graham, clasping her hands
+nervously. "She spoke of that Randolph girl--the little girl who was
+killed in the earthquake, you know. Oh, Jessie, you don't suppose--"
+Mrs. Graham did not finish her sentence, but the two women looked at
+each other in the dusk, and both their faces were pale and startled.
+
+"I must go back," said Mrs. Graham in a hurried whisper; "I dare not
+leave her long. When she wakes she may remember; I think her memory is
+coming back. I am afraid you will take cold out here."
+
+"I am not cold, but I will come in soon. I am waiting for Donald and
+Jim. I must warn them not to speak loud; it might startle her again."
+
+Mrs. Graham made no further objection, but went back into the house and
+Miss Jessie folded her hands and waited.
+
+Five, ten minutes passed, and then came the sound of distant hoofs. With
+a sigh of intense relief, Miss Jessie sent the wheeled-chair gliding
+smoothly off the porch, and across the lawn. The hoof-beats drew nearer,
+and now she heard voices. Was it her brother or Jim, and who were the
+others, for she distinctly heard more than one voice?
+
+"Is it you, Donald?" she called, and in the still, clear air, her voice
+was audible an eighth of a mile away.
+
+"No, Miss, it ain't Mr. Graham, it's me," came the answer in Jim's
+well-known voice. "I've got some folks with me."
+
+Miss Jessie waited in silence while the hoofs and voices drew nearer. It
+was no uncommon thing for strangers to stop at the ranch, where they
+were always sure of a hospitable reception and a night's lodging. She
+was glad Jim was not alone. Perhaps the visitors, whoever they were,
+might be able to help, but how she could not imagine. It was nearly
+dark, and the first few stars were beginning to glimmer in the evening
+sky.
+
+The horses were very near now, and she could distinguish three figures,
+one was Jim Hathaway, the other two were strangers.
+
+"I beg your pardon, Madame." It was the elder of the two strangers who
+spoke; he had sprung from his horse, and taken off his hat. Even in the
+dim light Miss Jessie could see that he was a gentleman. His companion
+she noticed was much younger, scarcely more than a boy indeed, and he,
+too, was regarding her with eager, questioning eyes.
+
+"I must introduce myself," the gentleman went on, courteously. "I think
+you may have heard Marjorie speak of me. I am Dr. Randolph, and this is
+my nephew Beverly."
+
+Miss Jessie gave a little joyful cry, and held out both hands.
+
+"Is it about Undine?" she whispered breathlessly. "Have you come for
+her, and is it really true that the child is your niece?"
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+It was some time before Undine awoke from the heavy sleep of exhaustion
+into which she had fallen. She opened her eyes, gazed about her vaguely,
+and murmured, "Mother! I want Mother."
+
+"Yes, dear, I know," said Mrs. Graham, softly kissing the girl's hot
+forehead. "Your mother isn't here, but she is safe and well, and you
+shall go to her very soon."
+
+Undine smiled faintly, and then a troubled look came into her face.
+
+"I forgot her," she said, dreamily, "I forgot my mother for a long time,
+but I remember now, and I want her--oh, I want her." And she stretched
+out her arms in helpless longing.
+
+Then Mrs. Graham moved aside, and some one else bent over her.
+
+"Babs," said a low, tremulous voice, "Babs darling, don't you know me?
+It's Beverly."
+
+With a great cry of joy Undine started up, and in another second she was
+clinging convulsively round her brother's neck.
+
+"Beverly," she sobbed, "oh, Beverly, I remember; I remember everything.
+It's all come back; poor Aunt Helen, that dreadful, dreadful time! You
+thought I was dead, and you and Mother put flowers on my grave; but I
+wasn't dead, I had only forgotten. Hold me, Beverly, hold me tight; I'm
+so afraid I'm going to forget again."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXII
+
+UNDINE TELLS HER STORY
+
+
+BUT Undine did not forget again, although it was some time before she
+was able to give any coherent account of what she could remember.
+Indeed, she was in such a feverish, hysterical condition, that Dr.
+Randolph would not allow any attempt at questioning her that night.
+
+"She has had a terrible shock, poor child," he said to Mrs. Graham. "The
+reading of that letter must have brought everything back with a rush and
+the knowledge that she had been mourned as dead for nearly three years
+was almost more than she could bear. But she is young and strong, and a
+good night's sleep will do wonders for her. When I think of what we owe
+to you and your--" The doctor's voice broke suddenly, and he impulsively
+held out his hand.
+
+"I think our obligations are mutual," said Mrs. Graham, smiling, though
+there were tears in her eyes. "According to Marjorie's last letter, you
+and Mrs. Randolph have been making our little girl very happy, while
+your niece has been a great comfort to us. It is all so strange and
+wonderful that I can scarcely realize yet that it isn't a dream."
+
+It was pitiful to see Undine cling to her brother; she could not bear to
+have him out of her sight for a moment, and Beverly himself, almost
+stunned by the great shock of the discovery that Undine and Barbara were
+really one and the same, coming at the end of four days of almost
+unendurable suspense, could do little beyond hovering over his sister,
+in joy and thankfulness too deep for words.
+
+"Does Mother know, Beverly?" Undine whispered, late that evening, when
+the two were alone together.
+
+"No, Babs, she doesn't know yet, but we are going to take you home just
+as soon as we can. We couldn't let Mother even suspect until we were
+sure ourselves. Marjorie was certain she recognized your photograph, but
+Uncle George and I couldn't believe it was true; it seemed so
+impossible."
+
+"Poor, poor Mother," sighed Undine; "oh, Beverly, how unhappy she must
+have been!"
+
+"Don't talk about it, Babs; you know Uncle George doesn't want you to
+talk. You must try to go to sleep, so as to be able to start for home as
+soon as possible."
+
+"I'm afraid to go to sleep," protested Undine, feverishly. "Perhaps when
+I wake I shall have forgotten everything again. Oh, Beverly, don't let
+me forget again."
+
+"Of course we won't let you," said Beverly, putting a strong arm around
+her, protectingly. "You are quite safe now, you know, Babs darling,
+Uncle George and I are here, and we're going to take you home to
+Mother."
+
+Undine breathed a deep sigh of relief, as she nestled in her brother's
+arms, and when she fell asleep at last it was with Beverly's hand
+clasped fast in hers.
+
+But after a long night's sleep, and a joyful waking, to find that she
+had not forgotten again, Undine was quite a different creature, and
+during the morning that followed she was able to give her uncle and
+brother a fairly clear account of her adventures.
+
+"I remember it all quite well now," she said. "Aunt Helen was ill that
+night, and she said she would have the maid sleep in her room, in case
+she might need something. I slept in the maid's room, which was just
+across the hall. I was very tired, and I think I must have gone to
+sleep as soon as I was in bed, for I don't remember anything until I
+woke hearing a terrible noise. The whole hotel seemed to be rocking, and
+I saw some of the things on the bureau fall over, and a picture came
+down off the wall. I think I was too frightened to move, for I lay quite
+still, thinking every minute that Aunt Helen would come and tell me what
+had happened. In a few moments the shaking stopped and then I heard
+people screaming and running about in the halls.
+
+"Aunt Helen didn't come, or the maid either, and at last I got up, and
+went to look for them. I was in my nightgown and bare feet, but I was
+too frightened to stop to put any clothes on. I ran out into the hall,
+intending to go to Aunt Helen's room, but something frightful had
+happened; there wasn't any room, only a great pile of bricks and mortar,
+and I heard people say one of the chimneys had fallen in. Oh, it was
+terrible--I can't talk about it!" And the poor child began to shiver
+convulsively.
+
+"Never mind about that part of the story, dear," Dr. Randolph said,
+soothingly, while Beverly put his arm round her.
+
+"I called and called to Aunt Helen," Undine went on in a voice scarcely
+above a whisper, "but nobody answered, and then the house began to
+shake again and people screamed that the walls were falling.
+
+"The next thing I remember is being out in the street. I don't know how
+I got there, but I was running along in my bare feet, in the midst of a
+great crowd. I don't know how far I ran or where I went. I think I must
+have been crazed with fright. I tried to speak to people, but nobody
+took any notice of me. I heard them saying there had been a terrible
+earthquake, and that the whole city had been destroyed. At last I got
+very tired, and I think I must have been faint too, for everything grew
+black, and I was so cold. I remember going inside a doorway, and
+thinking I would rest there for a few minutes, and then the stone must
+have fallen on my head, for I don't remember anything more till I woke
+up in the hospital, and didn't even know my name."
+
+"Of course it must have been the poor maid who was killed," said
+Beverly. "We never dreamed of that, because we felt so sure you and Aunt
+Helen had roomed together. But Babs dear, did you never remember
+anything at all--not even the least little thing?"
+
+Undine shook her head.
+
+"I used to have little gleams of memory sometimes," she said, "but they
+were gone again in a minute. I had one the first time I heard Jim sing
+'Mandalay,' and for one second I think I almost remembered you, Beverly.
+Another time I almost remembered was when Mrs. Graham was reading a
+letter from Marjorie, in which she mentioned your name for the first
+time. I kept saying 'Randolph, Randolph' over and over to myself for a
+long time, but after the first minute the words didn't seem to mean
+anything to me. It wasn't till yesterday when I read that letter, and
+saw all your names together--Mother's and yours, and Uncle George's and
+then that part about going to Barbara's grave--that it all came back
+with a rush, and I was so frightened that I fainted."
+
+Later in the day Undine--or Barbara, as I suppose we must call her
+now--had a long talk with her uncle. Dr. Randolph had insisted on
+Beverly's going out for a walk. The boy was utterly worn out from
+excitement and suspense, and his uncle feared he would be really ill if
+precautions were not taken. So he was sent off for a long tramp over the
+ranch with Mr. Graham, and the doctor sat down by his little niece's
+bedside, and tried to draw her thoughts away from painful memories, by
+talking of Marjorie, and of her own life on the ranch.
+
+"They have all been so good to me here, Uncle George," Barbara said, the
+grateful tears starting to her eyes. "If you could have seen me when I
+first came! I am sure I looked like a tramp, and I was so miserable I
+didn't care much what became of me. I don't think many people would have
+believed my crazy story, but they took me right in without a word, and
+have treated me just as if I belonged to them ever since. Aren't Mrs.
+Graham and Miss Jessie lovely?"
+
+"They are indeed," said the doctor, heartily. "We owe them a debt of
+gratitude that can never be repaid. Miss Graham has one of the sweetest
+faces I have ever seen. Has she been a cripple all her life?"
+
+Barbara caught her breath as a sudden recollection flashed into her
+mind.
+
+"Uncle George," she cried excitedly, "aren't you a great surgeon?"
+
+"I am a surgeon certainly," said her uncle, smiling, "but I don't know
+just what you would call a great one; why do you want to know?"
+
+"Because," said Barbara, clasping her hands, and regarding the doctor
+with shining eyes, "now Marjorie can have her wish--the thing she wants
+more than anything else in the world, and that she and I have been
+praying for all winter."
+
+And in a few rapid words she told the story of Miss Graham's accident,
+and of Marjorie's hopes.
+
+Dr. Randolph said nothing, but he looked much interested, and when
+Beverly returned from his walk, he left the brother and sister together,
+and went in quest of Mrs. Graham, with whom he had a long talk. Then
+Miss Jessie was taken into their confidence, and all through the long
+afternoon Barbara and Beverly waited in eager anxiety for their uncle's
+return.
+
+Mr. Graham was obliged to ride some distance to another ranch that
+afternoon, in order to see a man on business, and it was late in the
+evening when he returned, and found his old classmate waiting for him on
+the porch.
+
+"Well, and how are things going?" he inquired cheerfully, when Jim had
+taken away his horse. "I trust our little friend is better."
+
+"She is much better, thank you," Dr. Randolph answered. "She is fast
+recovering from the shock, and I hope we may be able to start for home
+by the day after to-morrow. Her mother must be told as soon as possible,
+and Barbara herself can scarcely wait to get home. I am going to make
+arrangements to leave on the first available train for the East
+and--Graham, I want to ask you a favor."
+
+"I am sure I shall be glad to do anything in my power," Mr. Graham said,
+smiling; "what is it?"
+
+"I want you to let me take your wife and sister back to New York with
+us."
+
+"My wife and sister!" repeated Mr. Graham in amazement. "Why, my dear
+boy, my poor sister hasn't left her wheeled-chair for eight years. I am
+sure that she could not stand such a journey."
+
+"I think she could," said the doctor, quietly. "I should take a
+compartment for her, of course, and she could lie down during the whole
+trip. As for the drive to the station, I think that could also be
+managed without much discomfort. She tells me she often takes fairly
+long drives with you and your wife. Barbara is still very much shaken,
+and will need a woman's care on the journey. Your wife can be of great
+assistance to us, and as to your sister--well, the fact is, Graham, I
+made an examination this afternoon, with her and Mrs. Graham's consent,
+and I see no reason why an operation cannot be performed. I can't
+promise an absolute cure, but I have strong hopes."
+
+Mr. Graham did not speak, but he grasped his old friend's hand in
+gratitude too deep for words, and the doctor went away well satisfied,
+to carry the good news to his niece and nephew.
+
+"Oh, how happy Marjorie will be!" cried Barbara, with sparkling eyes.
+"When she wrote me that she had met a great surgeon, but would never
+have the courage to speak to him about her aunt, how little either of us
+dreamed--oh, what a wonderful, beautiful thing it all is! To think that
+in five days I shall be with Mother. You don't think the shock will make
+her ill, do you, Uncle George?"
+
+"I hope not, dear, but we must be very careful how the news is broken to
+her. Now I want Beverly to go to bed, and you must try to sleep, too,
+Barbara, for you will need all your strength for the journey, and the
+meeting with your mother."
+
+But it was a long time before Barbara fell asleep that night. Old
+memories were trooping back thick and fast, and there was so much that
+was happy as well as sad to remember. She breathed more than one little
+prayer of thankfulness to the dear Heavenly Father, who had watched
+over her through all her trials and dangers, and brought her back at
+last to home and friends. And when sleep came at last, it was a
+peaceful, refreshing sleep, untroubled by feverish dreams.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIII
+
+BREAKING THE NEWS
+
+
+"DO sit down, Marjorie; you haven't been still for five minutes since
+luncheon." Elsie spoke in a tone of weary exasperation, as she laid down
+the book she had been trying to read, and regarded her cousin's flushed
+cheeks and sparkling eyes, with a half amused, half annoyed expression.
+
+Marjorie laughed nervously.
+
+"I'm sorry I've been so restless," she said, "but how can I help it.
+Just think, they'll be here this very day, and Mrs. Randolph doesn't
+know a single thing yet."
+
+"Of course I know it's the most exciting thing that ever happened,"
+Elsie admitted, with resignation, "but one can't help getting tired even
+of exciting things when one has heard of nothing else for a whole week.
+It will be a week to-morrow since you got that telegram, and I don't
+believe you've thought of another thing since."
+
+"I don't believe I have," agreed Marjorie, "but then how could I? Oh,
+Elsie, I'm so happy when I think it has all come about through my
+recognizing that photograph! Just suppose Beverly and I hadn't gone to
+Mammy's cabin that afternoon. I might never have seen a picture of
+Barbara, and the Randolphs might never have known."
+
+"I wonder how they are going to break the news to Mrs. Randolph,"
+remarked Elsie, without heeding her cousin's last observation. "I should
+think it would be dreadfully dangerous; the shock might kill her."
+
+Marjorie's bright face clouded.
+
+"I can't help worrying about it," she said, "but I am sure Dr. Randolph
+will find a way of doing it. It's wonderful to see her so calm, just
+doing every-day things, and talking as if nothing unusual were
+happening, when we are all so excited and nervous."
+
+"I really don't see how you managed to keep her from suspecting when you
+were on the way home," said Elsie; "I'm afraid I should have let out
+something without intending to."
+
+"I couldn't do that," said Marjorie, gravely. "Think how terrible it
+would have been if Mrs. Randolph had hoped and then been disappointed.
+I was sure myself, but neither Dr. Randolph nor Beverly believed it
+could be true. I shall never forget that last evening in Virginia.
+Beverly and I were both almost ill from excitement, and yet we had to
+act just as if nothing unusual had happened. Fortunately the doctor and
+Beverly were to start the first thing in the morning, so we all went to
+bed early. I don't believe any of us slept a wink; I know I didn't. The
+day on the train wasn't quite so bad, because Mrs. Patterson was with
+us, and she hadn't been told anything, and could be natural without
+trying. I pretended to be very much interested in a book, so as not to
+have to talk much, but I couldn't tell you what it was about. And all
+the time Mrs. Randolph was just as sweet and calm as possible, and
+worried about me because my hands were cold, and I couldn't eat."
+
+"I think you were very plucky," said Elsie.
+
+The bright color rushed into Marjorie's cheeks; this was the first
+compliment Elsie had ever paid her.
+
+"I wasn't at all plucky," she said, modestly; "any one else would have
+done the same thing. I'm glad you think I was, though, for I do want you
+to like me."
+
+"Of course I like you," said Elsie, reddening in her turn. "There's the
+door-bell; I wonder if it's Mamma."
+
+"Perhaps it's a letter," cried Marjorie, springing to her feet; "I ought
+to have a letter from home to-day. I haven't heard a word since that
+little note from Aunt Jessie the morning after Barbara was found."
+
+But it was not a letter. Neither was it Mrs. Carleton, who had gone
+driving with a friend. In a moment the faithful Hortense appeared with a
+message.
+
+"Madame Randolph has sent to inquire if Mademoiselle Marjorie will come
+to her apartment for a short time. Her friend has been obliged to go
+out, and she is alone."
+
+Marjorie clasped her hands in dismay, and turned a little pale.
+
+"Send word you're very busy, and can't possibly come," suggested Elsie.
+But Marjorie shook her head.
+
+"I shall have to go," she said, with a little gasp. "Mrs. Randolph has
+been so good to me; she would think it so strange if I didn't come when
+she sent for me. Say I will be there in a few minutes, Hortense."
+
+"You really are a wonder, Marjorie," remarked Elsie, with involuntary
+admiration, as Hortense left the room with the message. "I'm sure I
+should never be able to do it."
+
+"Yes, you would," said Marjorie, smiling and without another word she
+followed Hortense out of the room.
+
+Marjorie's heart was beating very fast when she rang Mrs. Randolph's
+bell five minutes later, but when that lady herself opened the door, and
+greeted her guest with her usual serene cheerfulness, the girl pulled
+herself together with a mighty effort, and her friend noticed nothing
+unusual in her manner, except that her cheeks were flushed and her eyes
+shining.
+
+"I am so glad you could come this afternoon," Mrs. Randolph said,
+leading the way to the sitting-room. "I haven't seen you for days, and
+was beginning to feel quite neglected." She spoke playfully, but
+Marjorie felt the gentle reproach in her tone, and her heart beat faster
+than ever.
+
+"Indeed I didn't mean to neglect you," she said, eagerly, "but--but you
+see I have had a good deal to do since I came home; school began on
+Monday."
+
+"I understand, dear," said Mrs. Randolph, smiling, "and I am not blaming
+you in the least, but I have missed you very much."
+
+"You have had Mrs. Patterson," said Marjorie, as she took the seat her
+friend indicated beside her on the sofa.
+
+"Oh, yes, and she has been a great comfort, for I have missed Beverly
+terribly. He and the doctor will be at home this afternoon, you know."
+
+"Yes," said Marjorie; "Mrs. Patterson told us at luncheon. She said you
+had a headache; I hope it's better."
+
+"Much better, thank you, dear. I didn't come down to luncheon because I
+wanted to be quite bright and well this evening when Beverly is here.
+This is always a rather sad day for me; it is my little Barbara's
+birthday."
+
+Marjorie's heart gave one big jump, and began throbbing so fast she
+could scarcely breathe. She could not have spoken had her life depended
+on it, but fortunately Mrs. Randolph did not appear to expect an answer.
+
+"My little girl would have been fifteen to-day," she said, sadly. "It
+seems hard to realize; she was such a child when she went away. I have
+missed Beverly so much to-day; he and I always talk of Barbara on her
+birthday."
+
+"Would you like to talk to me about her, Mrs. Randolph?" said Marjorie,
+in a voice that was scarcely above a whisper.
+
+"I should like it very much. Indeed, that is why I sent for you. Mrs.
+Patterson has gone out. I offered to go with her, but she said she had
+some important business to attend to, and would rather go alone. I am
+afraid something is troubling her, and she doesn't want to worry me
+about it."
+
+Marjorie, who knew that Mrs. Patterson had gone to the station to meet
+the travelers, in answer to an urgent telegram from Dr. Randolph, said
+nothing. Mrs. Patterson, being a nervous, excitable little woman, had
+been purposely kept in ignorance of the real reason of her cousins'
+Western trip, and it was in order to break the news to her that the
+doctor had wired her to meet him at the station, and to say nothing on
+the subject of her errand to Mrs. Randolph. Consequently, the poor
+little lady had been filled by apprehensions of something dreadful
+having happened to one or both of the travelers, and had departed in a
+state of perturbation well calculated to arouse Mrs. Randolph's
+suspicions that something was troubling her.
+
+There was a moment's pause, and then Mrs. Randolph went on.
+
+"I never talk of my little girl to strangers--it is all too sacred for
+that--but you are not a stranger any more. I have loved you dearly ever
+since we stood together at my Barbara's grave, and you showed me by your
+silent sympathy how well you understood."
+
+Marjorie could not speak, but she took her friend's hand, and stroked it
+softly, while Mrs. Randolph went on, calmly, though with a quiver in her
+voice:
+
+"I used to try to make the children's birthdays as happy as possible; I
+thought they would be pleasant memories for them when they were older.
+Even the year after my husband died, when my heart was very sad, I
+wanted them to have a merry time. Little children's lives should never
+be saddened. I think you would have loved my little girl, Marjorie; she
+was very sweet."
+
+"I know I should," said Marjorie, with a sob, that was half hysterical.
+
+"I am afraid she was a sad rogue sometimes," said Mrs. Randolph,
+smiling; "Beverly and I often laugh even now over the memory of some of
+her pranks. I want him to remember all the bright, pleasant things, and
+not dwell too much on the sadness."
+
+"Mammy told me about some of Barbara's pranks," said Marjorie, "she
+showed me her photograph, too."
+
+Mrs. Randolph unfastened a small gold locket from a chain she always
+wore about her neck, and opened it. Inside was the miniature of a
+merry-faced girl of twelve--the same face that had looked at Marjorie
+from the photograph in Mammy's cabin.
+
+"That was taken only a few weeks before my little girl went away," she
+said. "She was just twelve then. I suppose she would look older now, but
+I can never think of Babs as growing up."
+
+Then Marjorie had an inspiration. How it came she never knew, but she
+had yielded to it before giving herself time to think.
+
+"That picture reminds me of some one I know," she said, and the moment
+the words were out she would have given everything she possessed to have
+left them unsaid.
+
+"Who is it?" Mrs. Randolph asked, her eyes still resting lovingly on the
+face of the miniature.
+
+"A girl who has been at my home since last summer," said Marjorie, who
+was beginning to feel cold and sick with excitement and apprehension,
+but was determined to go on now that she had begun. "She came to the
+ranch one day all by herself. She had walked all the way from the
+railroad. It was a very strange case; she had had an accident, and
+forgotten everything about herself, even her own name."
+
+"Forgotten her name!" said Mrs. Randolph, incredulously. "What a curious
+thing--are you sure her story was true?"
+
+"Oh, yes, quite sure. She was such a dear girl, we couldn't doubt her.
+Besides Father wrote to the people she had lived with since her
+accident, and they said everything Undine had told us was true. We
+called her Undine because it was pretty, and we didn't know her real
+name."
+
+"Poor child," said Mrs. Randolph, closing the miniature as she spoke.
+"Has she never remembered anything about herself since?"
+
+"She hadn't a week ago," said Marjorie, wondering how her shaking lips
+formed the words, "but perhaps she may some time. Oh, Mrs. Randolph,
+suppose she should remember, and it should turn out that she had
+relatives--brothers and sisters, and--and perhaps a mother, who had been
+mourning her as dead! Can you think how her mother would feel? Can you
+even imagine it, Mrs. Randolph?"
+
+"I think such joy would be more than any mother could bear," said Mrs.
+Randolph, softly. "But such strange, romantic things don't often happen
+in this world, Marjorie dear. The poor child's mother is probably dead,
+or she would have found her long ago. How did the accident happen?"
+
+Marjorie gave a great gasp.
+
+"We--we are not quite sure," she said. "Undine says the people at the
+hospital told her a stone must have fallen on her head. She was found in
+San Francisco under some ruins, after--after the earthquake."
+
+"After the earthquake," repeated Mrs. Randolph in a strange, startled
+tone, and she grew suddenly pale. "Oh, poor, poor child! At least my
+little Barbara was spared those horrors. Why have you never told me
+about this girl before, Marjorie?"
+
+"Because Beverly said it made you sad to have any one speak of the
+earthquake, and I couldn't have told Undine's story without mentioning
+it. It was dreadful, of course, but she was saved. Think of it, Mrs.
+Randolph, she was saved, and perhaps some time--" poor Marjorie's
+over-strained nerves gave way, and she burst into tears.
+
+Mrs. Randolph had grown very white; she was trembling, too, but she
+laid a firm hand on the girl's shoulder.
+
+"Marjorie," she cried sharply, "what does this mean? Why are you telling
+me all this? Something has happened, I know it has--oh, Marjorie, for
+God's sake tell me what it is! My little girl is dead; they brought her
+home to me, though they would not let me see her dear face. Marjorie,
+why do you cry so? You must tell me at once, do you hear? I say at
+once."
+
+"Oh, Mrs. Randolph, darling Mrs. Randolph, it isn't anything sad, indeed
+it isn't," sobbed Marjorie, with her arms about her friend's neck. "It's
+something beautiful; more beautiful and wonderful than you can ever
+imagine. I can't say any more, but Beverly will be here very soon, and
+he will tell you. Try to think of the very greatest joy that could
+possibly come to any one, and perhaps you will begin to have an idea
+what it is."
+
+Marjorie paused, conscious of the fact that some one had entered the
+room. In their excitement neither she nor Mrs. Randolph had noticed the
+opening of the door, or the sound of an approaching footstep. But now as
+she lifted her face from her friend's shoulder, Marjorie saw two figures
+standing on the threshold; they were Dr. Randolph and Beverly. At the
+same moment Mrs. Randolph also recognized them, and held out her arms to
+her son.
+
+"Beverly," she cried, "tell me what it is! You know, I see it in your
+face. Oh, Beverly, my darling, it isn't--it can't be news of Barbara?"
+
+"Yes, Mother, it is!" cried the boy, gathering her in his strong arms.
+"Can you bear a great shock, Mother--a great joyful shock?--because if
+you can, Uncle George and I have something to tell you."
+
+Marjorie waited for no more; such scenes were not for other eyes to see
+or other ears to hear. With a bound, she was out of the room, and flying
+across the corridor. In her flight she darted by two other figures
+without even seeing them; a trembling, white-faced girl clinging
+nervously to an older woman, whose face was scarcely less white than her
+own. She had but one thought: to reach her room before the burst of
+hysterical excitement completely overpowered her. A frantic ring at the
+Carletons' bell, and then the door was thrown open, and she was clinging
+to some one--presumably Hortense--crying and laughing both together.
+
+"Oh, Hortense, Hortense," she wailed, "I've told her, and they've come!
+You don't think the shock will kill her, do you?"
+
+But it was not Hortense who answered, or who held the hysterical child
+in loving, motherly arms.
+
+"Marjorie, my dear little Marjorie, don't tremble so! Everything will be
+all right, my darling, I know it will, and here are Aunt Jessie and I
+come all the way from Arizona to give you a big surprise."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIV
+
+MARJORIE HAS HER WISH
+
+
+MARJORIE declared afterwards that she was sure that was the happiest
+moment of her life, but at the time the joyful surprise, coming so soon
+after the nervous strain of the past hour, proved almost too much for
+her, and she could do nothing for some time but hold her mother tight,
+and cry as if her heart would break.
+
+"It's the one thing I've been wishing for every day, and praying for
+every night since I came to New York," Marjorie said to her aunt, late
+that evening, when Miss Graham was in bed, and her niece was sitting
+beside her, holding her hand. "But I never dared hope it would really
+happen, even when I knew Dr. Randolph had gone to Arizona. We were all
+so excited about Barbara; it didn't seem as if he or Beverly would be
+able to think of anything else."
+
+"It was all Undine's doing," said Miss Jessie, smiling. She was looking
+pale and tired, but very happy and Marjorie gazed at her aunt, with
+shining eyes.
+
+"You know it was Undine who told her uncle about my accident," the
+invalid went on. "Dr. Randolph made an examination, and he hopes that I
+may be much helped by an operation. He is going to bring another surgeon
+to see me to-morrow, and if they agree in their opinion, I am to go to a
+hospital."
+
+Miss Graham spoke cheerfully, but there was a slight tremor in her
+voice, and Marjorie grew suddenly grave. They were both silent for a
+moment, and then Marjorie said:
+
+"Isn't Beverly a dear, and don't you like Dr. Randolph ever so much,
+too?"
+
+"I do indeed," said Miss Jessie, heartily. "I shall never forget their
+kindness during that long journey. As for Undine, she could not have
+been more devoted to me if she had been my own little niece. It has been
+a wonderful experience, Marjorie; I never expected to see the East
+again."
+
+Marjorie bent and kissed her.
+
+"Beautiful things do happen in the world as well as sad ones, don't
+they?" she said, softly. "When I think of you and Mother being here, and
+of Mrs. Randolph having found her Barbara, my heart is so full it seems
+as if it must surely burst. Here comes Mother; perhaps she will be able
+to tell us how Mrs. Randolph has borne the shock."
+
+Mrs. Graham's news was most reassuring.
+
+"I have seen Beverly," she said, "and he says his mother is quite calm
+now. At first they were anxious about her, but only for a little while.
+Beverly says his uncle thinks it was a fortunate thing you were able to
+prepare her a little before they came, Marjorie; otherwise it would have
+been more difficult to break the news to her."
+
+Marjorie gave a long sigh of relief.
+
+"I'm so glad it wasn't wrong," she said. "I was horribly frightened
+after I had begun, but when Mrs. Randolph showed me that picture, it
+came to me all at once to tell her about Undine. I thought that if she
+heard of one girl who was saved from the earthquake, she might be able
+to believe that another girl was saved, too."
+
+Mrs. Graham and Miss Jessie both smiled, and then Mrs. Graham said she
+must obey the doctor's instructions, and see that her sister-in-law was
+kept quiet, and went to sleep early.
+
+Marjorie and her mother had a long talk that night, after Aunt Jessie
+was asleep, and the girl opened her heart as she had not done since
+leaving home, and Mrs. Graham learned of many things that she had not
+been told in letters.
+
+"I think Elsie really does like me now," finished Marjorie, when she had
+told of the many heartaches caused by the fear that her cousin did not
+like her. "She has been very sweet since I came back from Virginia, and
+just as kind and sympathetic as she could be."
+
+Mrs. Graham looked pleased.
+
+"Elsie has been spoiled," she said, "but I believe she has the right
+stuff in her, after all. I am glad you have told me all these things,
+dear, although I understand your reasons for not writing them. You have
+had a harder time than I suspected, but I don't think it has done you
+any harm. Do you know, Marjorie, I am inclined to be rather proud of my
+little girl?"
+
+Those last words of her mother's filled Marjorie's cup to the brim, and
+I doubt if in all the great city that night, there were two happier
+beings than she and Barbara Randolph.
+
+But it was not all happiness for Marjorie during the next few days.
+There followed hours of keen anxiety about Aunt Jessie, and for a time
+she forgot everything else while she waited in suspense for the verdict
+of the two great surgeons.
+
+It was on an afternoon three days later, that she and Barbara sat
+together in the Randolphs' parlor, waiting for the news, which was to
+tell them whether Jessie Graham was to go through life a helpless
+cripple, or be restored to health and strength once more. The day before
+she had been taken to a private hospital, and the girls knew that an
+operation was to be performed that afternoon. They were alone, for Mrs.
+Graham was with her sister-in-law, and Mrs. Randolph--almost as anxious
+as the others--had gone to the hospital for news, promising to return as
+soon as possible. So Marjorie and Barbara sat together side by side on
+the sofa, holding each other's hands, and waiting in almost breathless
+suspense.
+
+"Mother will be sure to let us know just as soon as there's anything to
+tell," whispered Barbara, anxious to cheer her friend. "She says Uncle
+George told her he was very hopeful."
+
+"I know," said Marjorie, "he told us all so, but I can't help being
+frightened when I think of all it means to Aunt Jessie. She doesn't say
+much, but I know how she must feel. Just think how we would feel if we
+hadn't walked a step for more than eight years."
+
+"Where is your cousin this afternoon?" inquired Barbara, by way of
+changing the subject. She was almost as anxious as Marjorie, but she
+had been living at high pressure for so long, it was a relief to get
+down to commonplaces.
+
+"I don't know," said Marjorie; "she was going out, but it rained so hard
+Aunt Julia wouldn't let her go, on account of her cold. Aunt Julia is
+very fussy about colds."
+
+"Don't you think she would like to come in here with us?" suggested
+Barbara. "She may be lonely all by herself."
+
+"I don't believe she is lonely," said Marjorie, doubtfully, "but if you
+think she might like to come--"
+
+A ring at the door-bell brought Marjorie's sentence to an abrupt end,
+and both girls sprang to their feet.
+
+"I'll see who it is," said Barbara; "it may be a message from Mother."
+And she flew to open the door, while Marjorie sank back in her seat,
+feeling suddenly cold and sick with fear.
+
+But it was not a message from Mrs. Randolph; it was Elsie.
+
+"I just came to ask if you had heard anything yet," she said, looking
+rather embarrassed, as she noticed the expression of disappointment on
+Barbara's face.
+
+"No, we haven't," Barbara answered; "we thought it might be a message
+when we heard the bell. Won't you come in?"
+
+Elsie hesitated.
+
+"Do you really want me?" she asked, doubtfully; "I thought perhaps you
+would rather be by yourselves."
+
+"Of course we want you," declared Barbara, heartily, while Marjorie--in
+the background--gave a little gasp of astonishment. Such humility from
+the proud Elsie was something that had never entered her imagination.
+
+Elsie made no remark, but she came in, and followed Barbara to the
+sitting-room, where Marjorie smiled a welcome which appeared to set her
+cousin more at her ease.
+
+"I am sure you must be almost as anxious as we are," said Barbara,
+"though of course you don't know Miss Jessie as well. No one could help
+loving her."
+
+"No, they couldn't," agreed Elsie, in a rather low voice, and then she
+walked over to the window, and stood with her back to the others,
+looking out at the falling rain.
+
+Nobody talked much during the next half-hour. Marjorie and Barbara both
+had lumps in their throats, and words did not come easily. Elsie, too,
+was unusually silent. There was another little excitement when the bell
+rang again, and Beverly came in. Beverly had been through a great deal
+during the past two weeks, but boys of eighteen cannot live on high
+pressure for very long without a reaction setting in. Beverly was a very
+natural, healthy-minded boy, and the reaction in his case took the form
+of unusually high spirits.
+
+"Don't all have such long faces," he remarked, cheerfully, surveying the
+solemn little group. "Just make up your minds everything is coming out
+all right, and you'll see it will. I've got more faith in Uncle George
+than in any other surgeon in the country. Think of what he did for that
+English boy we met at the Bells'."
+
+"I know Uncle George is wonderful," said Barbara, a trifle more hopeful,
+"but even he may not be able to cure everybody. You would be just as
+anxious as Marjorie and I, Beverly, if you knew dear Miss Jessie as well
+as we do."
+
+"I didn't say I wasn't anxious. I only said I didn't see any use in such
+long faces before you know whether there was anything to be mournful
+about. How do you do, Miss Elsie? I haven't seen you in a week of
+Sundays."
+
+In his present exuberant spirits, Beverly was quite ready to forget past
+unpleasantness, but Elsie had not forgotten, as her heightened color
+and embarrassed manner plainly showed.
+
+Beverly went to the piano, and began playing rag-time, with the cheerful
+desire of raising the drooping spirits of the party. He proposed they
+should sing college songs, but nobody felt inclined for singing and the
+attempt proved a dismal failure.
+
+"What a very uncomfortable thing suspense is," remarked Barbara, as the
+clock struck five.
+
+"You would say so if you had been through the suspense Marjorie and I
+have," her brother said. "We know something of what suspense means,
+don't we, Marjorie?"
+
+"Indeed we do," said Marjorie, rousing herself from present anxieties
+with an effort. "Oh, Beverly, those awful days when you and your uncle
+were on your way to Arizona, and I couldn't be absolutely sure I hadn't
+made a mistake about that photo after all. Suppose I had been mistaken,
+and you had had that terrible disappointment!"
+
+"Well, you were not mistaken, you see," broke in Beverly, who felt that
+the recollection of those days was still too vivid to bear discussion.
+"Come and sit by me, Babs," and he made room for his sister on the piano
+stool.
+
+But all suspense, however long, must come to an end at last, and just as
+the clock was striking half past five, there was another ring at the
+bell, followed by a simultaneous rush to the door. Only Marjorie
+remained behind. Until that moment she had scarcely realized how great
+her anxiety was, and her knees shook so that she could not rise from her
+chair. She heard all the others talking at once, apparently asking some
+question, and then Mrs. Randolph's voice, but she could not hear her
+words.
+
+"Marjorie, Marjorie, where are you?" cried Barbara joyfully; "here's
+Mother!"
+
+"I'm here," said Marjorie, faintly, and the next moment Mrs. Randolph
+was beside her, holding both her cold hands. Marjorie's eyes asked the
+question her lips refused to form, and Mrs. Randolph bent and kissed
+her.
+
+"Marjorie dear," she said in a voice that was not quite steady, though
+she was smiling, "your mother wanted me to tell you that the operation
+is over, and that Dr. Randolph feels almost certain it has been
+successful."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXV
+
+ELSIE REDEEMS HERSELF
+
+
+"DO you know, Aunt Jessie, that to-morrow will be the first of May? It's
+nearly four months since you and Mother came to New York."
+
+Miss Graham was leaning back in a comfortable arm-chair by an open
+window, through which the bright spring sunshine was pouring, flooding
+every corner of the pleasant hotel bedroom. She was still looking rather
+frail and delicate, but there was an expression of hope and joy in her
+face, that had never been there in the old days at the ranch. A crutch
+stood at her side, but there was no wheeled-chair to be seen. At
+Marjorie's words she looked round with a smile.
+
+"Time has certainly flown," she said. "Have you had a pleasant ride?"
+
+"It was glorious. Beverly and I had a splendid gallop. I hope you
+enjoyed your drive."
+
+"Yes, it was lovely," said Miss Jessie, secretly thinking that Marjorie
+had grown very pretty lately. She looked so well in her perfectly
+fitting riding habit, with her rosy cheeks and sparkling eyes. "I
+wasn't at all tired when I came home either, which Dr. Randolph
+considers a distinct gain. He says I am one of his star patients. Have
+you finished your lessons for to-morrow?"
+
+"Haven't any; it's Saturday, you know. I shall have plenty of time to
+study between now and Monday. I came to have a little chat with you
+before I dress. I'm going out this evening, you remember. It's the last
+meeting of the Club, and quite an important occasion. The Bells are
+sailing for Europe to-morrow, and Lulu is our president."
+
+"I thought you wrote me that Elsie was elected president," said Miss
+Graham, who seldom forgot anything Marjorie told her.
+
+"She was at first," said Marjorie, hoping her aunt would not notice her
+suddenly heightened color. She drew a low chair to Miss Jessie's side,
+and settled herself for a comfortable chat.
+
+"Why did she give it up?" Miss Graham inquired, with interest.
+
+"I--I don't exactly know. It was after I came back from Virginia and
+Barbara came home. She said she would rather not be president any more,
+and asked Lulu to take her place."
+
+"I like Elsie," said Miss Jessie. "She is very clever, and has been
+rather spoiled in consequence, but there is much that is fine about her.
+She will make a noble woman, I am sure."
+
+Marjorie looked pleased.
+
+"Elsie likes you," she said, "and I don't think she is really fond of
+many people. She hasn't nearly as many friends as most of the girls at
+school have, but I love her dearly, and so does Babs."
+
+"I had a letter from your father this afternoon," Miss Jessie said,
+after a little pause; "I am keeping it for you to read. He says things
+are looking up at the ranch, and he is hoping for a better season than
+last. He thinks he may possibly be able to come East for us himself next
+month. I do hope he can, for it would be such a treat for him."
+
+"I suppose he is thankful to get Mother back," said Marjorie, "but, oh,
+how we do miss her, don't we, Aunt Jessie?"
+
+"Yes, indeed, but it wouldn't have been fair to have kept her any longer
+when she was so anxious to get home to your father. After all, she had a
+good long rest, and your father declares she is looking ten years
+younger in consequence."
+
+"What a wonderful winter it has been," said Marjorie, reflectively,
+resting her knee against her aunt's knee. "When I left home last
+October, how little any of us dreamed of all the strange, beautiful
+things that were going to happen. Those first weeks were pretty hard; I
+was a good deal more homesick than I let any of you know, but I knew
+everybody meant to be kind and I did try hard to make the best of
+things. Then came the Randolphs' invitation to spend the holidays in
+Virginia, and the wonderful discovery about Undine. And then--as if that
+wasn't happiness enough--Dr. Randolph saw you, and brought you and
+Mother back to New York with him. The operation was pretty dreadful, but
+ever since Dr. Randolph told us he was sure it had been a success,
+everything has been simply heavenly."
+
+Miss Jessie said nothing, but softly stroked Marjorie's hair, and there
+was such a look of joy in her eyes, that the girl could not help being
+struck by it.
+
+"Aunt Jessie," she said, laughing, "do you know, I never realized before
+how young you are. I used to think of you as quite a middle-aged lady,
+but I don't know how it is, you look different now somehow--almost like
+a girl."
+
+"I was twenty-nine last week," said Miss Jessie, smiling; "I suppose
+twenty-nine may seem middle-aged to fifteen."
+
+"But it doesn't," protested Marjorie; "not a bit; I think I must have
+been a goose ever to have thought such a thing. Beverly calls you a
+perfect trump, and he wouldn't say that about any one he considered
+middle-aged; it wouldn't be respectful."
+
+"I am very much obliged to Beverly for his good opinion," said Miss
+Jessie, laughing and blushing in such a very girlish manner that her
+niece regarded her in growing astonishment.
+
+"I believe it's the thought of being well and strong again that has made
+all the difference," she said. "Oh, Aunt Jessie darling, think of it,
+you'll never have to sit in that dreadful wheeled-chair again! What
+walks and rides we'll have together. Are you sure Dr. Randolph will let
+you go back to the ranch in June?"
+
+"He says I shall be quite strong enough for the journey by that time,"
+Miss Graham answered, but she did not meet Marjorie's direct gaze as she
+spoke. "I feel that I ought not to trespass on the Randolphs'
+hospitality any longer than is necessary. Think of what they have done
+for me, Marjorie. First all those weeks at the hospital, and then
+insisting on my coming here, and all of it just because we were kind to
+Undine."
+
+"I don't think that is the only reason," said Marjorie, eagerly. "That
+was the beginning of it, of course, but now they all love you for
+yourself. Babs says her mother loves you dearly, and she and Beverly
+were both so pleased because you said they might call you 'Aunt Jessie.'
+As for the doctor, I'm sure he likes you ever so much."
+
+"There's some one at the door; go and see who it is, Marjorie."
+
+Marjorie rose obediently, wondering what could have possibly caused her
+aunt's sudden embarrassment, and when she returned she was followed by
+Barbara, who had also dropped in for a little chat, Miss Jessie's room
+being a favorite rendezvous with all the young people.
+
+"Well, and what have you been doing this afternoon?" Miss Graham asked
+pleasantly, as Barbara settled herself for a comfortable half-hour.
+
+"I went for a walk with Elsie and Hortense. We had a nice time, but I
+don't think Elsie felt very well, she was so quiet. I asked her if her
+head ached, and she said no, but I'm afraid it did."
+
+"I don't think Elsie has seemed quite like herself for several days,"
+said Miss Jessie, a little anxiously. "Perhaps she is studying too hard;
+her mother tells me she is so very ambitious."
+
+Neither of the girls had any explanation to suggest, and they all
+chatted on pleasantly on various subjects until it was time to go away
+and dress for dinner. Barbara was also going to the Club that evening,
+having been admitted as a guest of honor some months before. Indeed, she
+was quite the heroine of the hour, for the romantic story had quickly
+spread from friends and acquaintances to strangers, and she had even
+been written about in several newspapers, a circumstance which had
+filled the breasts of some other girls with envy. For several weeks
+there was not a girl in the city so much talked about as Barbara
+Randolph, the child who had been mourned as dead by her family for
+nearly three years, and then reappeared under conditions sufficiently
+interesting and romantic to fill the pages of a thrilling story-book.
+The Randolphs disliked the publicity, but Barbara was pursued by
+reporters and photographers until Beverly lost his temper, and
+positively refused to allow any member of the family to grant another
+interview.
+
+"How does it feel to know that everybody in New York is talking about
+you, and all the papers asking for your picture?" Elsie had asked one
+day, to which Barbara had answered, with a laugh:
+
+"I don't know that I have any particular feelings about it. I am too
+happy at being at home again with Mother and Beverly to care for
+anything else in the world."
+
+Elsie was nowhere to be seen when Marjorie returned to her uncle's
+apartment, and the cousins did not meet till they were both dressed for
+the evening, and had joined Mr. and Mrs. Carleton in the drawing-room.
+Then Mrs. Carleton's first words were an anxious question.
+
+"Are you sure you are feeling quite well this evening, Elsie darling?
+You are very pale."
+
+"Of course I'm all right," said Elsie, crossly. "I do wish you wouldn't
+fuss so much about me, Mamma."
+
+Mrs. Carleton sighed.
+
+"I am sure I don't intend to fuss," she said, plaintively, "but how can
+I help worrying when I see you looking so badly, especially when you
+will insist on studying so hard?"
+
+"Nonsense," said Mr. Carleton, looking up from his evening paper, with a
+frown. "I have looked over Elsie's lessons, and there is nothing wrong
+there. She isn't studying any harder than a healthy girl of her age
+should. What's the matter, Elsie--don't you feel quite up to the mark?"
+
+He spoke kindly, but his tone was a trifle impatient, and before Elsie
+could reply, her mother began again.
+
+"She won't tell you; she insists there is nothing the matter, but she
+has not looked like herself for days. If she isn't better to-morrow I
+shall have the doctor see her, and give her a tonic."
+
+Mr. Carleton threw down his newspaper.
+
+"My dear Julia," he said, "I believe you consider a tonic a cure for
+every evil in the world. The girls are ready, so let us go down to
+dinner, and see if Elsie doesn't make up for her loss of appetite at
+luncheon."
+
+But Elsie did not make up for her lack of appetite at luncheon. She
+toyed with her food, and her color changed so often, from white to red,
+and back to white again, that by the time dinner was over even her
+father began to look at her curiously. But when Mrs. Carleton suggested
+that she should not go to Gertie Rossiter's, where the Club was to be
+held that evening, she protested that she was perfectly well, and was so
+decided in her determination to go, that, as usual, she had her way.
+
+The meeting was at eight, and Marjorie and Elsie were obliged to hurry
+away from the dinner table to join the two Randolphs, as the four were
+to go together in the Carletons' carriage.
+
+"Uncle George says we might have had his car as well as not," remarked
+Barbara, as they took their seats in the carriage. "He has come to spend
+the evening with Mother and Aunt Jessie, and won't need it."
+
+"Your uncle is very generous with his car," said Marjorie, innocently.
+"He lent it to your mother and Aunt Jessie this afternoon, you know, and
+Aunt Jessie said they had a beautiful ride."
+
+"Oh, Uncle George would do anything in the world for Aunt Jessie,"
+remarked Barbara, at which her brother smiled a rather mischievous
+smile, but said nothing.
+
+There was an unusually large gathering of the Club that evening, in
+honor of the president, who, with her family, was to sail for Europe the
+following day. As it was a gala occasion, no sewing was to be done, and
+the boys were invited to come with the girls, and devote the evening to
+dancing and games.
+
+"I'm afraid our sewing really hasn't amounted to very much," Winifred
+Hamilton remarked ruefully. "Mother says she's afraid the Blind Babies
+would be badly off if they had to depend upon us for clothes, but we've
+had an awfully jolly winter, and I'm sorry it's over, aren't you, Mr.
+Randolph?"
+
+"Well, summer is pretty jolly, too, you know," answered Beverly,
+smiling. "I sha'n't be sorry to have vacation begin. We are going abroad
+as soon as college closes."
+
+"How nice," said Winifred, looking interested; "perhaps you'll meet the
+Bells. They expect to stay over till October. I really don't know how I
+shall manage to get on so long without Lulu."
+
+"Why don't you go, too?" Beverly asked, good-naturedly.
+
+"I should love to, but I couldn't leave Mother. Dr. Bell offered to take
+me, and Father and Mother said I might go if I liked, but I couldn't
+make up my mind to leave them. Perhaps some day we shall go ourselves,"
+finished Winifred, trying to look hopeful.
+
+"I'll let you into a little secret if you'll promise not to tell," said
+Beverly, who had a genuine liking for Winifred, despite the fact that
+she was "young for her age." "My mother is very anxious to have Marjorie
+go with us, provided her parents will consent. Miss Graham thinks they
+will, and Mother has written to ask them before speaking to Marjorie
+herself. Mind you don't tell, for it's a great secret. Even Babs doesn't
+know, for she and Marjorie are such chums she would be sure to let
+something out. Hello! what's up? Lulu is going to make a speech."
+
+There was a sudden hush as Lulu, with Elsie at her side, stepped
+forward, and rapped sharply on the table, to call the club to order.
+
+"Ladies and gentlemen," she began in what the girls called "her
+presidential tone," "I didn't expect to have any regular meeting this
+evening, but Miss Elsie Carleton has an announcement to make, and has
+asked me to tell you she would like to speak. As you all know Miss
+Carleton was your president until she resigned in favor of another, I am
+sure you will all be pleased to hear what she has to say. Go ahead,
+Elsie; everybody's listening."
+
+All eyes were turned in surprise upon Elsie, as she stood before them,
+very pale, but with a look of settled determination on her face. Twice
+she tried to speak, and stopped, and they could all see that she was
+very nervous. Then the words came, very low, but sufficiently audible to
+reach every ear in the room.
+
+"Girls," she began, looking straight before her, and clasping and
+unclasping her hands as she spoke, "girls and boys, too, for I want you
+all to hear. I have a confession to make. It's about something that
+happened at the first meeting of this Club--the night we were all
+initiated. That poem I wrote--some of you thought it was the best, and
+you made me president--it--it wasn't original; I learned it when I was a
+little girl, but I thought nobody would recognize it. I didn't mean to
+cheat at first, but I couldn't make up anything that I thought was good
+enough, and I hated to have the other poems better than mine. I haven't
+anything more to say except that I've been ashamed of myself ever since,
+and I can't have you go on thinking me cleverer than I am, any longer."
+And then, without waiting to note the effect of her startling
+announcement, Elsie turned and fled.
+
+Marjorie and Barbara found her upstairs in the dressing-room, crying as
+if her heart would break. Neither of them said a word, but Marjorie put
+her arms round her cousin's neck and hugged her.
+
+[Illustration: "IT TAKES A LOT OF PLUCK TO GET UP AND SAY A THING LIKE
+THAT."--_Page 355._]
+
+"What are they saying about me?" whispered Elsie, burying her face on
+Marjorie's shoulder. "Do they all despise me?"
+
+"Not a bit of it," declared Marjorie, reassuringly. "They're all saying
+how plucky it was of you to confess. Lulu says she never liked you so
+much before in her life. As for me, I'm so proud of you I don't know
+what to do. Oh, Elsie darling, I'm so glad you did it!"
+
+"It was you who made me do it," sobbed Elsie, clinging to her cousin.
+"You were so splendid about it all. You knew, and yet you never told any
+one, not even Papa when he was provoked with you, because you wouldn't
+explain what the trouble between us was. Your brother knew too, Babs,
+and he has never said a word, but I know how he has despised me. I've
+despised myself too--oh, how I have despised myself! I've been selfish
+and conceited all my life, and I didn't care much, but one can't help
+feeling mean and ashamed beside girls like you, and brave, wonderful
+women like Aunt Jessie. I don't believe I've got one real friend in the
+world."
+
+"You've got lots," protested Marjorie and Barbara both together.
+"Just come downstairs and see if you haven't."
+
+It was a very quiet, subdued Elsie who reentered the drawing-room,
+escorted by her two staunch friends, but the welcome she received was
+such that, before the evening was over, she found herself able to smile,
+and take a passing interest in life once more. Elsie had many faults,
+but she was not a bad girl, and she had learned a lesson that would last
+her all her life. One of the first to approach her and hold out his
+hand, was Beverly Randolph.
+
+"You're a trump, Elsie," he said, in his blunt, boyish way. "It takes a
+lot of pluck to get up and say a thing like that. Let's shake hands and
+be friends." And at that moment Elsie was happier than she had been in
+months.
+
+"I think I'll just stop a minute to say good-night to Aunt Jessie,"
+remarked Marjorie, as they were going up to their apartment in the lift.
+"I don't believe she has gone to bed yet if Dr. Randolph is spending the
+evening. Tell Aunt Julia I'll be right up, Elsie."
+
+So Marjorie stepped out of the lift with the Randolphs, while Elsie went
+up another floor to her own apartment. Mrs. Randolph had insisted that
+Miss Graham should be her guest on leaving the hospital, and one of the
+most comfortable rooms in the apartment had been assigned to her.
+
+It was Mrs. Randolph herself who opened the door for the young people;
+she was smiling, and looked as if she were pleased about something.
+
+"Has Aunt Jessie gone to bed?" Marjorie asked.
+
+"No, dear, she is in the parlor with Uncle George, and I think she wants
+to see you."
+
+Barbara hurried her mother off to her room, to tell of the events of the
+evening, and Beverly followed, at a mysterious signal from Mrs.
+Randolph, so Marjorie was the only one to enter the cozy little parlor,
+where she found her aunt and the doctor sitting on the sofa side by
+side.
+
+"I just came in for a minute to say good-night," she began. "I've had a
+lovely evening, and--and--" here Marjorie paused abruptly, struck by
+something unusual in the faces of her two listeners.
+
+"Is--is anything the matter?" she inquired anxiously.
+
+"Do we look as if there were?" inquired the doctor, and he smiled such a
+radiant smile that Marjorie's sudden anxiety melted into thin air.
+
+"No, not exactly, but Aunt Jessie looks so--so different. Oh, Aunt
+Jessie darling, I know something has happened--is it good news?"
+
+"The very best news in the world for me," said the doctor, laughing,
+while Aunt Jessie drew her niece into her arms, and hid her smiling,
+blushing face on Marjorie's shoulder. "Your aunt has promised to give me
+something that I want more than anything else. Marjorie, do you think
+you would like to have me for an uncle?"
+
+"And that was just the crowning happiness of all," said Marjorie, when
+she and Elsie were talking things over half an hour later. "I thought I
+was just as happy as any girl could be before, but when I saw that look
+on Aunt Jessie's face, and thought of all she had suffered, and how
+brave she had been, it seemed as if my heart would burst with gladness.
+It's just the most beautiful ending to a beautiful winter."
+
+"I wish I had done more to make the first part of the winter happy,"
+said Elsie, with a remorseful sigh. "I don't see why you didn't hate me,
+Marjorie; I'm sure I deserved it."
+
+"Why, I couldn't," said Marjorie, simply, "you were my own cousin, you
+know."
+
+Elsie went up to her cousin, and put her arms round her. That was such
+an unusual proceeding from cold, undemonstrative Elsie that Marjorie
+was speechless with astonishment.
+
+"I believe you are the best girl in the world, Marjorie," she said,
+unsteadily. "I'm not worthy of your friendship, but if you will really
+love me, and forgive me for all the mean, hateful things I've done, I
+will try to deserve it--I will indeed."
+
+
+THE END
+
+
+
+
+DOROTHY BROWN
+
+By NINA RHOADES
+
+
+          Illustrated by Elizabeth Withington Large 12mo
+          Cloth $1.50
+
+[Illustration]
+
+THIS is considerably longer than the other books by this favorite
+writer, and with a more elaborate plot, but it has the same winsome
+quality throughout. It introduces the heroine in New York as a little
+girl of eight, but soon passes over six years and finds her at a select
+family boarding school in Connecticut. An important part of the story
+also takes place at the Profile House in the White Mountains. The charm
+of school-girl friendship is finely brought out, and the kindness of
+heart, good sense and good taste which find constant expression in the
+books by Miss Rhoades do not lack for characters to show these best of
+qualities by their lives. Other less admirable persons of course appear
+to furnish the alluring mystery, which is not all cleared up until the
+very last.
+
+          "There will be no better book than this to put
+          into the hands of a girl in her teens and none
+          that will be better appreciated by
+          her."--_Kennebec Journal._
+
+
+
+
+
+MARION'S VACATION
+
+By NINA RHOADES
+
+
+      Illustrated by Bertha G. Davidson 12mo Cloth $1.25
+
+[Illustration]
+
+THIS book is for the older girls, Marion being thirteen. She has for ten
+years enjoyed a luxurious home in New York with the kind lady who feels
+that the time has now come for this aristocratic though lovable little
+miss to know her own nearest kindred, who are humble but most excellent
+farming people in a pretty Vermont village. Thither Marion is sent for a
+summer, which proves to be a most important one to her in all its
+lessons.
+
+          "More wholesome reading for half grown girls it
+          would be hard to find; some of the same lessons
+          that proved so helpful in that classic of the last
+          generation 'An Old Fashioned Girl' are brought
+          home to the youthful readers of this sweet and
+          sensible story."--_Milwaukee Free Press._
+
+
+
+
+Only Dollie
+
+      By NINA RHOADES Illustrated by Bertha Davidson
+      Square 12mo Cloth $1.00
+
+[Illustration]
+
+THIS is a brightly written story of a girl of twelve, who, when the
+mystery of her birth is solved, like Cinderella, passes from drudgery to
+better circumstances. There is nothing strained or unnatural at any
+point. All descriptions or portrayals of character are life-like, and
+the book has an indescribable appealing quality which wins sympathy and
+secures success.
+
+          "It is delightful reading at all times."--_Cedar
+          Rapids (Ia.) Republican._
+
+          "It is well written, the story runs smoothly, the
+          idea is good, and it is handled with
+          ability."--_Chicago Journal._
+
+
+
+
+The Little Girl Next Door
+
+      By NINA RHOADES Large 12mo Cloth Illustrated
+      by Bertha Davidson $1.00
+
+[Illustration]
+
+A DELIGHTFUL story of true and genuine friendship between an impulsive
+little girl in a fine New York home and a little blind girl in an
+apartment next door. The little girl's determination to cultivate the
+acquaintance, begun out of the window during a rainy day, triumphs over
+the barriers of caste, and the little blind girl proves to be in every
+way a worthy companion. Later a mystery of birth is cleared up, and the
+little blind girl proves to be of gentle birth as well as of gentle
+manners.
+
+
+
+
+Winifred's Neighbors
+
+
+            By NINA RHOADES Illustrated
+            by Bertha G. Davidson Large
+            12mo Cloth $1.00
+
+[Illustration]
+
+LITTLE Winifred's efforts to find some children of whom she reads in a
+book lead to the acquaintance of a neighbor of the same name, and this
+acquaintance proves of the greatest importance to Winifred's own family.
+Through it all she is just such a little girl as other girls ought to
+know, and the story will hold the interest of all ages.
+
+      _For sale by all booksellers, or sent postpaid on receipt
+      of price by the publishers_
+
+            LOTHROP, LEE & SHEPARD CO., BOSTON
+
+
+
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+Transcriber's note:
+
+Obvious punctuation errors were corrected.
+
+Page 104, "stiches" changed to "stitches" (aunt's stitches had)
+
+Page 200, "Glass" changed to "Grass" (Keep off the Grass)
+
+Page 219, "Luly" changed to "Lulu" (Lulu Bell, one)
+
+
+
+***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GIRL FROM ARIZONA***
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