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diff --git a/32417.txt b/32417.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..cfcb7db --- /dev/null +++ b/32417.txt @@ -0,0 +1,9095 @@ +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 + file which includes the original illustrations. + 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*** + + +******* This file should be named 32417.txt or 32417.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/3/2/4/1/32417 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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