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+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 55837 ***
+
+The Rainbow Bridge
+
+
+
+
+BOOKS BY FRANCES MARGARET FOX
+
+ =WHAT GLADYS SAW.= A NATURE STORY OF FARM AND FOREST. With
+ full page illustration. Containing 318 pages. Cloth bound. Price,
+ $1.25.
+
+ =THE RAINBOW BRIDGE.= A STORY. With full page colored frontispiece.
+ Containing 254 pages. Cloth bound. Price, $1.25.
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration: MRS. MOORE ROCKED A BABY BEFORE THE NURSERY FIRE.]
+
+
+
+
+                The Rainbow Bridge
+
+                    A Story
+
+                       By
+               FRANCES MARGARET FOX
+
+       _Author of "What Gladys Saw," "Farmer
+            Brown and the Birds," etc._
+
+                  ILLUSTRATED BY
+                 FRANK T. MERRILL
+
+[Illustration]
+
+                 W. A. WILDE COMPANY
+              BOSTON             CHICAGO
+
+
+
+
+                  _Copyright, 1905_
+                BY W. A. WILDE COMPANY
+
+                _All rights reserved_
+
+                 THE RAINBOW BRIDGE
+
+
+
+
+                         _To
+              the dear friend of my childhood
+                    and later years
+                Mrs. William W. Crouch_
+
+
+
+
+Contents
+
+      I. A LITTLE PILGRIM BEGINS A JOURNEY           11
+
+     II. MARIAN'S FIRST DAY IN SCHOOL                19
+
+    III. SHE GOES TO CHURCH                          27
+
+     IV. AUNT AMELIA                                 40
+
+      V. MARIAN'S NEW HOME                           48
+
+     VI. THAT YELLOW CUCUMBER                        58
+
+    VII. AN UNDESERVING CHILD                        66
+
+   VIII. IN THE NAME OF SANTA CLAUS                  73
+
+     IX. AT THE RICH MAN'S TABLE                     83
+
+      X. A GAME OF SLICED BIRDS                      94
+
+     XI. THE WAY OF THE TRANSGRESSOR                105
+
+    XII. MARIAN'S DIARY                             127
+
+   XIII. DIPHTHERIA                                 146
+
+    XIV. MUSICAL CONVERSATIONS                      163
+
+     XV. LITTLE SISTER TO THE DANDELION             173
+
+    XVI. PROFESSOR LEE, BOTANIST                    185
+
+   XVII. THE COMPOSITION ON WILD FLOWERS            192
+
+  XVIII. MARIAN'S LETTER HOME                       199
+
+    XIX. THE MOST TRUTHFUL CHILD IN SCHOOL          204
+
+     XX. MORE CHANGES                               215
+
+    XXI. MARIAN REMEMBERS HER DIARY                 220
+
+   XXII. FLORENCE WESTON'S MOTHER                   231
+
+  XXIII. HOW MARIAN CROSSED THE RAINBOW BRIDGE      241
+
+
+
+
+The Rainbow Bridge
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I
+
+A LITTLE PILGRIM BEGINS A JOURNEY
+
+
+THERE was always room for one more in the Home for Little Pilgrims.
+Especially was this true of the nursery; not because the nursery was
+so large, nor because there was the least danger that the calico cats
+might be lonesome, but Mrs. Moore loved babies. It made no difference
+to her whether the wee strangers were white or black, bright or stupid,
+she treated them all alike. They were dressed, undressed, bathed, fed
+and put to sleep at exactly the same hours every day, that is, they
+were laid in their cribs whenever it was time for them to go to sleep.
+Little Pilgrims were never rocked and Mrs. Moore had no time for
+lullaby songs, whatever may have been her inclination.
+
+Yet there came a night when Mrs. Moore rocked a baby before the nursery
+fire and sung to it all the songs she knew. That was the night Marian
+Lee entered the Home with bright eyes wide open. She not only had her
+eyes open when she was placed in Mrs. Moore's arms, but she kept them
+open and somehow compelled Mrs. Moore to break her own rules and do as
+she had never done with a new baby.
+
+To be sure, Marian Lee couldn't talk, having started on her pilgrimage
+only six months before, but in a way of her own, she declared herself
+well pleased with the Home and with the nursery in particular. She
+enjoyed her bath and said so. The warm fire in the grate pleased
+her and Mrs. Moore's face was lovely, if a baby's ideas were of any
+account. The trouble began when Marian was carried into the still room
+where the sleeping Pilgrims were, and placed in a crib. The minute her
+head touched the pillow she began to cry. When Mrs. Moore left her,
+she cried louder. That awakened tiny Joe in the nearest crib and when
+he began to wail, Bennie and Johnnie, Sam and Katie, as well as half
+a dozen others joined in the chorus. Not to be outdone by these older
+Pilgrims, Marian screamed louder than any of them until Mrs. Moore took
+her back to the fire and quiet was restored.
+
+Now it was strictly against Mrs. Moore's rules to humor a baby in that
+fashion, and Mrs. Moore told Marian so, although she added in the next
+breath, "Poor little dear." The "poor little dear" was cooing once more
+and there really seemed nothing to do but kiss, and cuddle and rock the
+baby as her own mother might have done. She was so unlike the others in
+the Home; so soft, round and beautiful.
+
+"You are no ordinary baby, precious one," said Mrs. Moore, whereupon
+Marian laughed, flourished her hands and seemed much pleased. "I
+think," continued Mrs. Moore, as she kissed the pink fists, "I think
+some one has talked to you a great deal. My babies are different, poor
+little things, they don't talk back as you do."
+
+Before long, the rows of white cribs in the other room were forgotten
+and Mrs. Moore began singing to Marian as though she were the only baby
+in the big Home. Lullaby after lullaby she sang while the fire burned
+low, yet the baby would not sleep. Softly at last, Mrs. Moore began a
+lullaby long unsung:
+
+  "All the little birdies have gone to sleep,
+    Why does my pet so wide awake keep?
+  Peep, peep, go to sleep, peep, peep, go to sleep.
+
+  "All the little babies their prayers have said,
+    Their mothers have tucked them up snugly in bed.
+  Peep, peep, go to sleep, peep, peep, go to sleep."
+
+When the blue eyes closed, Mrs. Moore suddenly realized it was but
+another Little Pilgrim that she held and not her own baby so often
+hushed to sleep by that old lullaby many years ago. For the sake of
+that baby, Mrs. Moore had loved all the motherless little ones in the
+Home--all the unfortunate, neglected waifs brought to its doors. She
+had loved them impartially until that night. She had never before asked
+who a baby was, nor what its surroundings had been. Its future was
+her only concern. To care for each baby while it was in the nursery
+and to be sure it was placed in a good home when taken away, was all
+she wished to know. No baby had ever crept into Mrs. Moore's innermost
+heart as Marian did that night. An hour later the superintendent was
+surprised when Mrs. Moore asked for the history of that latest Little
+Pilgrim.
+
+"She's a fine child," mused the superintendent, adding cheerfully,
+"we'll have no trouble finding a home for her; I doubt if she's here a
+month."
+
+Mrs. Moore said nothing but she was sure Marian would stay more than a
+month. After she heard the superintendent's story, she was more sure
+of it. Thus it happened that tiny Joe, who was not a bit attractive,
+and Bennie and Johnnie, who were disagreeable babies if such a thing
+may be, and Sam and Katie whose fathers and mothers were drunkards, as
+well as a dozen other little waifs, were given away long before Marian
+learned to talk: Marian, the beautiful baby, was somehow always kept
+behind Mrs. Moore's skirts. As the child grew older, she was still
+kept in the background. The plainest dresses ever sent in to Little
+Pilgrims, were given to Marian. Her hair was kept short and when
+special visitors were expected, she was taken to the playground by an
+older girl. All this time a happier baby never lived than Marian. No
+one in the Home knew how tenderly Mrs. Moore loved her. No one knew of
+the caresses lavished upon her when the infant Pilgrims were busy with
+their blocks or asleep in their cribs.
+
+At last the superintendent questioned Mrs. Moore. He said it seemed
+strange that no one wished to adopt so lovely a child. Mrs. Moore
+explained. She told the superintendent she hoped Marian would be
+claimed by folks of her own, but if not--Mrs. Moore hesitated at that
+and the superintendent understood.
+
+"We won't give her away," he promised, "until we find the right kind of
+a mother for her. That child shall have a good home."
+
+Too soon to please Mrs. Moore, Marian outgrew her crib and went
+to sleep in the dormitory. The child was pleased with the change,
+especially as Mrs. Moore tucked her in bed and kissed her every night
+just as she had done in the nursery. Marian was glad to be no longer
+a baby. The dormitory with its rows and rows of little white beds,
+delighted the child, and to be allowed to sit up hours after the babies
+were asleep was pure joy.
+
+The dining-room was another pleasure. To sit down to dinner with two
+hundred little girls and boys and to be given one of the two hundred
+bright bibs, filled her heart with pride. The bibs certainly were an
+attraction. Marian was glad hers was pink. She buttoned it to her chair
+after dinner just as she saw the others do.
+
+One thing troubled Marian. She wished Mrs. Moore to sit at the table
+beside her and drink milk from a big, white mug. "Do childrens always
+have dinner all alone?" she asked.
+
+Instead of answering the child, Mrs. Moore told her to run away and
+play. Then she looked out of the window for a long, long time. Perhaps
+she had done wrong after all in keeping the baby so long in a "Home
+with a capital H."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II
+
+MARIAN'S FIRST DAY IN SCHOOL
+
+
+THERE was no kindergarten in the Home for Little Pilgrims when Marian
+was a baby. The child was scarcely five when she marched into the
+schoolroom to join the changing ranks of little folks who were such a
+puzzle to their teacher. Every day one or more new faces appeared in
+that schoolroom and every day familiar faces were gone. For that reason
+alone it was a hard school to manage.
+
+The teacher, who had been many years in the Home, smiled as she found
+a seat for Marian in the front row. Marian at least might be depended
+upon to come regularly to school: then, too, she would learn easily
+and be a credit to her instructor. Plain dresses and short hair might
+do their worst, the face of the child attracted attention. The teacher
+smiled again as Marian sat in the front seat before her, with hands
+folded, waiting to see what might happen next.
+
+Roll call interested the child. She wondered why the little girls and
+boys said "Present" when the teacher read their names from a big book.
+Once in a while when a name was called, nobody answered. Finally the
+teacher, smiling once more, said, "Marian Lee." The little girl sat
+perfectly still with lips tightly closed.
+
+"You must say 'present' when your name is called," suggested the
+teacher.
+
+No response.
+
+"Say present," the teacher repeated.
+
+"But I don't like this kind of play," Marian protested, and then
+wondered why all the children laughed and the teacher looked annoyed.
+
+"But you must say present," the young lady insisted and Marian obeyed,
+though she thought it a silly game.
+
+The things that happened in the schoolroom that morning were many and
+queer. A little boy had to stand on the floor in front of the teacher's
+desk because he threw a paper wad. Then when the teacher wasn't looking
+he aimed another at Marian and hit her on the nose and when Marian
+laughed aloud, the teacher, who didn't know what happened, shook her
+head and looked cross. It distressed Marian so to have the teacher look
+cross that she felt miserable and wondered what folks went to school
+for anyway. A few moments later, she knew. The primer class was called
+and Marian, being told to do so, followed a dozen Little Pilgrims to
+the recitation seat where she was told that children go to school to
+learn their letters. Marian knew her letters, having learned them from
+the blocks in the nursery.
+
+"You must learn to read," advised the teacher, and Marian stared
+helplessly about the schoolroom. She felt sure it wouldn't be a bit of
+fun to learn to read. Nor was it, if her first lesson was a sample.
+
+It wasn't long before Marian was tired of sitting still. She wasn't
+used to it. At last she remembered that in her pocket was a china doll,
+an inch high. On her desk was the new primer. The cover was pasteboard
+and of course one could chew pasteboard. The china doll needed a crib
+and as there seemed nothing to make a crib of but the cover of her
+primer, Marian chewed a corner of it, flattened it out and fitted the
+doll in. It pleased her, and she showed it to the little girl in the
+next seat. Soon the teacher noticed that Marian was turning around and
+showing her primer to all the children near, and the children were
+smiling.
+
+"Marian, bring your book to me," said the teacher. Then there was
+trouble. Little Pilgrims had to be taught not to chew their books. The
+teacher gave Marian what one of the older girls called a "Lecture," and
+Marian cried.
+
+"I didn't have anything to do," she sobbed.
+
+"Nothing to do?" exclaimed the teacher, "why, little girl, you should
+study your lesson as you see the other children doing. That is why you
+are in school--to study."
+
+Marian went to her seat, but how to study she didn't know. She watched
+the other children bending over their books, making noises with their
+lips, so she bent over her primer and made so much noise the teacher
+told her she must keep still.
+
+"Why, Marian," said the young lady, "what makes you so naughty? I
+thought you were a good little girl!"
+
+Poor Marian didn't know what to think. Tears, however, cleared her
+views. She decided that as going to school was a thing that must be
+endured because Mrs. Moore would be displeased otherwise, it would do
+no good to make a fuss. She would draw pictures on her slate or play
+with the stones in her pocket--anything to pass the time. There was
+a great deal in knowing what one could or could not do safely, and
+Marian learned that lesson faster than she learned to read. When she
+was dismissed that afternoon, the little girl flew to the nursery to
+tell Mrs. Moore about her first school day. Soon after when Marian ran
+laughing into the hall on her way to the playground, she met Janey
+Clark who sat behind her in school.
+
+"Is Mrs. Moore your ma?" asked Janey.
+
+"What's a ma?" inquired Marian, seizing Janey's two hands.
+
+"A ma," was the reply, "why a ma is a mother. Is Mrs. Moore your
+mother?"
+
+"Maybe," agreed Marian. "Oh, no, she isn't either. I know all about
+mothers, we sing about 'em, of course. I guess I never had one."
+
+"My mother just died," declared Janey, tossing her head in an important
+way that aroused Marian's envy.
+
+"Well, mine died too!" responded Marian.
+
+"Did you have a funeral?" persisted Janey.
+
+"Did you?" Marian cautiously inquired.
+
+"Well I should say yes," was the reply.
+
+"Then I did too," observed Marian.
+
+"Well," remarked Janey, "that's nothing to brag of; I don't suppose
+there's anybody in this Home that got here unless all their folks died
+dead. We are here because we don't belong anywhere else, and we are
+going to be given away to folks that'll take us, pretty soon."
+
+That was too much for Marian. "Why, Janey Clark, what a talk!" she
+exclaimed, then turning, she ran back to the nursery.
+
+"Nanna, Nanna!" she cried, "where's my mother?"
+
+Mrs. Moore almost dropped a fretful baby at the question.
+
+"Did I ever have a mother?" continued the child, whose dark blue eyes
+looked black she was so much in earnest. "I thought mothers were just
+only in singing, but Janey Clark had a mother and she died, and if
+Janey Clark had a mother, I guess I had one too that died."
+
+The fretful baby was given to an assistant and Mrs. Moore took Marian
+in her lap. "What else did Janey tell you?" she asked.
+
+"Well, Janey said that all of us childrens are going to be gived away
+to folks. Mrs. Moore, did all the childrens that live here have mothers
+that died?"
+
+"Not all of them, Marian, some of the mothers are living and the
+children will go back to them: but your mother, little girl, will never
+come back for you. God took her away when He sent you to us. We keep
+little children here in our home until we find new fathers and mothers
+for them. Sometimes lovely mothers come here for little girls like
+you. How is it, Marian, do you want a mother?"
+
+The child nodded her head and looked so pleased Mrs. Moore was
+disappointed. It would be hard enough to part with the child anyway,
+but to think she wished to go was surprising.
+
+Two soft arms stole around Mrs. Moore's neck. "I'm going to have you
+for my mother," Marian explained, "and I'm going to live here always. I
+don't want to be gived away."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III
+
+SHE GOES TO CHURCH
+
+
+JANEY CLARK was taken ill one day and was carried to the hospital. When
+she returned months afterward, she had something to tell Marian.
+
+"You want to get yourself adopted," was her advice. "I'm going to,
+first chance I get. When I was too well to stay in the hospital and not
+enough well to come home, a pretty lady came and said would I like to
+go to her house and stay until I was all better."
+
+"Did she 'dopt you?" questioned Marian.
+
+"No, of course not, or I could have stayed at her house and she would
+be my mother. She didn't want to keep me but only to borrow me so
+the children she is aunt to would know about Little Pilgrims and
+how lucky it is not to be one their own selves. And at her house,"
+continued Janey, "if you liked something they had for dinner pretty
+well, you could have a second helping, if you would say please. You
+better believe I said it when there was ice cream. And the children
+she was aunt to took turns dividing chocolate candy with me, and the
+only trouble was they gave me too much and made me sick most all the
+time. What do you think! One day a girl said she wished I was a little
+cripple like a boy that was there once, because she liked to be kind
+to little cripples and wash their faces. Wasn't she just lovely? Oh,
+Marian, I want to be adopted and have a mother like that lady and a
+room all my own and everything."
+
+"But I would rather live with Mrs. Moore," objected Marian. "I've
+picked her out for my mother."
+
+"All right for you, stay here if you want to," agreed Janey, "but I'm
+not, you just wait and see."
+
+Janey Clark was adopted soon after and when Marian was invited to visit
+her, she changed her mind about living forever in the Home for Little
+Pilgrims. Mrs. Moore promised to choose a mother for her from the many
+visitors to the Home, yet she and Marian proved hard to suit.
+
+"I want a mother just like my Nanna," said Marian to the
+superintendent, who agreed to do all he could to find one. In spite of
+his help Marian seemed likely to stay in the Home, not because no one
+wanted her but because the child objected to the mothers who offered
+themselves. All these months the little girl was so happy and contented
+the superintendent said she was like a sunbeam among the Little
+Pilgrims and if the school-teacher had some ideas that he and Mrs.
+Moore didn't share, she smiled and said nothing.
+
+In time, Marian talked of the mother she wished to have as she did of
+heaven--of something beautiful but too indefinite and far away to be
+more than a dream. One never-to-be-forgotten morning, the dream took
+shape. A woman visited the Home, leading a little girl by the hand. A
+woman so lovely the face of the dullest Little Pilgrim lighted as she
+passed. It was not so much the bright gold of her hair, nor the blue
+eyes that attracted the children, but the way she smiled and the way
+she spoke won them all.
+
+She was the mother for whom Marian had waited. It didn't occur to the
+child that the woman might not want her.
+
+It was noon before the strangers were through visiting the chapel, the
+schoolroom, the nursery and the dormitories. Like a shadow Marian had
+followed them over the building, fearing to lose sight of her chosen
+mother. On reaching the dining-room the woman and child, with the
+superintendent, stood outside the door where they watched the Little
+Pilgrims march in to dinner. Noticing Marian, the superintendent asked
+her why she didn't go to the table, and Marian tried to tell him but
+couldn't speak a word. The man was about to send her in the dining-room
+when he caught the appealing look on the child's face. At that moment
+the stranger turned. Marian seized her dress and the woman, glancing
+down, saw the dear little one and stooping, kissed her.
+
+The superintendent smiled but Marian began to cry as the woman tried
+ever so gently to release her dress from the small, clinging fingers.
+
+"We must go now," the stranger said, "so good-bye, dear child."
+
+"I'm going with you," announced Marian. "I want you for my mother."
+
+"But, don't you see, I have a little girl? What could I do with two?"
+remonstrated the woman. "There, there," she continued, as Marian began
+to sob piteously, "run in to dinner and some day I will come to see
+you again. Perhaps they may let you visit my little girl and me before
+long. Would you like that?"
+
+"No, no," wailed Marian, "I want you for my mother."
+
+"Come, Marian, sweetheart, let's go find Mrs. Moore," suggested the
+superintendent, taking her by force from the visitor, whose eyes
+filled with tears at the sight of little outstretched arms. For years
+afterwards there were times when that woman seemed to feel the clinging
+fingers of the Little Pilgrim who chose her for her mother. She might
+have taken her home. The next time she called to inquire for the
+child, Marian was gone.
+
+An unexpected thing happened as Marian was borne away to the nursery.
+The stranger's little girl cried and would not be comforted because
+she couldn't stay and have dinner with the Little Pilgrims. She was
+still grieving over her first sorrow after Mrs. Moore had succeeded in
+winning back the smiles to the face of her precious Marian.
+
+"Well, I know one sure thing," declared the Little Pilgrim as she
+raised her head from Mrs. Moore's shoulder and brushed away the tears.
+"I know that same mother will come and get me some time and take me
+home and then you will come and live with me--and won't it be lovely!
+Let's have some dinner, I'm hungry!"
+
+Mrs. Moore smiled and sighed at the same time, but she ordered a
+luncheon for two served in the nursery and Marian's troubles vanished:
+also the luncheon.
+
+The next time the superintendent saw the child, she was sitting on the
+nursery floor singing to the babies. He was surprised and pleased when
+he heard the sweet, clear voice and straightway sought Mrs. Moore.
+
+"Let me take her Sunday," he suggested. "I didn't know our Marian was a
+singer."
+
+"Are you going into the country?" asked the nurse.
+
+"No, Mrs. Moore, not this time. We expect to have services in one of
+the largest churches right here in the city. We have made special
+arrangements and I shall take twenty-five of the best singers in the
+Home with me. Marian will have plenty of company."
+
+"She is young," objected Mrs. Moore.
+
+The superintendent laughed. "Petey Ross," said he, "was two years old
+when he made his first public appearance on the platform; Marian is
+nearly six."
+
+"Yes," agreed Mrs. Moore, "that is true and I remember that Petey
+Ross was adopted and in less than a week after that first appearance.
+Marian," she continued, "come here, darling. Do you want to go to a big
+church with the children next Sunday and sing one of the songs you and
+I sing to the babies?"
+
+"Yes, Nanna, what for?"
+
+"Because the superintendent wishes you to. Every Sunday he takes some
+of our little boys and girls away to sing in the different churches,
+where he tells the people all about the Home for Little Pilgrims."
+
+"Oh, yes, now I know," declared Marian. "Janey Clark used to go and
+sing. She said that was the way to get yourself adopted. I'd like to go
+if I don't have to get adopted and if Nanna may go too."
+
+"All right, Marian, I will go," assented Mrs. Moore, "and nobody shall
+adopt you unless you wish it. Now run back to the babies. Little Ned
+and Jakey are quarreling over the elephant. Hurry, Marian, or its ears
+will be gone."
+
+"She'll demand a salary in another year," remarked the superintendent,
+watching the little girl's successful management of the babies.
+
+"I shouldn't know how to get along without her," said Mrs. Moore, "and
+yet it isn't right to let her grow up here."
+
+Sunday morning it would have been hard to find a happier child than
+Marian anywhere in the big city. She had never been in a church before
+and quickly forgot her pretty white dress and curls in the wonder
+of it all. She sat on the platform, a radiant little Pilgrim among
+the twenty-five waifs. Soon the church was filled. After the opening
+exercises the service was turned over to the superintendent of the Home
+for Little Pilgrims. He made a few remarks, and then asked Marian to
+sing. Pleased by the friendly faces in the pews and encouraged by Mrs.
+Moore's presence, Marian sang timidly at first, then joyously as to the
+babies in the nursery.
+
+  "'I am Jesus' little lamb
+  Happy all the day I am,
+  Jesus loves me this I know
+  For I'm His lamb.'"
+
+As she went on with the song, the little girl was surprised to see many
+of the audience in tears. Even Mrs. Moore was wiping her eyes, although
+she smiled bravely and Marian knew she was not displeased. What could
+be the matter with the folks that bright Sunday morning? Janey Clark
+said everybody always cried at funerals. Perhaps it was a funeral. At
+the close of her song Marian sat down, much puzzled. After Johnnie
+Otis recited the poem he always recited on Visitors' Day at school,
+"The Orphan's Prayer," all the Little Pilgrims, Marian included, were
+asked to sing their chapel song. What was there sad about that, Marian
+wondered. She always sang it over and over to the babies to make them
+stop crying.
+
+  "It is all for the best, oh, my Father,
+    All for the best, all for the best."
+
+When the Little Pilgrims were seated, the superintendent made a speech
+to which Marian listened. For the first time in her life she knew the
+meaning of the Home for Little Pilgrims. She understood at last all
+that Janey Clark had tried to tell her. No wonder the people cried.
+Marian stared at the superintendent, longing and dreading to hear more.
+Story after story he told of wrecked homes and scattered families; of
+little children, homeless and friendless left to their fate upon the
+street.
+
+"Whatever may be the causes which bring these waifs to our doors,
+remember," said he, "the children themselves are not to blame. It is
+through no fault of theirs their young lives have been saddened and
+trouble has come upon them while your little ones are loved and cared
+for in comfortable homes."
+
+The superintendent grew eloquent as he went on. How could it be, Marian
+wondered, that she had never known before what a sad, sad place was
+the Little Pilgrims' Home? Where did her mother die and where was
+her father? Perhaps he was in the dreadful prison mentioned by the
+superintendent. It was such a pitiful thing to be a Little Pilgrim.
+Marian wondered how she had ever lived so long. Oh, if she could
+change places with one of the fortunate little ones in the pews. The
+superintendent was right. Every little girl needed a father and mother
+of her own. She wanted the lovely mother who had passed her by. What
+was the superintendent saying? something about her? The next thing
+Marian knew the man had taken her in his arms and placed her upon the
+little table beside him. She thought he said "'For of such is the
+Kingdom of Heaven,'"--she wasn't sure.
+
+In the quiet moment that followed, Marian looked all over the church
+for the mother of her dreams. Maybe she was there and perhaps she would
+take her home. If she could only see that one face for a moment.
+
+"I am going to ask our little girl for another song," the
+superintendent said, telling Marian what to sing. The child hesitated,
+then looked appealing towards Mrs. Moore. She had forgotten her during
+the speech--dear, kind Mrs. Moore.
+
+"Don't be frightened," whispered the superintendent, whereupon to the
+surprise of every one in the church, Marian put her head upon his
+shoulder and sobbed aloud, "I don't want to be a Little Pilgrim any
+more! Oh, I don't want to be a Little Pilgrim any more!"
+
+Another second and Mrs. Moore's arms were around the child and the
+superintendent was alone on the platform with the twenty-five.
+
+"He told me to take you for a walk in the park," whispered Mrs. Moore,
+"so don't cry, Marian, and we will leave the church quickly as we can.
+We will talk about the Little Pilgrims out in the sunshine where the
+birds are singing and we can see the blue sky."
+
+Mrs. Moore would have been tempted to have stayed in the church had she
+known the superintendent's reason for wishing her to take the child
+away; nor would the good man have done as he did, could he have guessed
+the immediate consequences. When Marian was gone, the superintendent
+told her story effectively. She might have had her choice of many homes
+within a week had it not been for the appearance of Aunt Amelia.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV
+
+AUNT AMELIA
+
+
+THERE was no question about it. Aunt Amelia had a perfect right to
+claim the child. The superintendent was sorry to admit it, but what
+could he do? Mrs. Moore was heartbroken, but she was powerless. The
+proofs were positive. Aunt Amelia's husband and Marian Lee's father
+were half-brothers and here was Aunt Amelia insisting upon her right to
+do her duty by the child.
+
+Marian never heard of Aunt Amelia until it was all over and the
+superintendent sent for her. She came dancing into the office, her
+face aglow until she saw Aunt Amelia. Then the sunshine faded from
+her eyes and she shrank past the stranger, scarcely breathing until
+the superintendent's arms were about her. From that safe shelter she
+surveyed Aunt Amelia.
+
+There was nothing in the woman's appearance to inspire confidence in
+a little child. She was tall, thin, bloodless. One felt conscious of
+the bones in her very forehead. She wore her scant, black hair in wiry
+crimps parted in the middle. Her eyes were the color of stone, while
+her lips formed a thin, pale lone line closing over projecting front
+teeth. There was a brittle look about her ears and nose as though a
+blow might shatter them. Angles completed the picture.
+
+"You say you have a child of your own, Mrs. St. Claire?" The
+superintendent asked the question doubtfully. It seemed probable that
+his ears had deceived him.
+
+"I have," was the reply.
+
+"Then Marian will be sure of a playmate." The man seemed talking to
+himself.
+
+"If she behaves herself--perhaps," was the response.
+
+"What do you mean?" demanded the superintendent.
+
+"I think I expressed myself clearly," said Mrs. St. Claire. "If Marian
+behaves and is worthy of my little daughter's companionship, we may
+allow them to play together occasionally."
+
+"Does she want to 'dopt me?" whispered Marian; "tell her no, quick--I
+got to go back to the nursery. Put me down."
+
+"I am your Aunt Amelia," announced the woman, "and I have come to take
+you to Michigan to live with your Uncle George and me."
+
+"Where did I get any Uncle George?" asked Marian, turning to the
+superintendent.
+
+"It isn't necessary to give a mere child too much information," put in
+Mrs. St. Claire; "it is enough for her to know that she has relatives
+who are willing to take her and do their duty by her."
+
+Regardless of this the man answered one of the questions he saw in
+Marian's solemn blue eyes.
+
+"Your uncle and aunt," he explained, "are visiting in the city; they
+were in church last Sunday when you sang. When relatives come for
+Little Pilgrims, Marian, we have to let them go."
+
+"You will not send me away with--her!" exclaimed the child, terror and
+entreaty expressed in the uplifted face.
+
+"Dear child, we must."
+
+"But I won't go, I won't go," cried Marian, clinging to the
+superintendent for protection. "Oh, you won't send me away, Mrs. Moore
+won't let them take me--I won't go! Please let me stay until the pretty
+mother comes again and I will ask her to take me and I know she will.
+Oh, if you love me, don't send me away with her!"
+
+"It is just as I told my husband Sunday morning," remarked Mrs. St.
+Claire as the superintendent tried to soothe Marian's violent grief. "I
+said the child was subject to tantrums. It is sad to see such traits
+cropping out in one so young. Lack of training may have much to do with
+it. Other influences----"
+
+"Pardon me, madam," interrupted the superintendent, "you forget that
+this little one has been with us since she was six months old. Mrs.
+Moore has been a mother to her in every sense of the word. It is only
+natural that she dreads going among strangers. She is a good little
+girl and we all love her. Hush, sweetheart," he whispered to the
+sobbing, trembling child, "perhaps your aunt may decide to leave you
+with us."
+
+"I--I--I won't--won't go," protested Marian, "I--I won't go, I won't
+go!"
+
+"Are you willing, madam, to give this child to us?" continued the
+superintendent; "perhaps you may wish to relinquish your claim, under
+the circumstances."
+
+"I never shrink from my duty," declared the woman, rising as she spoke,
+grim determination in every line of her purple gown; "my husband
+feels it a disgrace to find his brother's child in an orphan asylum.
+She cannot be left in a charitable institution while we have a crust
+to bestow upon her. She will take nothing from this place except the
+articles which belonged to her mother. I will call for the child at
+eight this evening. Good-morning, sir."
+
+"I--I won't go--I--won't go! You--you needn't come for me!" Marian had
+the last word that time.
+
+The babies were left to the care of assistant nurses that afternoon.
+Mrs. Moore held Marian and rocked her as on that night so long before
+when she became a little Pilgrim. For some time neither of them spoke
+and tears fell like rain above the brown head nestled in Mrs. Moore's
+arms. Marian was the first to break the silence. "I--I won't go, I
+won't go," she repeated between choking sobs, "I--I won't go, I won't
+go, she'll find out she won't get me!"
+
+Mrs. Moore tried to think of something to say. Just then a merry voice
+was heard singing in the hall outside,
+
+  "It is all for the best, oh, my Father,
+   All for the best, all for the best."
+
+"Will they let me come to see you every day?" asked Marian when the
+singer was beyond hearing. "Will they?" she repeated as Mrs. Moore made
+no answer. "Where is Michigan, anyway? What street car goes out there?"
+
+It was some time before Mrs. Moore could speak. Her strongest impulse
+was to hide the precious baby. What would become of her darling among
+unloving strangers? Who would teach her right from wrong? Suddenly
+Mrs. Moore realized that in days to come there might be time enough for
+tears. There were yet a few hours left her with the little girl which
+she must improve.
+
+Gently and tenderly she told Marian the truth. Michigan was far, far
+away. She must go alone, to live among strangers--yet not alone, for
+there was One in heaven who would be with her and who would watch over
+her and love her always, as He had in the Home. Poor Marian heard the
+voice but the words meant nothing to her until long afterwards. Mrs.
+Moore herself could never recall just what she said that sad day. She
+knew she tried to tell Marian to be brave, to be good; to tell the
+truth and do right: but more than once she broke down and wept with her
+darling.
+
+When Mrs. St. Claire called at eight, she was greeted by a quiet,
+submissive child who said she was ready to go. More than that, the
+little thing tried to smile as she promised to be a good girl. Perhaps
+the smile wouldn't have been so easily discouraged if Mrs. St. Claire
+had kissed the swollen, tear-stained face, or had said one comforting
+word.
+
+The time of parting came. When it was over, Mrs. Moore lifted the
+sobbing child into the carriage. Then she knew that in spite of the
+stars the night was dark.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V
+
+MARIAN'S NEW HOME
+
+
+THE second day of the journey to the new home, Marian laughed aloud.
+She had slept well the night before and had taken a lively interest in
+everything she saw from the time she was awakened by the first glimpse
+of daylight through the sleeper windows. Not that she was happy, far
+from it, but it was something that she wasn't utterly miserable.
+
+Uncle George was pleasanter than his wife, and although he said little
+from behind his newspaper, that little was encouraging: his tones were
+kind.
+
+Ella St. Claire, the cousin, three years younger than Marian, was
+inclined to be friendly. Left to themselves the children might have
+had a delightful time, but Mrs. St. Claire had no intention of leaving
+the two to themselves; it was not part of her plan. Marian made
+several attempts to get acquainted and Ella kept edging away from her
+mother, until in the middle of the forenoon, Mrs. St. Claire remarked
+that if she wished to have any peace she must separate the children.
+Accordingly she took Ella by the hand and went several seats back,
+leaving Marian alone. As she left, Ella begged for a cooky.
+
+"I'm hungry, too," added Marian.
+
+Mrs. St. Claire gave Ella the cooky and passed a bit of dry bread to
+Marian.
+
+"If you please," suggested Marian, "I like cookies, too."
+
+"You will take what I give you or go without," said Mrs. St. Claire;
+"you can't be starving after the breakfast you ate in Buffalo."
+
+Marian, sorry she had spoken, dropped from sight in the high-backed
+seat. There was a lump in her throat and so deep a longing for the
+Home she had left it was hard to keep the tears back. Just then an old
+man began snoring so loud the passengers smiled and Marian laughed in
+spite of herself. Having laughed once she grew more cheerful. There
+were green fields and bits of woodland to be seen from the car windows,
+cows, sheep, bright flowers growing along the track, country roads and
+little children playing in their yards, sitting on fences and waving
+their hands to the passing train. Wonderful sights for a child straight
+from the Little Pilgrims' Home in a big city.
+
+Uncle George, growing tired of his paper, crossed the aisle and sat
+down beside his niece. Marian looked up with a happy smile. "I wish the
+cars would stop where the flowers grow," she said, "I'd like to pick
+some."
+
+"The cars will stop where the flowers grow," answered the man. "When we
+get home you will live among the flowers; Marian, will you like that?"
+
+"Oh, goody!" the child exclaimed. "Oh, I am so glad! May I pick some
+flowers?"
+
+"Indeed you may, and we'll go to the woods where the wild flowers are.
+Were you ever in the woods?"
+
+Marian shook her head. "I've been in the Public Gardens and on the
+Common, though, and I know all about woods."
+
+"Who told you about the woods?"
+
+"Nanna--Mrs. Moore."
+
+"Was she your nurse?"
+
+"Yes, Uncle George, she was my everybody. I love her more than anybody
+else in the world. She is the prettiest, nicest one in the Home."
+
+"See here, little girl," interrupted the man, "will you promise me
+something?"
+
+"Why, yes, what is it?"
+
+"I want you to do me this one favor. Don't tell any one you were ever
+in an orphan's home."
+
+The child was silent. "What will I talk about?" she finally asked.
+
+Uncle George laughed. "Take my advice and don't say much about
+anything," was his suggestion. "You'll find it the easiest way to get
+along. But whatever you talk about, don't mention that Home."
+
+Later, Aunt Amelia added a word on the same subject, but in a manner so
+harsh Marian became convinced that to have lived in an orphan asylum
+was a disgrace equal perhaps to a prison record. She determined never
+to mention the Home for Little Pilgrims. Janey Clark must have known
+what she was talking about and even Mrs. Moore, when questioned, had
+admitted that if she had a little girl it would make her feel sad to
+know she lived in a Home. Before the journey was ended Marian was
+thankful that relatives had claimed her. Perhaps if she tried hard, she
+might be able to win Aunt Amelia's love. She would be a good little
+girl and do her best.
+
+One thing Marian learned before she had lived ten days with Aunt
+Amelia. The part of the house where she was welcome was the outside.
+Fortunately it was summer and the new home was in a country town where
+streets were wide and the yards were large. Back of Aunt Amelia's
+garden was an orchard, and there or in the locust grove near by, Marian
+passed untroubled hours. The front lawn, bordered with shrubs and
+flower beds, was pleasing enough, but it wasn't the place for Marian
+who was not allowed to pick a blossom, although the pansies begged for
+more chance to bloom. She could look at the pansies though, and feel
+of the roses if Aunt Amelia was out of sight. How Marian loved the
+roses--especially the velvety pink ones. She told them how much she
+loved them, and if the roses made no response to the endearing terms
+lavished upon them, at least they never turned away, nor said unkind,
+hard things to make her cry and long for Mrs. Moore.
+
+When Marian had been with the St. Claires a week, Aunt Amelia told her
+she could never hope to hear from Mrs. Moore, partly because Mrs. Moore
+didn't know where she lived, and also because Mrs. Moore would gladly
+forget such a bad tempered, ungrateful little girl.
+
+The pink roses under the blue sky were a comfort then. So were the
+birds. Day after day Marian gave them messages to carry to Mrs. Moore.
+She talked to them in the orchard and in the locust grove, and many
+a wild bird listened, with its head on one side, to the loving words
+of the little girl and then flew straight away over the tree-tops
+and the house-tops, away and away out of sight. Several weeks passed
+before Marian knew that she might pick dandelions and clover blossoms,
+Bouncing Bet and all the roadside blooms, to her heart's content. That
+was joy!
+
+Under a wide-spreading apple-tree, Marian made a collection of
+treasures she found in the yard. Curious stones were chief among them.
+Bits of moss, pretty twigs, bright leaves, broken china, colored
+glass--there was no end to the resources of that yard. One morning she
+found a fragile cup of blue. It looked like a tiny bit of painted egg
+shell, but how could an egg be so small, and who could have painted it?
+She carried the wonder to Uncle George who told her it was part of a
+robin's egg.
+
+"Who ate it?" asked Marian, whereupon Uncle George explained to her
+what the merest babies knew in the world outside the city. More than
+that, he went to the orchard, found a robin's nest on the low branch of
+an apple-tree, and lifted her on his shoulder so that she might see it.
+There were four blue eggs in the nest. Marian wanted to break them to
+see the baby birds inside, but Uncle George cautioned her to wait and
+let the mother bird take care of her own round cradle.
+
+In the meantime Madam Robin scolded Uncle George and Marian until they
+left the tree to watch her from a distance. That robin's nest filled
+Marian's every thought for days and days. When the baby birds were
+hatched she was so anxious to see them oftener than Uncle George had
+time to lift her on his shoulder, she learned to climb the tree. After
+that Marian was oftener in the apple-trees than under them. Had there
+been no rainy days and had the summer lasted all the year, Marian would
+have been a fortunate child. Aunt Amelia called her a tomboy and said
+no one would ever catch Ella St. Claire climbing trees and running like
+a wild child across the yard and through the locust grove.
+
+The two children admired each other. Had it been possible they would
+have played together all the time. Marian, who became a sun-browned
+romp, thought there never was such a dainty creature as her delicate,
+white-skinned cousin Ella, whose long black curls were never tumbled
+by the wind or play: and Ella never missed a chance to talk with her
+laughing, joyous cousin, who could always think of something new.
+
+Aunt Amelia said that Ella wasn't the same child when she was left
+with Marian for half an hour, and she could not allow the children to
+play together for her little daughter's sake. It was her duty as a
+mother to guard that little daughter from harmful influences.
+
+This was the talk to which Marian listened day after day. It grieved
+her to the quick. Again and again, especially on rainy days, she
+promised Aunt Amelia that she would be good, and each time Aunt Amelia
+sent her to her room to think over the bad things she had done and what
+an ungrateful child she was. Although Marian became convinced that she
+was a bad child, she couldn't sit down and think of her sins long at a
+time, and her penitent spells usually ended in a concert. Uncle George
+took her to one early in the summer, and ever after, playing concert
+was one of Marian's favorite games. She had committed "Bingen on the
+Rhine" to memory from hearing it often read in school at the Home, and
+on rainy days when sent to her room, she chanted it, wailed it and
+recited it until poor Ella was unhappy and discontented because she
+could have no part in the fun.
+
+Ella had a toy piano kept as an ornament. Marian's piano was a chair,
+her stool was a box and her sheet music, an almanac: but in her soul
+was joy.
+
+"What can you do with such a child?" demanded Aunt Amelia.
+
+"Let her alone," counseled Uncle George.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI
+
+THAT YELLOW CUCUMBER
+
+
+ONE summer day the St. Claires were the guests of a farmer who lived a
+few miles from town. Ella stayed in the house with her mother and the
+farmer's wife, but Marian saw the farm; the cows and the sheep and the
+fields of grain. She asked more questions that day than the hired man
+ever answered at one time in his life before, and when night came he
+and Marian were tired.
+
+"She knows as much about farming as I do," the man said with a laugh
+as he put the sleepy child on the back seat of the carriage when the
+family were ready to go home.
+
+"I've had a lovely time, Mr. Hired Man," Marian roused herself to
+remark, "and to-morrow I'm going to play farm."
+
+"Good haying weather," the man suggested with a smile; "better get your
+barns up quick's you can."
+
+"I'm going to," was the response; "it's a lovely game."
+
+Whatever Marian saw or heard that pleased her fancy, she played.
+Stories that were read to the little Ella were enacted again and again
+in Marian's room if the day was rainy, out in the orchard or the locust
+grove if the day was fair. Farming promised to be the most interesting
+game of all.
+
+Early the next morning Marian visited what she called the yarrow jungle
+ever since Uncle George read jungle stories to Ella. More than one
+queer looking creature tried to keep out of sight when her footsteps
+were heard. The old black beetle scampered away as fast as his six legs
+would carry him, though it can't be possible he remembered the time
+when Marian captured him for her museum. Crickets gathered up their
+fiddles, seeking safety beyond the fence. Perhaps they thought Marian
+wanted them to play in the orchestra at another snail wedding. Even the
+ants hastened to the hills beyond the jungle, leaving only the old toad
+to wink and blink at the happy one of whom he had no fear.
+
+"Well, Mr. Toad," said she, "why don't you hop along? I've come to
+make my farm out here where the yarrow grows. Why don't you live in
+the garden land? I would if I were you. Don't you know about the cool
+tomato groves and the cabbage tents? I've got to clear away this jungle
+so the sun may shine upon my farm the way the country man said. You
+really must go, so hop along and stop winking and blinking at me." The
+old toad wouldn't stir, so for his sake Marian spared the yarrow jungle.
+
+"After all, I'll make my farm here on the border-land," said she, while
+the daisies nodded and the buttercups shone brighter than before.
+"Only, I'll tell you one thing, Mr. Toad, that maybe you won't like.
+If you will stay there, you'll have to be an elephant in the jungle.
+There, now, I s'pose you are sorry. I say--be an elephant and now you
+are one." The toad didn't mind a bit. He was so used to being changed
+into all sorts of animals that he never seemed to notice whether he was
+an elephant or a kangaroo.
+
+Day after day Marian worked upon her farm, enclosing fields and
+meadows with high stone walls, clearing roads and planting trees.
+Whatever she touched became what she wished it to be. Pasteboard
+match-boxes became houses and barns. Sticks became men working upon
+the farm and spools were wagons bearing loads of hay from place to
+place. At a word from her, green apples, standing upon four twigs, were
+instantly changed, becoming pigs, cows, sheep and horses. Kernels of
+yellow corn were chickens. It was a wonderful farm and for many a sunny
+hour Marian was happy. Even the old toad, winking and blinking beneath
+the shadow of the yarrow jungle, must have known it.
+
+At last there came a morning when the child went strolling through the
+garden. Suddenly, while singing her usual merry song, the joyous look
+faded from her face. She no longer saw the butterflies floating about
+nor cared that the bumble-bee wore his best velvet coat. There were
+tiny green cucumbers in that garden, just the right size for horses on
+the little girl's farm. There were a great many cucumbers, so many that
+Marian felt sure no one would ever miss a few. She picked a handful
+and knew that she was stealing. The sun went under a cloud. A blue jay
+mocked at her and a wren scolded. Though far from happy, Marian hurried
+away to her farm. The old toad saw her sticking twigs in the cucumbers.
+Then she placed them in a row.
+
+"Now be animals!" she commanded, but the spell was broken--she was no
+longer a farmer with magic power, but a pink-faced little girl who had
+done what she knew was wrong. And the cucumbers refused to be anything
+but cucumbers.
+
+Again the little girl went to the garden, returning with one big yellow
+cucumber that had gone to seed. "Now I guess I'll have a cucumber
+animal," she said, in tones so cross the daisies seemed to tremble.
+"You bad old cucumber, you're no good anyway, nobody could eat you, nor
+make a pickle of you, so you may just turn yourself into a giant cow
+right off this minute! There you are, standing on four sticks. Now be a
+cow, I say."
+
+The old cucumber wouldn't be a cow. There it stood, big and yellow,
+spoiling the looks of the farm.
+
+"What's the matter with you, old toad?" went on the little girl. "I
+tell you that's a cow, and if you don't believe it you can just get
+off my farm quick's you can hop. You're homely anyway, and you turned
+yourself back into a toad when I said be an elephant."
+
+How surprised the toad was when the little girl took a stick and poked
+him along ahead of her. The poor old fellow had never been treated like
+that in his life. When he reached the garden he hid beneath the nearest
+cabbage plant. The little girl went on but came back in a short time
+with her apron full of cucumbers.
+
+"I guess I'll sit down here and put the sticks in them," she said:
+but instead of touching the cucumbers the child sat on the ground
+beside the toad forever so long, looking cross, oh, so cross. The toad
+kept perfectly still and by and by he and the little girl heard a man
+whistling. In a few minutes there was a long whistle and then no sound
+in the jungle save the buzzing of flies and the chirping of birds. The
+little girl was afraid of her uncle who had been her one friend in that
+land of strangers. Soon she heard them calling and with her apron full
+of cucumbers, Marian rose to meet him.
+
+It may be that the old toad, as he hopped back to the yarrow jungle,
+thought that he should never again see the little girl: but the next
+morning in the midst of brightest sunshine, Marian returned, her
+head drooping. With her little feet she destroyed the farm and then,
+throwing herself face downward among the ruins, wept bitterly. When she
+raised her head the old toad was staring solemnly at her, causing fresh
+tears to overflow upon the round cheeks.
+
+"Don't look at me, toad, nobody does," she wailed. "I'm dreadfully bad
+and it doesn't do a bit of good to be sorry. Nobody loves me and nobody
+ever will. Aunt Amelia says that Nanna wouldn't love me now. Uncle
+George doesn't love me, he says he's disappointed in me! Oh, dear, oh,
+dear! Nobody in this world loves me, toad, and oh, dear, I've got to
+eat all alone in the kitchen for two weeks, and even the housemaid
+doesn't love me and can't talk to me! Oh, dear, what made me do it!"
+
+What could an old toad do but hide in the yarrow jungle: yet when he
+turned away Marian felt utterly deserted. It was dreadful to be so bad
+that even a toad wouldn't look at her.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII
+
+AN UNDESERVING CHILD
+
+
+TRY as hard as she would, Marian could not fit into Aunt Amelia's home.
+Everywhere within its walls, she was Marian the unwanted. Saddest of
+all, the child annoyed Uncle George. Not at first, to be sure; he liked
+his little niece in the beginning, but when Aunt Amelia and the little
+Ella were rendered unhappy by her presence, that made a difference.
+
+Early in the summer Uncle George insisted upon taking Marian wherever
+Ella and her mother went, to picnics, to the circus and other places of
+amusement, but as something disagreeable was sure to happen and trouble
+seemed to follow little Marian, she was finally left at home where her
+gay talk and merriment could not reach the ears of Aunt Amelia, who
+called her talk "clatter" and her laughter "cackle."
+
+"It's cucumbers," sobbed Marian, the first time she was left with the
+sympathetic housemaid.
+
+"What do you mean, you poor little thing?" asked the girl.
+
+The child looked up in astonishment. "Don't you remember about the
+cucumbers?" she asked reproachfully.
+
+"Cucumbers," sniffed the girl. "Never mind, you poor, sweet darling,
+we'll have a tea-party this afternoon, you and I,--that old pelican!"
+
+Marian knew no better than to tell about the tea-party, what a jolly
+time she had and how happy she was, closing her story by asking Uncle
+George if a pelican was a chicken.
+
+"Because," she added, "we had a little dish of cream chicken and I
+didn't see any pelican, but Annie did say two or three times, 'that old
+pelican!'"
+
+Aunt Amelia was prejudiced against pelicans and she objected to
+tea-parties, so Annie packed her trunk and left. Lala took her place.
+Lala was equally kind but far too wise. She befriended the little girl
+every way in her power but cautioned her to keep her mouth shut. She
+went so far as to instruct the child in the art of lying and had there
+not been deep in Marian's nature a love of truth, Lala's influence
+might have been more effective. Marian turned from her without knowing
+why, nor would she accept any favors from the girl unless she believed
+Aunt Amelia approved.
+
+Lala called Marian a "Little fool," Aunt Amelia called her an
+undeserving, ungrateful child who would steal if she were not watched,
+a saucy, bold "young one" who had disappointed her Uncle George, and
+Uncle George plainly didn't love her. What wonder that Marian had a
+small opinion of herself and dreaded the first Monday in September, the
+beginning of her school-days among strangers.
+
+The schoolhouse was so far from where Aunt Amelia lived, Marian carried
+her luncheon in a tin pail. The child left home that Monday, a timid,
+shrinking little mortal, afraid to speak to any one. She returned,
+happy as a lark, swinging her dinner pail and singing a new song until
+within sight of the St. Claire home. Then she walked more slowly and
+entered the gate like a weary pilgrim. She expected trouble, poor
+little Marian, but there happened to be callers, giving her a chance to
+escape unnoticed to the locust grove where she made a jumping rope of a
+wild grape vine and played until the shadows were long and the day was
+done.
+
+That evening Uncle George questioned Marian about her teacher and
+how she liked school. "I hope," said he, when he had listened to the
+account so gladly given, "I hope you will be a credit to your uncle and
+that you will behave yourself and get to the head of your class and
+stay there. Don't give your Uncle George any cause to be ashamed of his
+niece. I want to be proud of you."
+
+"Oh, do you!" exclaimed the child. "Oh, I'll try so hard to be good and
+learn my lessons best of anybody. Then will you love me?"
+
+"Good children are always loved," put in Aunt Amelia. "Doesn't your
+Uncle George love Ella?"
+
+"She's his little girl," ventured Marian, longing for a place beside
+Ella in her uncle's lap. He certainly did love Ella.
+
+"Sit down, child," said Uncle George, "you're my brother's little girl,
+aren't you, and you are Ella's cousin, aren't you?"
+
+"I am sure she ought to be grateful," interrupted Aunt Amelia, "with
+all she has done for her and such a home provided for her----"
+
+"Oh, I am, I am," protested Marian earnestly. "I'm so glad I've got a
+home I don't know what to do, and I'm gratefuller'n anything----"
+
+"Queer way of showing your gratitude," exclaimed Aunt Amelia; "a more
+undeserving child I never saw."
+
+Uncle George bit his lip. "Now don't cry, Marian," he cautioned, as the
+child's eyes filled with tears. "I have a story to read you and Ella,
+so sit down and be quiet."
+
+"Don't expect her to be quiet," Aunt Amelia persisted. "If she would
+listen to stories as Ella does, I wouldn't send her to bed. You know
+as well as I do that she interrupts and asks questions and gets in
+a perfect fever of excitement. Ella behaves like a lady. You never
+catch her squirming and fidgeting about, acting like a perfect
+jumping-jack----"
+
+"No," remarked Uncle George, opening the book in his hand, "she goes to
+sleep. Don't you, pet?"
+
+"Go to bed, Marian," Aunt Amelia commanded. "Not a word. I shall not
+allow you to add sauciness to disobedience. Go!"
+
+Uncle George frowned, put away the book and reached for his newspaper:
+then, touched by the pathetic figure in the doorway he called the
+child back. "That's right," he said, "be a good girl and obey your
+aunt promptly. She has your interest at heart, child. Come, kiss Uncle
+George good-night."
+
+Marian was surprised because her natural tendency to kiss every one in
+the family before going to bed had been severely checked and she had
+been obliged to whisper her good-nights to the cat. If she sometimes
+kissed its soft fur, what difference did it make, if the cat had no
+objection.
+
+"Now kiss little cousin Ella," suggested Uncle George, but Ella covered
+her face, saying her mother had told her never to let Marian touch her.
+
+Uncle George looked so angry Marian didn't know what was going to
+happen. He put little Ella in her mother's lap and then taking Marian
+in his arms, carried her to her room. After the child had said her
+prayers and was in bed, Uncle George sat beside her and talked a long,
+long while. He told her to try and be a good child and do her best in
+school.
+
+Marian dreamed that night of Mrs. Moore and the little stranger's
+mother. When she awoke in the starlight she was not afraid as usual.
+She thought of Uncle George and how she would try to please him in
+school that he might be proud of her and love her as she loved him, and
+so fell peacefully asleep.
+
+When the man was looking over his papers the next morning before
+breakfast he felt a touch upon his arm. He smiled when he saw Marian.
+"I want to tell you," she said, "I'm awful sorry about the cucumbers."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII
+
+IN THE NAME OF SANTA CLAUS
+
+
+IN November Ella and her mother began making plans for Christmas. Aunt
+Amelia invited seven little girls to tea one night when Uncle George
+was away, and Marian ate in the kitchen with Lala. The seven were
+all older than Ella and one of them, little Ruth Higgins, knowing no
+better, asked for Marian. Lala overheard the answer and was indignant.
+
+"You poor little lamb," she sputtered, upon returning to the kitchen,
+"I'd run away if I were you."
+
+"Where would I run to?" questioned Marian.
+
+"Anywhere'd be better than here," the girl replied, "and that woman
+calls herself a Christian!"
+
+"She's a awful cross Christian," Marian admitted in a whisper, brushing
+away the tears that came when she heard the peals of laughter from the
+dining-room.
+
+"I wouldn't cry if I were you," advised the girl. "You'll only spoil
+your pretty eyes and it will do them good to see you cry, you poor
+baby. The idea of having a party and making you stay out here!"
+
+"It's a Club," corrected Marian, "I've heard 'em talking about it.
+Dorothy Avery and Ruth Higgins belong. I've tried so hard to be good
+so I could be in it. They are going to sew presents for poor children
+and give them toys and everything they don't want their own selves, and
+then when Christmas day comes they're going to have a sleigh ride and
+take the things to the poor children. If I was good like Ella, I could
+be in it. I used to be good, Lala, truly, I did."
+
+"There, there, don't cry," begged Lala. "Look a-here! did you ever see
+anybody dance the lame man's jig?"
+
+Marian shook her head, whereupon Lala performed the act to the music
+of a mournful tune she hummed, while Marian laughed until the Club was
+forgotten. There was plenty of fun in the kitchen after that. In the
+midst of the hilarity Ella appeared to tell Marian it was her bedtime.
+
+"Are you ever afraid, Lala, when you wake up all alone in the night?"
+asked Marian as she started up the back stairs.
+
+"I never wake up," said Lala. "Do you, Marian?"
+
+"Yes, and I'm lonesome without all the little girls. Sometimes I'm so
+frightened I pretty nearly die when I'm all alone and it's dark."
+
+"Little girls," echoed Lala, "what little girls? Where did you live
+before you came here?"
+
+"When I was good I lived in a big city, Lala."
+
+"Tell me about it," the girl insisted.
+
+"If you'll promise you won't ever tell, I will," declared Marian. "I'll
+have to whisper it. I lived in a beautiful orphan's home, Lala."
+
+"Oh!" exclaimed Lala. "Oh, you poor baby."
+
+"Of course it's dreadful," Marian hastened to say, "but I couldn't
+help it, Lala, truly I couldn't; they took me there when I was a baby
+and it was a lovely place, only, it was a Home."
+
+"Do you know anything about your father and mother?"
+
+"Oh, I guess they're dead--my mother is anyway, and I'm 'fraid about my
+father."
+
+"What do you mean?"
+
+"Well, Lala, Aunt Amelia always says, what can you expect when you
+think what my father was. I guess may be he was a stealer because
+Aunt Amelia won't stop talking about the cucumbers and what could you
+expect. Maybe he is in prison."
+
+"No, your father is not in prison, Marion Lee!" Lala exclaimed.
+"Listen. It was your father I heard them talking about with some
+callers the other day. I'm sure of it now, because they said the man
+was a great deal younger than your uncle----"
+
+"Oh, tell me, do tell me what you know about my father?" besought
+Marian, walking back into the kitchen on tiptoes.
+
+"Oh, I don't know much," said the girl, "but he isn't in prison,
+that's one sure thing. He went away to South America years ago to make
+his fortune, and they know that all the men who went with him were
+killed, and as your father never came back they know he must be dead."
+
+"What was there bad about that?" questioned the small daughter.
+
+"Nothing," was the reply, "only he and your Uncle George had a quarrel.
+Your uncle didn't want him to go because he said your father had plenty
+of money anyway, and it all came out as he said it would."
+
+At that moment, Ella returned. Seeing Marian, she forgot that she was
+after a drink of water. "Oh, Marian Lee!" she exclaimed. "I'm going
+straight back and tell mamma you didn't go to bed when I told you to.
+You'll be sorry."
+
+Marian, the guilty, flew up the back stairs, expecting swift
+punishment. She was sure she deserved it, and what would Uncle George
+say? It was so hard to be good. Retribution was left to Santa Claus.
+How could a disobedient, ungrateful child expect to be remembered by
+that friend of good children? How could Marian hope for a single gift?
+Aunt Amelia didn't know. Nevertheless the little girl pinned her faith
+to Santa Claus. He had never forgotten her nor the two hundred waifs at
+the Home. Teddy Daniels once made a face at the superintendent the very
+day before Christmas, yet Santa Claus gave him a drum.
+
+Marian wasn't the least surprised Christmas morning when she found her
+stockings hanging by the sitting-room grate filled to the brim, exactly
+as Ella's were. She was delighted beyond expression.
+
+"Oh, oh, oh!" she cried. "Both my stockings are full of things for
+me. Oh, see the packages! Oh, I am so happy! Just only look at the
+presents!" Uncle George left the room and Marian sat upon the rug to
+examine her treasures.
+
+"Why don't you look in your stockings, Ella?" she suggested. "Let's
+undo our presents together."
+
+"No, I'd rather wait and see what you'll say when you know what you've
+got!" Ella replied. "Mamma and I know something."
+
+"Hush!" cautioned Aunt Amelia. "Let's see what Santa Claus has brought
+Marian. She knows whether she's been a deserving, grateful child or
+not."
+
+Why would Aunt Amelia remind one of disagreeable things on Christmas
+morning? Marian's chin quivered before she took a thing from her
+stocking, whereupon Aunt Amelia smiled. In the meantime, Ella, becoming
+impatient, emptied one of her stockings in her mother's lap and began a
+series of squeals as toys, games and dolls tumbled out.
+
+"Oh, what fun!" cried Marian, laughing and clapping her hands as she
+witnessed Ella's delight. A pitiful expression stole over her face as
+she turned to her own stockings. How she longed for a mother to share
+her joy. How she wished Aunt Amelia would smile kindly and be pleased
+with her gifts. The child quickly removed the paper from a round
+package.
+
+"I've got a ball," she ventured. "I'll let you play with it, Ella."
+
+"Got one of my own," said Ella, exhibiting a big rubber ball.
+
+An exclamation of dismay burst from Marian's lips. "Why, why--it's a
+potato!" she cried.
+
+"What did you expect?" inquired Aunt Amelia in chilling tones.
+
+"I guess that was just for a joke." The little girl smiled cheerfully
+as she said it, at the same time untying a box wrapped in tissue paper.
+Potatoes again. Marian shut her lips tight together and tried another
+package. More potatoes. Still she kept the tears back and reached for
+a long bundle. Removing the paper she found switches. Aunt Amelia
+and Ella watched silently as Marian, her eyes blazing and her cheeks
+growing a deeper red every second, emptied the stocking in which there
+was nothing but potatoes. Then the child rose, straightened her small
+figure to its full height and made this statement:
+
+"That wasn't never Santa Claus that did that!"
+
+"Look in the other stocking," Ella advised, "there are real presents in
+that one. I guess you will be a good girl now, won't you, Marian? Take
+the other stocking down, quick."
+
+"No," declared Marian, "I don't want any more potatoes. Nobody loves me
+and I don't care if they don't." Then she broke down and cried so hard,
+Ella cried too.
+
+"What's all the trouble?" asked Uncle George, entering the room at that
+moment.
+
+"Marian is making a scene and distressing both Ella and me," explained
+Aunt Amelia. "She has been highly impertinent and ungrateful. Ella, you
+may have the other stocking yourself."
+
+"But I don't want it," sobbed Ella. "I want Marian to have it."
+
+"Then we'll take it to the poor children this afternoon," said her
+mother. "They'll be glad to get it. Marian, don't drop what's in your
+apron. Now go to your room and think over how you've spoiled the peace
+of a family on Christmas morning. I'll bring your breakfast to you
+myself."
+
+"I don't want any breakfast," sobbed Marian, walking away with her
+apron full of potatoes.
+
+"Come back," called Uncle George. "You tell your aunt you are sorry you
+were so naughty, and you may come to breakfast with us. It's Christmas
+morning, child, why can't you behave?"
+
+"I wasn't naughty," sobbed Marian. "I----"
+
+"Not another word," put in Aunt Amelia. "Go to your room, stubborn,
+bad child. I can't have such an example continually before my little
+Ella. We'll have to put her in a reform school, George, if she doesn't
+improve."
+
+This remark fell upon unheeding ears so far as Marian was concerned.
+The minute the door of her little room closed behind her she dropped
+the potatoes upon the floor and throwing herself beside them cried as
+if her heart would break.
+
+"Oh, Nanna, Nanna, I want you," she sobbed. "Oh, where are you, oh, my
+Mrs. Moore?"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX
+
+AT THE RICH MAN'S TABLE
+
+
+TRUE to her word, Aunt Amelia carried Marian's breakfast to her room.
+But for the interference of Uncle George his little niece would have
+been given bread and water; it was all an impertinent child deserved.
+Uncle George, however, insisted that the One who was born on Christmas
+Day was a friend to sinners great and small. Out of respect to His
+memory, Marian should have her breakfast. Lala offered to take the tray
+up-stairs when it was ready, but Aunt Amelia said it was her duty to
+take it herself: so there was no one to speak a word of comfort to the
+little black sheep outside the fold.
+
+It had been a dark, cloudy morning, but curiously enough, the moment
+the door closed behind Aunt Amelia, the sun came out bright and warm,
+and shone straight through Marian's window. The child raised her head,
+wiped her eyes and finally sat up. She wouldn't eat any breakfast of
+course, how could she? No one loved her and what was the use of eating?
+The tray looked tempting though and the breakfast smelled good. The big
+orange seemed rolling toward her and Uncle George must have poured the
+cream on her oatmeal. No one else would have given her so much. The
+omelet was steaming, and even Lala never made finer looking rolls.
+
+Marian moved a little nearer and a little nearer to the tray until
+the next thing she knew she was sitting in a chair, eating breakfast.
+Everything tasted good, and in a little while Marian felt better. Out
+of doors, the icy trees sparkled in the sunshine and all the world
+looked clean and new. Oh, how the little girl longed for a mother that
+Christmas morning. Some one who would love her and say "Dear little
+Marian," as Nanna once did.
+
+Thinking of Mrs. Moore brought back to the child's memory that last
+day in the Home. Mrs. Moore had said, "Be brave, be good and never
+forget the Father in heaven." Marian had not been brave nor good; and
+she had forgotten the Father in heaven. Suddenly the child looked
+around the room, under the bed everywhere. She was certainly alone. It
+seemed strange to say one's prayers in the daytime, but Marian folded
+her hands and kneeling in the flood of sunshine beneath the window,
+confessed her sins. She felt like a new born soul after that. The
+despairing, rebellious little Marian was gone, and in her place was a
+child at peace with herself and the world. Without putting it in words,
+Marian forgave Aunt Amelia: more than that, she felt positively tender
+towards her. She would tell her she was sorry for her impertinence and
+promise to be a good child. It would be so easy to do right. She would
+set Ella a good example. Not for anything would Marian ever again do
+what was wrong. In time Uncle George and Aunt Amelia would love her
+dearly.
+
+Marian smiled thoughtfully as she gazed down the straight and perfect
+path her little feet would travel from thenceforth forevermore. The
+child's meditations were interrupted by a remembrance of the potatoes.
+There they were, her Christmas presents, trying to hide under the bed,
+under the chairs, beneath the bureau. She stared at them but a moment
+when a happy smile broke over her face.
+
+Marian was a saint no longer; only a little girl about to play a new
+game.
+
+"Why, it's a circus!" she exclaimed, and straightway seizing the
+potatoes and breaking the switches into little sticks, she transformed
+the unwelcome gift into a circus parade. The elephant came first. His
+trunk was a trifle too stiff as the switches were not limber. The camel
+came next and if his humps were not exactly in the right place, he was
+all the more of a curiosity. Then followed the giraffe with sloping
+back and no head worth mentioning because there was nothing to stick on
+the piece of switch that formed his long neck. Marian did wish she had
+a bit of gum to use for a head. The giraffe would look more finished.
+The lion and the tiger were perfect. Marian could almost hear them
+roar. Nobody could have found any fault with the kangaroo except that
+he would fall on his front feet. The hippopotamus was a sight worth
+going to see. So was the rhinoceros. The zebras almost ran away, they
+were so natural.
+
+Marian searched eagerly for more potatoes. A peck would have been none
+too many. "I'll have to play the rest of the animals are in cages," she
+said with a sigh. "Too bad I didn't get more potatoes. Wish I had the
+other stocking."
+
+When Marian was tired of circus, she played concert. Bingen on the
+Rhine came in for its share of attention, but school songs were just as
+good and had ready-made tunes.
+
+Lala in the kitchen, heard the operatic singing and laughed. Aunt
+Amelia caught a few strains, frowned and closed the hall doors. Uncle
+George smiled behind his newspaper: but Ella, tired of her toys, pouted
+and said she wished she could ever have any fun. Marian always had a
+good time. Mrs. St. Claire reminded her of the sleigh ride with the
+seven little girls in the afternoon and Ella managed to get through the
+morning somehow, even if it was dull and Christmas joy was nowhere in
+the house except in the little room off the back hall up-stairs.
+
+At one o'clock Lala was sent to tell Marian she might come down to
+dinner if she would apologize to Aunt Amelia for her impertinence.
+Lala was forbidden to say more, but nobody thought to caution her not
+to laugh, and what did Lala do when she saw Marian playing the piano
+beside the circus parade, but laugh until the tears ran down her
+cheeks. Worst of all she waited on table with a broad smile on her
+face that made Aunt Amelia quite as uncomfortable as the mention of a
+pelican. Nor was it possible for Aunt Amelia to understand how a child
+who had been in disgrace all the forenoon, could be cheerful and ready
+to laugh on the slightest provocation. She thought it poor taste.
+
+After dinner Ella thrust a repentant looking stocking in Marian's hand.
+"Papa says the things are yours and you must have them," she explained.
+
+"What makes the stocking look so floppy?" asked Marian.
+
+"Because," Ella went on, "papa made me take all the potatoes out and
+there wasn't much left. You've got a handkerchief in the stocking from
+me and one from mamma, and----"
+
+"Please don't tell me," protested Marian. "I want to be s'prised."
+
+"Like the selfish child you are," put in Aunt Amelia, "unwilling to
+give your cousin a bit of pleasure."
+
+"And a box of dominoes from papa and a doll's tea set Lala gave you,"
+finished Ella.
+
+"She'll expect a doll next," observed Aunt Amelia.
+
+"I did think Santa Claus would give me one," admitted the child, "but
+I had rather have the beautiful tea set. Help me set the table on this
+chair, Ella, and we'll play Christmas dinner. I'll let you pour the tea
+and----"
+
+"Ella has no time to play," her mother interrupted. "Come, little
+one, help mamma finish packing the baskets of presents for the poor
+children."
+
+"But I had rather play with Marian's tea set," pouted Ella.
+
+"You have one of your own, dearest."
+
+"It isn't as nice as Marian's, though, and I want to stay here and
+play."
+
+"Now you see, George," and Mrs. St. Claire turned to her husband, "now
+you see why I cannot allow these children to play together. You can see
+for yourself what an influence Marian has over our little Ella. Come,
+darling, have you forgotten the sleigh ride? It is time to get ready."
+
+"Me too?" questioned Marian, springing to her feet, "shall I get ready?"
+
+The child knew her mistake in less than a minute, but forgetting the
+uselessness of protest, she begged so earnestly to be taken with
+the children Aunt Amelia called her saucy, and as a punishment, the
+Christmas gifts, tea set and all, were put on a high shelf out of sight.
+
+Marian was allowed to stand in the parlor by the window to see the
+sleigh-load of noisy children drive away. When they were gone, the
+parlor seemed bigger than usual and strangely quiet. Uncle George,
+with a frown on his face, was reading in the sitting-room. He didn't
+look talkative and the clock ticked loud. Marian turned again to the
+parlor window. Across the street was the rich man's house, and in the
+front window of the rich man's house was a poor little girl looking
+out--a sad little girl with big eyes and a pale face. Marian waved her
+hand and the little girl waved hers--such a tiny, white hand. A new
+idea flashed into Marian's mind. She had often seen the little girl
+across the way and wondered why she never played with Ella. At last she
+thought she knew. The rich man's wife probably went to a hospital after
+the little girl, and took her home to get well just as Janey Clark was
+taken home, only Janey was never thin and delicate and Janey never
+stared quietly at everything as the little girl did who lived in the
+rich man's house.
+
+Marian wondered why Aunt Amelia didn't leave her some of the presents
+in the baskets. Perhaps nobody loved the little girl: maybe her father
+and mother were dead and Santa Claus didn't know where to find her.
+Marian wished she had something to take to the poor thing. She would
+have given away her tea set that minute had it been within reach.
+Just then a long-legged horse went by, a horse that looked so queer
+it reminded Marian of her potato menagerie. The child smiled at the
+thought. Perhaps the little girl in the rich man's house never saw a
+potato animal and would like to see one. Perhaps she would like two or
+three for a Christmas present. Why not? It was all Marian had to give
+and the animals were funny enough to make any poor little girl laugh.
+Up-stairs Marian flew, returning with the elephant, the rhinoceros, the
+hippopotamus and two zebras packed in a pasteboard box.
+
+"Please, Uncle George," she asked, "may I go and visit the poor little
+girl that lives in the rich man's house? I want to say 'Wish you a
+merry Christmas' to her, and----"
+
+"Run along, child," interrupted Uncle George, the frown smoothing
+out as he spoke, "go where you will and have a good time if it is
+possible--bless your sunny face."
+
+Uncle George had heard of the rich man's house and he smiled a broad
+smile of amusement as he watched Marian climb the steps and ring the
+bell. "What next?" he inquired as the door closed behind the child. In
+a short time he knew "What next." One of the rich man's servants came
+over with a note from the neighbor's wife, begging Uncle George to
+allow Marian to stay and help them enjoy their Christmas dinner at six.
+The permission was gladly given and at eight o'clock Marian came home
+hugging an immense wax doll and fairly bubbling over with excitement.
+
+"I never had such a good time at the table in my life," she began, "as
+I did at the rich man's house. They asked me to talk, just think of
+it--asked me to, and I did and they did and we all laughed. And the
+poor little girl isn't poor, only just sick and she belongs to the
+folks. The rich man is her father and her name is Dolly Russel and she
+was gladder to see me than she ever was to see anybody in her life and
+she wants me to come again, and----"
+
+"And I suppose you told all you knew," snapped Aunt Amelia.
+
+"Yes, most, 'specially at the table," admitted the child.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X
+
+A GAME OF SLICED BIRDS
+
+
+MARIAN was so happy with her doll and teaset the following day she was
+blind and deaf to all that happened in the house outside her little
+room. She didn't know that Mrs. Russel made her first call upon Aunt
+Amelia in the afternoon, nor that company was expected in the evening.
+Ella's mysterious airs were lost upon her. The child was accordingly
+surprised when she met the company at breakfast.
+
+Aunt Hester, Mrs. St. Claire's younger sister, was a pleasant surprise
+because she was good-looking and agreeable. She returned Marian's smile
+of greeting with interest. Marian hoped she had found a friend and
+hovered near the welcome stranger until sent to her room. During the
+rest of the week she and Aunt Hester exchanged smiles when they met at
+the table, and to win a few kind words from her became Marian's dream.
+New Year's Day brought an opportunity. Mrs. Russel sent a box of sliced
+birds to Marian and her cousin, and as the gift came while the family
+were at breakfast, Marian knew all about it. At last she and Ella owned
+something in common and might perhaps be allowed to play together. She
+could hardly wait to finish her breakfast.
+
+"What are sliced birds and how do you play with them?" she asked Aunt
+Hester, who carried the box into the sitting-room.
+
+"Well," began Aunt Hester, "can you read, Marian?"
+
+"Yes, auntie, I can read pretty near anything I try to, but I can't
+write very good, not a bit good. Do you have to write in sliced birds?"
+
+"No," was the laughing reply, "if you can spell a little that is all
+that is necessary. Here is a paper with a list of birds on it we can
+put together. Now here is the word jay. A picture of a jay is cut in
+three pieces, on one piece is 'J,' on another is 'A' and on the third
+is 'Y.' Now hunt for 'J.'"
+
+"Ella knows her letters," Marian suggested. "Come, Ella, hunt for 'J,'
+that piece would have a blue jay's head on it, I guess." Marian waited
+until Ella found the letter and together they finished the blue jay.
+Both children were delighted with the result.
+
+"Oh, what fun!" cried Marian. "We'll make all the birds, Ella. I'll
+read a name and tell you what letters to hunt for."
+
+A shadow fell across the bright scene, caused by the entrance of Aunt
+Amelia. "Go over there and sit down," she said to Marian. "I came in to
+help Hester divide the game."
+
+"Divide the game!" echoed both children.
+
+"Oh, don't do it, please don't," besought Marian, "we want to play with
+all the birds together."
+
+"It seems a pity," began Aunt Hester, but she gathered Ella in her arms
+and helped form all the birds in two straight lines upon the floor as
+her sister desired.
+
+Marian watched with eager interest. She hoped when the birds were
+divided a few of the pretty ones might be given to her. If she had her
+choice she couldn't tell whether she would take the peacock or the
+bird of paradise--they were both gorgeous. The scarlet tanager and the
+red-headed woodpecker were beautiful but of course it wasn't fair to
+wish for all the brightest birds. It was Aunt Hester who suggested a
+way to divide the game.
+
+"Let them take turns choosing," she said. "It seems to me that will be
+perfectly fair. The children might draw cuts for first choice."
+
+At that, Marian saw her opportunity. "Ella may be the first chooser,"
+she declared, and was rewarded by a smile from Aunt Hester. Which would
+Ella take? the bird of paradise or the peacock? Either would please
+Marian, so it really made no difference which was left. Ella wanted
+them both and said so.
+
+"Hush," whispered her mother, "if you keep still Marian won't know
+which birds are the prettiest. Aunt Hester and I will help you choose."
+
+"I guess I'll take that," Ella decided, pointing towards the bird of
+paradise.
+
+Marian was about to choose the peacock when a whispered word from Aunt
+Hester caught her ear.
+
+"I hope, Ella dear, that she won't take the peacock."
+
+Marian hesitated a moment. She wanted the peacock with its gay,
+spreading tail, but if Aunt Hester wished Ella to have it perhaps she
+would love whoever helped her get it. "I'll take the turkey," said the
+child, whereupon Ella gave a shout.
+
+"She don't know much, she took an old brown turkey. I'll have the
+peacock and I want the red bird and the redhead."
+
+Aunt Amelia laughed. "One at a time, you dear, impulsive child," said
+she, but Aunt Hester smiled across at Marian. "Your turn," she said.
+
+"I'll take the owl," Marian quietly replied.
+
+"Oh, ho! an old owl!" laughed Ella, clapping her hands for joy. "Now
+I'll have the redhead! goody! And next time----"
+
+"Hush," warned her mother. "You mustn't let Marian know what you want
+or she'll take it."
+
+"I choose the wren," came in low tones from Marian.
+
+"My turn," Ella called. "Give me the redhead."
+
+"Choose the flicker next," advised her mother, so Marian, still hoping
+to be loved, chose the robin.
+
+Aunt Hester smiled again, but the smile was for Ella. "Take the parrot
+next," she whispered, so Marian chose the crow.
+
+"Now, Ella, darling," whispered her mother, "the oriole, after Marian
+has her turn," and Marian, taking the hint, motioned for the jay.
+
+It was over at last and Marian was told to go to her room. As she was
+leaving, Aunt Hester gave Ella a rapturous hug and said, "Our baby has
+all the prettiest birds." Aunt Hester didn't know Marian heard the
+remark until she saw the tears that could not be kept back, wetting the
+rosy cheeks. "Oh, you poor young one!" she exclaimed, and but for the
+presence of Aunt Amelia, she would have taken the sad little mortal in
+her arms.
+
+"She's crying 'cause her birds are all homely," said Ella.
+
+"Of course, she always wants the best," remarked Mrs. St. Claire, but
+Aunt Hester and Ella both gazed after the retreating figure of little
+Marian, with conscience-stricken faces. They had been three against
+one, and that one didn't know enough to take the choicest birds when
+she had the chance. They hadn't played fair.
+
+Marian, blinded by tears, stumbled over a rug at the door of her
+room and the sliced birds slipped almost unheeded from her apron.
+The nearest seat was the box she called her piano stool. She dropped
+upon it and buried her face in her arms on the piano. The sheet music
+tumbled forward upon her head, perhaps fearing it might be but an old
+almanac forever after. Bitter thoughts filled the little soul. Why
+would no one love her? Why did the sound of her voice annoy every one
+so she feared to speak? What was the trouble? Was she so bad or so
+homely that no one might love her? She had tried to be good and tried
+to do right, but what difference had it made? Aunt Hester thought her
+stupid because she allowed Ella to take what birds she would. Surely
+Aunt Hester was the stupid one.
+
+It was impossible for Marian to feel miserable long at a time. In a
+few minutes she sat up and straightened her sheet music, whereupon the
+almanac became a hymn-book. She turned the leaves slowly as did the
+young lady who played the organ prayer-meeting nights. Then, addressing
+the wax doll and the bed posts she announced in solemn tones, "We'll
+sing nineteen verses of number 'leventy 'leven."
+
+"Number 'leventy 'leven" happened to be "Come Ye Disconsolate," a
+hymn Marian was familiar with, as it was Aunt Amelia's favorite. The
+tune began dismally enough, but the disconsolate one took courage
+on the third line and sang out triumphantly at last, with a great
+flourish upon the piano, "'Earth has no sorrow that Heaven cannot
+heal.'" "Twenty Froggies Went to School" came next, and Marian was
+herself once more, which is to say, she became at a moment's notice,
+a famous musician, a school-teacher, a princess, a queen or whatever
+the occasion required, while the little room was easily changed into
+anything from the Desert of Sahara to a palace.
+
+The extent of Marian's knowledge was the only limit to the games
+she played. Pictures in the family Bible had given her many an hour
+of entertainment in the little room, thanks to the fact that Uncle
+George allowed Marian to look at the pictures on an occasional Sunday
+afternoon. The doll almost broke her nose the day before playing
+"Rebecca at the Well." The "Marriage at Cana" was a safer game for a
+wax doll that could not stand, especially as the doll made a beautiful
+bride. Turning from her piano, Marian saw something that made her
+laugh. The robin's head and the duck's feet had fallen one above the
+other.
+
+"Poor robin," she said, "I guess you would rather have your own feet.
+R-o-b-i-n, I know how to spell you, and I'll put you on your own feet
+and I'll give the duck his own head so he can quack." When the robin
+was put together it looked like an old friend. "You're nicer than the
+bird of paradise, after all," declared Marian, "because I know you so
+well. You and I used to be chums because I didn't have any little
+girls to play with."
+
+It was something of a puzzle to put all of the birds together, but
+when the work was finished Marian was pleased. "You're all so nice and
+common looking," she said. "I never saw the owl bird, but we used to
+hear him in the woods at night, didn't we, blue jay? He used to go,
+'Who--who--whoo--whoo!' We used to see you, old black crow, you always
+said 'Caw--caw--caw,' and you dear little wren, how I would like to
+hear you sing once more. Where are you all now? Somewhere way down
+South, because our teacher says so and when the snow is gone, you'll
+come flying back.
+
+"Oh, now we'll play something. It is autumn over here on the rug, the
+rug's the orchard, and the leaves are falling and all the flowers are
+fading and winter is coming. You see that sunshiny spot on the floor
+over there under the windows, birdies? Well, that is down South where
+you are going. I don't remember who goes first but I guess the little
+wren better fly away now, and we'll have lots of fun." One by one the
+birds went south, owl and all, and one by one they flew back to the
+orchard in the spring-time, where the wax doll welcomed them, listened
+to their songs and scattered strings about for them to use in building
+their nests.
+
+It was a pleasant game and Marian was called to the dining-room before
+she thought of putting the birds away.
+
+"I wonder if I didn't get the best half of the game after all," she
+suggested to the wax doll as she threw it a parting kiss.
+
+Had Marian known that the bird of paradise, the peacock and the other
+bright ones were laid upon a shelf as birds of no consequence and that
+Ella had complained all the forenoon of having nothing to do, she would
+have understood why Aunt Hester not only greeted her with a smile, but
+said at the same time, "You dear, happy child."
+
+It was enough that Aunt Hester said it and smiled, without puzzling for
+a reason. Surely Marian had chosen the better half of the game when
+such loving tones were meant for her. It was wonderful.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI
+
+THE WAY OF THE TRANSGRESSOR
+
+
+A YEAR passed away, in which time Marian was kept more and more outside
+of the family and more and more apart from all ordinary pleasures of
+childhood, but in spite of everything she was happy, ever hoping to win
+the approval of her aunt and uncle.
+
+Going to school was a never-failing joy because at noon-times and
+recess there were girls and boys to play with, and the long walks to
+and from school were always a delight to a child who was interested in
+everything from a blade of grass to the clouds.
+
+Ella attended a private school near home and was scarcely allowed to
+speak to Marian. She had many playmates, but all of them put together
+were not half so attractive from her point of view as the little cousin
+who played alone. One winter morning Ella told Marian behind the
+dining-room door that her grandmother and Uncle Robert were coming to
+stay all the spring-time and that Uncle Robert was a little boy only
+a few years older than Marian. Ella was delighted, but Marian wished
+Uncle Robert was a girl. She had reason for the wish before summer.
+
+Marian was prejudiced against boys for as much as a year after Ella's
+uncle went away. He believed it was his privilege to tease little
+girls, though in all his life he never had such a chance to torment
+any one as he had that spring. It was useless to play tricks on
+Ella, because she ran crying to her mother and that made trouble for
+Robert: but Marian could appeal to no one and teasing her was safe
+and interesting. To hold her doll by the hair while Marian begged and
+screamed, was daily amusement until the child learned to leave the doll
+in her room. To hide her few books was another pleasure and to frighten
+her on every possible occasion until her eyes seemed fairly popping out
+of her head, was a victory.
+
+Marian was glad to have some one to play with if that some one was a
+tyrant and often before her tears were dry, she was ready to forgive
+Robert for teasing her and to join in any game he proposed. One day
+he suggested something that shocked Marian. He asked her to steal
+sugar. He didn't say steal, he said "Hook," and at first Marian didn't
+understand. Robert told her to sneak into the pantry after Lala was
+through work in the afternoon, take a lump of sugar from the barrel and
+give it to him. She wouldn't listen in the beginning, but by dint of
+persuasion and threats, Robert succeeded in getting his lump of sugar:
+not only one, but many, for stealing sugar became easier as the days
+went by and no one caught the small culprit.
+
+Robert's ambition was to be a railroad engineer, and soon after the
+sugar stealing began, he made an engine of boxes and barrels in the
+locust grove. When it was finished and in running order, he allowed
+Marian to be his fireman. At first the child thought it was fun,
+but when she had shoveled air with a stick for five minutes without
+stopping, while Robert rang the bell, blew the whistle and ran the
+engine, she threw down her shovel. "It's my turn to be engineer now,"
+she declared.
+
+"Girls don't know enough to run engines," was the reply.
+
+"I'm not a girl," protested Marian, "I'm a fireman."
+
+"Then tend to your job, why don't you?" was the retort. "I wouldn't
+ring the bell for my fireman if I didn't think he was a good one. Come,
+coal up, tend to business."
+
+Somewhat flattered, the fireman smiled, shoveled coal until his arms
+ached, and then rebelled. "I say," she declared, "you've got to let me
+be engineer now! I won't be fireman another minute!"
+
+"Oh, you won't?" taunted the engineer. "We'll see about that! Of course
+you needn't shovel coal for me if you don't want to, but you had better
+make up your mind pretty quick, because if you won't be my fireman,
+I'll go and tell my sister Amelia that you steal sugar!"
+
+Marian was too stunned for words until Robert laughed. Then her face
+grew scarlet, and her eyes had a look in them the boy had never seen
+before.
+
+"You dare not tell!" she screamed, leaning towards Robert, anger and
+defiance in every line of her slight figure. "I say you dare not!"
+
+"I wonder why?" sniffed the boy.
+
+"You know why; you told me to take the sugar, and I got it for you and
+I never tasted a bit of it. You were such an old pig you wouldn't give
+me back a crumb--old rhinoceros--hippopotamus--I'd call you an elephant
+too, only elephants are so much nicer'n you."
+
+Again the boy laughed. "You hooked the sugar, didn't you?" he demanded.
+
+"What if I did, didn't I do it 'cause you told me to, and didn't you
+eat it, you old gorilla?"
+
+"What if I did, Miss Marian Spitfire? I'll say it's one of your lies,
+and no one will believe what you say. You know you can't look my sister
+in the face and tell her you didn't take the sugar, but I can stand up
+and cross my heart and hope to die if I ever saw any sugar, and they'll
+believe me and they won't believe you. Now will you shovel coal?
+Toot-toot-toot--chew-chew-chew--ding-a-ling-a-ling--engine's going to
+start! Ha, ha, ha!"
+
+"You mean thing, you horrid boy! I hate you!" sputtered Marian, but she
+shoveled coal. In fact the child shoveled coal the rest of the spring
+whenever Robert chose to play engine, until the day his taunts proved
+too much and she kicked his engine to pieces, threatening to "give it
+to him," if he didn't keep out of the way.
+
+"Now tell," she screamed from the midst of the wreck, "tell anything
+you're a mind to, I don't care what you do."
+
+Robert walked away whistling "Yankee Doodle." "I'm tired of playing
+engine," he called over his shoulder, "and I'm much obliged to you
+for saving me the trouble of taking it to pieces. I don't wonder
+nobody likes you. My sister Amelia knows what she's talking about when
+she says you've got the worst temper ever was! I bet you'll die in
+prison----"
+
+"You'll die before you get to prison if you don't get out of my sight,"
+was the retort.
+
+Robert walked away so fast Marian was certain he was going to tell
+about the sugar and she waited, defiantly at first, then tremblingly.
+What would become of her? What would they do? For reasons best known to
+himself, Robert didn't mention sugar, and after a few days of suspense,
+Marian breathed easier, although she wasn't thoroughly comfortable
+until Robert and his mother were on their way home.
+
+A few weeks later Aunt Amelia made a jar of cookies for Ella's birthday
+party. She made them herself and put them on a low shelf in the pantry.
+Marian asked for a cookie and was refused. She didn't expect to get
+it. The more she thought of the cookies, the more she wanted one. She
+remembered the sugar. No one but Robert knew about that sugar, and if
+she helped herself to a cooky that would be her own secret. Marian took
+a cooky and ate it back of the orchard. Her old friends, the chipping
+sparrows, flew down for the crumbs that fell at her feet. The little
+birds were surprised when Marian frightened them away. She had been so
+kind to them they had lost all fear of her.
+
+The second cooky Marian took she ate in the locust grove where she was
+much annoyed by the curiosity of a chipmunk. He asked her questions
+with his head on one side and his hand on his heart. His chatter made
+her angry. What was it to him if she happened to be eating a cooky? She
+did wish folks would mind their own business. From that day, Marian
+grew reckless. She carried away cookies two or three at a time and
+talked back to the birds and the squirrels and all the inhabitants of
+the orchard and the locust grove who were not polite enough to hide
+their inquisitiveness.
+
+For once in her life, Marian had all the cookies she wished, although
+they agreed with neither her stomach nor her conscience. She didn't
+feel well and she was cross and unhappy. At last Marian knew that the
+day of reckoning was near at hand. She could almost touch the bottom
+of the cooky jar when she realized that the cookies had been made for
+Ella's party and had not been used upon the table. No one had lifted
+the cover of the jar but herself since the day they were baked. It
+was a frightful thought. There was no more peace for Marian. Awake or
+dreaming, the cookies were ever before her. In school and at home they
+haunted her. What should she do, what could she do?
+
+Quietly the child went about the house. She no longer sang nor laughed.
+Uncle George wondered, Aunt Amelia rejoiced. She thought Marian's usual
+high spirits unbecoming a child dependent upon charity, as Marian had
+often heard her remark.
+
+"She may be working too hard in school," suggested Uncle George.
+
+"Whatever is the cause she has behaved so well lately, I shall allow
+her in the sitting-room with the children when Ella has her party,"
+conceded Aunt Amelia.
+
+Even a shadow of kindness touched Marian's heart. Oh, why had she done
+wrong? From the depths of her soul, the child repented. Why had she
+been called bad in the days when she tried to be good, and at last when
+she was so bad, why would Aunt Amelia declare that there was a great
+improvement in her behavior, and why would Uncle George speak to her
+almost as pleasantly as he did to Ella? If only she had remembered
+the words of Mrs. Moore before it was too late; to "Be good and to do
+right." Mrs. Moore also said, "Be brave." It would be brave to go to
+Aunt Amelia and tell her the truth about the cookies. Marian had not
+been good, she had not done right and she could not be brave.
+
+Many and many a time the child studied the grim face of Aunt Amelia,
+repeating over and over to herself "Be brave." It seemed to Marian
+that if she attempted telling Aunt Amelia of her sin, she would die on
+the spot, choke to death, perhaps, trying to get the words out. Her
+throat closed tight together at the very thought. It might, under some
+circumstances, be possible to tell Uncle George, although to confess
+was to be forever an outcast. Neither Uncle George nor Aunt Amelia
+would ever love her, nor would she ever be allowed to play with Ella.
+All the golden texts Marian had ever learned, haunted her memory. "The
+way of the transgressor is hard." "Be sure your sin will find you out."
+"Enter not into the path of the wicked." "Evil pursueth sinners."
+There were many others, so many, the child was sorry she had ever gone
+to Sunday-school.
+
+The day of the party was bright and beautiful. All the little girls
+came who were invited, Ruth Higgins, Dorothy Avery and Dolly Russel
+among the number. Marian went into the sitting-room with drooping head
+and misery in her soul, until joining in the games and merriment,
+she forgot the cookies and had a good time. Not a thought of trouble
+disturbed her pleasure even though she heard Lala setting the table in
+the dining-room.
+
+Her conscience awoke only when Aunt Amelia appeared to summon her into
+the kitchen. Every bit of color left the child's face. She could hear
+nothing clearly because of the ringing in her ears. As she followed
+Aunt Amelia through the dining-room the floor seemed rising up at every
+step and the candles on the birthday cake danced before her eyes. On
+the table in the kitchen was the empty cooky jar, the eloquent witness
+of her guilt. On a rosebud plate beside it were less than a dozen
+cookies. Marian gazed stupidly at the jar and at the plate of cookies.
+
+"What have you to say for yourself, Marian Lee?" Aunt Amelia's voice
+sounded far away. There were such lumps in Marian's throat she couldn't
+speak.
+
+"Answer me," commanded Aunt Amelia, "what have you to say?"
+
+Marian's tongue felt paralyzed. Perhaps it was unwilling to do its
+owner's bidding. It was certainly hard for that truthful little tongue
+to say the one word "Nothing." Aunt Amelia's face was terrible. "Do you
+mean to tell me that you haven't touched those cookies?"
+
+There was no retreat. Marian nodded her head.
+
+"Speak!" continued Aunt Amelia, "say yes or no? Do you dare to tell me
+that you didn't take the cookies?"
+
+It was all Marian did dare to do and her reply was "Yes."
+
+Aunt Amelia raised a long forefinger as she said, "Don't stand there
+and lie, Marian Lee, you took those cookies."
+
+"I did not." Lala grew pale when she heard that answer and saw the
+terrified eyes of the child.
+
+"Own up," she whispered as she passed the trembling sinner on her way
+to the dining-room.
+
+Marian looked beseechingly at Aunt Amelia, but her face was hard
+and pitiless. The child dared not "Be brave." "I did not touch the
+cookies," she repeated again and again.
+
+"How do you account for the disappearance of a whole jar of cookies,
+Marian, if you didn't eat them?" asked Uncle George upon his arrival.
+
+Marian had not thought of accounting for the loss of the cookies, but
+she took a deep breath and made a suggestion. "I s'pose a hungry tramp
+took 'em."
+
+The reply wasn't satisfactory. Uncle George frowned and Aunt Amelia
+smiled. The smile wasn't the kind she was in the habit of bestowing
+upon Ella. It was the sort that froze the blood in Marian's veins. She
+sank in a miserable little heap upon the floor and cried and cried.
+
+"Reform school is the place for children who steal and lie," said Aunt
+Amelia.
+
+Uncle George tried to make the child confess, but his efforts were
+vain. She would not. Threats were powerless. The more frightened Marian
+became the more vehemently she denied her guilt. Although it was Ella's
+birthday, and shouts of laughter could be heard from the sitting-room,
+Aunt Amelia produced a certain strap Marian was familiar with through
+past experience. "Spare the rod, spoil the child," was Mrs. St.
+Claire's favorite motto so far as her husband's small relative was
+concerned.
+
+"You can whip me till I die," sobbed Marian when she saw the strap,
+"but I can't say I took the cookies, because I didn't. How can I say I
+did, when I didn't?" Nor could Aunt Amelia nor Uncle George compel the
+child to say anything different.
+
+"You can whip me till I die," she insisted over and over, "but I can't
+say I took those cookies," and they finally believed her.
+
+"Go to bed," commanded Aunt Amelia. "I don't want to see a child who
+could die easier than she could tell the truth. Go!"
+
+A smothered sob caught Marian's ear. Lala was crying; and because Lala
+cried and was soon after found in Marian's room trying to quiet her,
+she was sent away the next day. Tilly was her successor. Before she had
+been in the house a week, she openly befriended Marian. "Poor little
+thing," she said, "if you had stolen a barrel of cookies from a baker
+you wouldn't have deserved half of the punishment you get. There isn't
+anything left they can do to you, is there?"
+
+"Yes, they can send me to the reform school," was the reply, "and, oh,
+dear, I'm afraid to go. What will become of me?"
+
+"If I were you," Tilly advised, "and I took the cookies, I would own
+up. They can't any more than kill you and I guess they'll do that
+anyway."
+
+Marian shook her head. The time to own up was long passed. She stayed
+in her room and ate bread and water a week without protest. On
+Sunday afternoon she listened to the story of Ananias and Sapphira
+with teeth and fists tightly closed. She heard long speeches on the
+fearful consequences of stealing and lying, without a word. Only when
+questioned would she say in low spiritless tones, "I did not touch the
+cookies."
+
+When it was all over, and Aunt Amelia and Uncle George gave up trying
+to wring a confession from her and the child was simply in disgrace,
+her own conscience began its work. It gave her no peace. Marian had
+said her prayers every night as Mrs. Moore had taught her when she was
+a baby; but she had repeated them quickly with her back turned towards
+heaven and had made no mention of cookies. At last, troubled by her
+conscience, and not knowing where to turn for comfort, Marian knelt by
+her bedside one night and tried an experiment.
+
+"O Lord," she began, "I am not going to lie to you about the cookies.
+Thou knowest I took them. That is why I haven't said any made up
+prayers for so long. I knew Thou knewest how wicked I am and I know
+what the Bible says about lying lips. I am afraid of Aunt Amelia or I
+would own up. She says I won't go to heaven when I die because I am
+too bad to live there. Now, O Lord, I know I could be good in heaven,
+but it has been hard work on earth, and after I took the cookies I got
+wickeder and wickeder, but honest and truth I'll never do anything
+wrong again and I'll never tell another lie. Thou knowest I could be
+good in heaven. Please, O Lord, forgive me and take me straight up to
+heaven when I die. Amen."
+
+That prayer didn't help Marian a bit. She could scarcely get off her
+knees when she had said "Amen." Her head seemed bowed down beneath a
+weight of cookies.
+
+"You know what you must do," insisted her conscience, "you must go to
+your Uncle George and your Aunt Amelia first, first, I say."
+
+"But I can't do that, and I'm so unhappy," sobbed Marian, but her
+conscience was pitiless. It would allow no compromise. "Oh, if I could
+see Nanna," whispered Marian as she crept into bed. No one had ever
+kissed her good-night but once since she had left the Home, and now, no
+one ever would again. The Father in heaven had turned away His face.
+Marian cried herself to sleep as she had many a night before.
+
+In the middle of the night she awoke and sat up in bed, cold and
+trembling. Thunder was rolling through the sky and an occasional flash
+of lightning made the little room bright one minute and inky black the
+next. Perhaps the end of the world was coming when the graves would
+give up their dead and the terrible Judge would descend to deal with
+the wicked. A crash of thunder shook the house. Marian dived beneath
+the blankets, but a horrible thought caused her to sit bolt upright
+again. Aunt Amelia had told her that sinners, on the last day, would
+call for the rocks and mountains to fall upon them. Perhaps hiding
+beneath blankets meant the same thing. Another crash came and a
+blinding flash of lightning. Then another and another. Springing from
+her bed, Marian ran down the hall to Mrs. St. Claire's room. The door
+was closed but the room was lighted.
+
+"Oh, let me come in," she cried, knocking frantically at the door and
+keeping her eye upon the crack of light at the bottom.
+
+The response was immediate. Aunt Amelia stepped into the hall and
+closed the door behind her. "Go back to your room," she said, "and
+don't you dare leave it again. I should think you would expect the
+lightning to strike you!"
+
+Marian shrank back as a flash of lightning illumined the hall. For one
+moment she saw Aunt Amelia, tall and terrible in her white night-dress,
+her voice more fearful than the thunder, and her form seeming to
+stretch upward and upward, growing thinner and thinner until it
+vanished in the awful darkness.
+
+Marian fled, closing the door of her little room and placing a chair
+against it. Kneeling by the window, she closed her eyes to shut out
+glimpses of the unnatural garden below and the angry sky above. The
+thought of sudden death filled her with terror. What would become
+of her soul if she died with her sins unconfessed? "Dear Father in
+heaven," she cried, "if you have to kill me with lightning, forgive me
+and take me to heaven. I'll be good there. I'll never steal anything
+there nor ever lie again. I was going to own up to Aunt Amelia, but
+O Lord, I was so afraid of her I didn't dare. If you'll let me live
+through this night, I'll go and tell her in the morning and then I'll
+never do wrong again. O Lord, I'm so sorry, and I'm awful afraid of
+lightning. I don't want to die by it, but if I have to, please take me
+up to heaven. Amen."
+
+Then Marian went back to bed. Her conscience didn't say a word that
+time and she went to sleep before the storm was over, long before Ella
+was quieted or ever Aunt Amelia closed her eyes.
+
+Marian's first waking thought when she looked out on the fresh
+brightness of another day was one of thankfulness. It was good to be
+alive. Another second and she groaned. Perhaps she would have been
+dead but for that midnight promise, the promise she must keep. Marian
+dressed quickly and sought Aunt Amelia before she lost courage. She
+wasn't gone long. Back she flew to the little room where her prayer was
+short although her sobs were long.
+
+"Oh, Lord, I couldn't, I just couldn't."
+
+There were many thunder-storms that summer and for a while every one
+of them frightened Marian. In the night, she would resolve to confess,
+but daylight took away her courage. "If I should be sick a long time,"
+Marian argued, "perhaps then Aunt Amelia would like me some and just
+before I died I could shut my eyes and tell her about the cookies. Then
+God would surely forgive me and I would go straight up to heaven and it
+would be all right. But if I should die suddenly, before I had any time
+to say any last words, what would become of me?" she asked herself.
+After thinking of it some time, Marian hit upon a plan that brought her
+peace of mind. She wrote the following confession:
+
+"Nobody knows how much I have suffered on account of some cookies. I
+used to like cookies but not now. It began by sugar. I took lumps of
+sugar out of a barrel for a boy. I thought if I could take sugar I
+could take cookies, too, and I did, but I said I didn't. I did take
+the cookies. I hope my folks will forgive me now I am dead. I suffered
+awful before I died on account of cookies. Give my wax doll and all my
+things to Ella. The doll is good if I wasn't. I tried but it is hard
+for some children on earth. I am awful sorry on account of being so
+much trouble to everybody. I took those cookies. Marian Lee."
+
+Having folded this paper, Marian was happier than she had been for
+weeks. She felt that she had saved her soul.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII
+
+MARIAN'S DIARY
+
+
+"JUNE 20.--It is hard to begin a diary. You don't know what to say
+first. Bernice Jones says a diary is a book to put the weather in.
+She ought to know on account of her grandmother keeping one. Leonore
+Whiting, the girl that sits behind me and wears the prettiest ribbons
+in school, says a diary is to put your feelings in. Leonore thinks she
+ought to know because her sister is a poetry writer.
+
+"When I asked Uncle George for an empty diary and what you write in
+it, he laughed and said he would give me all the paper I wanted to
+write things in and I had better put down everything. He said it would
+be a good thing for me to write more and talk less, so I guess I will
+have the fullest diary of any of the Diary Club. That's our name. Maud
+Brown was the one that got up the name. She says everybody belongs to
+a Club. Her mother does and her father and her brothers too. Maud says
+she has got to be in a Club or she never will be happy. She is only
+going to keep weather because she doesn't like to write. Leonore and a
+lot of the other girls are just going to keep a few feelings, but I am
+going to write down weather and feelings and everything.
+
+"The weather is all right to-day.
+
+"It is too bad about vacation. It is almost here and then I won't have
+anybody to play with. Uncle George says he never saw a little girl like
+to go to school as well as I do. It really isn't school I like to go
+to, it is recesses. I guess he had some other boys to play with when he
+was little or he would know. I would like to play with Dolly Russel but
+my aunt never will let me go over there and she tells Dolly's mother
+'No,' about everything she wants me to do. She did let Ella go, only
+they don't invite Ella any more. I wonder if she talked too much, or
+broke anything, or why? Lala works over there now, but my aunt told me
+not to talk to Lala so I don't dare.
+
+"I found out something to-day at school. The children that live in
+houses don't all go to bed in the dark. I cried and cried when I first
+had to go to bed in the dark because where I used to live, we didn't
+have to. I wish I could sit up late at night.
+
+"Another thing about a diary is how nice it will be for your
+grandchildren to know what you used to think about and what you used
+to do. I can hardly believe that I am the grandmother of my own
+grandchildren, but of course it is so.
+
+"June 21.--We took our diaries to school. I had the most written of
+anybody, but I don't think it is nice to read your diary out loud
+because they ask questions. The girls wanted to know where I used to
+live and I wanted to tell them but I didn't dare to, and now I wonder
+about things. Louise Fisher said that Dolly Russel's mother told her
+mother that my aunt is not good to me, and a good many more things,
+and they are all sorry for me and they say it is too bad I can't have
+pretty clothes like Ella. I didn't say much because I don't want
+everybody in school to know how bad I am and that nobody can love me,
+and about the cookies. I guess I would die if they knew it all. Their
+mothers wouldn't let them play with me at recess.
+
+"I wish I had a white dress to wear the last day of school when I sing
+a song alone and speak my piece. I don't like to sing and speak pieces
+because I am afraid. I am not going to take my diary to school any more.
+
+"June 22.--I don't know what to think. I heard some more things about
+me at school to-day. Folks wonder who I am and where I came from, and
+Louise Fisher says she knows Uncle George is not my own uncle and if
+she was me she would run away. I can't run away because I don't know
+where to run to and I am afraid. Ella knows things about me and if she
+ever gets a chance I guess she will tell me, but her mother won't let
+her speak to me if she can help it. I guess her mother doesn't know how
+hard I try to set Ella a good example of being polite and not slamming
+doors and speak when you're spoken to, and children should be seen and
+not heard, and if you behave as well as you look you'll be all right.
+
+"I know it was bad about the cookies, but Ella never can do a cooky
+sin because her mother always says to her, 'Help yourself, darling,'
+and that's different. Besides that, Ella thinks a tramp did take the
+cookies. I will tell her some time because she cried and was sorry I
+had so much trouble. Then she will never speak to me again, but it is
+better to tell the truth than to do any other way. When I think I am
+going to die, sure, then I will tell my aunt if it kills me.
+
+"I wonder if Uncle George is my uncle or what?
+
+"June 23.--It was the last day of school to-day. I sung my song and
+spoke my piece and Dolly Russel's mother kissed me. I wish she was my
+mother. I wish I had a mother. I am glad she kissed me. Aunt Amelia
+wasn't there. Ella cried because she couldn't go. It didn't rain. You
+don't think about weather when it is nice.
+
+"September 5.--The queerest thing happened. I thought I would be the
+one that would write the most in my diary this summer, but I wasn't,
+and good reason why. It was just a little after daylight the day after
+the last day of school, that Aunt Amelia came and called me and told me
+to get dressed quick, and she gave me all clean clothes to put on and I
+was frightened. I said what had I done and she said I had done enough.
+I was scared worse than ever. She told me to go down in the kitchen and
+I would find some breakfast ready. I thought I couldn't eat, everything
+was so queer and early, but I did, and then I had to put on my hat and
+Uncle George said, 'Are you ready?' I said where am I going, is it
+reform school, and Aunt Amelia said it ought to be, and then I got in
+a carriage with Uncle George and the driver put a little new trunk on
+behind and we drove to the depot.
+
+"It was awful early and the grass and the trees looked queer and the
+birds were singing like everything. Uncle George told me to cheer up, I
+was going to a nice place where I would have a good time, and he told
+me to write to him every week and he would write to me. He said I
+mustn't tell the folks where I was going that I was ever bad. He said
+he thought I was a pretty good little girl, and when he put me on the
+train and told the conductor where I was going and to take care of me,
+because I was his little girl, I put my arms around his neck and kissed
+him good-bye. He is a good man. I hope he is my uncle, but I don't know.
+
+"Well, I had a nice time in that village where I went and Uncle George
+came after me yesterday. I was glad to see him, but I didn't want to
+come home. I wanted to stay and go to the country school, but he said
+that my grandchildren would want their grandmother to know something.
+
+"Then he told me he found my diary and that he put it away where nobody
+could see it until I got back. He said he thought he had better tell
+me to keep my diary out of sight, because that was the style among
+diary-writing folks. So I will hide my diary now. I wonder if he read
+it. Anyway, I know Aunt Amelia didn't get a chance, because he told me
+most particular about how he found it first thing and put it where
+it wouldn't get dusty. He says he is my Uncle George. I was afraid
+maybe I was just adopted for a niece, and I am not sure yet. He didn't
+say he wasn't my adopted Uncle George, and maybe he thought I was his
+brother's little girl when I wasn't. The folks I stayed with told Uncle
+George I am a lovely child. He didn't look surprised, only glad.
+
+"September 6.--All the girls had new dresses at school. I am in the
+fourth grade this term. I am in fractions and on the map of South
+America. We played London Bridge and King William at recess.
+
+"September 7.--Too many things to play after school. Can't write. Aunt
+Amelia makes me get straight to bed after I come to my room at night.
+It doesn't seem like night, though. I don't like to go to bed in the
+afternoon very well, but after all, I am glad it doesn't get dark
+early. I go to sleep in the daytime and wake up in the daytime and the
+birds are always singing.
+
+"September 8.--Nothing happened in school to-day. It rains and I can't
+go out in the orchard. I was going to play 'Landing of the Pilgrims,'
+but I guess I will write in my diary. Where I was this summer they had
+a library, not a big one like the one down-stairs, but the shelves were
+low so I could reach the books, and the folks let me read all I wanted
+to. I was pretty glad of it, rainy days and Sundays.
+
+"The book I liked best was full of stories about the Norsemen. They
+gave me the book to keep. I take it way up in the top of my favorite
+apple-tree and read and read. Sometimes I play I'm Odin and sometimes
+I am Thor. I am not so afraid of thunder since I read about Thor. When
+it thunders and lightens I play I am an old Norseman and that I really
+believe Thor is pounding with his big hammer and that he is scaring
+the bad frost giants. I am glad Aunt Amelia says she never read Norse
+stories. If she had, she would call me Loki, so there's somebody that's
+bad she can't say I am.
+
+"What I like best is to sit in the top of the apple-tree and shut the
+book and think about the Rainbow Bridge that stretched from earth to
+heaven. Every one couldn't cross, but if my father and my mother were
+on the other side of the shining bridge, I would look straight towards
+them and I wouldn't look down and my mother would hold out her arms and
+I wouldn't be afraid. May be the Rainbow Bridge is wide. I am sure it
+is when I stop to think, because the gods used to drive over it when
+they came to visit the earth. Perhaps they would let me cross if they
+saw me coming because it was only the bad giants they tried to keep
+out of heaven. Oh, dear, I guess I am a bad giant myself, even if I am
+little, because the book says, 'The giants in old Norse times were not
+easy to conquer: but generally it was when they hid themselves behind
+lies and appeared to be what they were not that they succeeded for a
+time.' I hid myself behind lies.
+
+"September 9.--One sure thing, I will always tell the truth as long as
+I live. I didn't come straight home from school to-night. A lot of us
+girls went in the old cemetery and read what's on the tombstones, and
+I didn't get home early. I tried to get through the gate when my aunt
+wasn't looking, but that would have been what you call good luck. She
+took me in and said, 'Where have you been?' I said, 'In the graveyard.'
+She said, 'Why didn't you stay there?' I didn't know what to answer so
+I kept still. Then my aunt said, 'You can't go out to play,' and that
+was all. So I am always going to tell the truth and feel comfortable
+inside, no matter what happens. I was more afraid of how I would feel
+when it was time to say my prayers if I told a lie, than I was of my
+aunt.
+
+"September 10.--I didn't get home early to-night because I walked
+around the pond with Louise Fisher and Maud Brown. I owned up when I
+got home. I am not going to write down what happened, but it was worse
+than just being sent to your room. I don't want my little grandchildren
+to read about it. I am coming straight home next Monday night.
+
+"September 11.--Aunt Amelia says I act worse all the time. I don't know
+what I did that was bad to-day, but I got scolded all the time.
+
+"September 12.--Went to church and Sunday-school and the boys made fun
+of my shoes. They couldn't make me cry. I should think I would get used
+to being made fun of because I have to wear a sunbonnet to school and
+all the other little girls wear hats. I wear my sunbonnet as far as my
+aunt can see and then I take it off and swing it by the strings. She
+would be angry if she knew. I would almost rather be baldheaded than
+wear a sunbonnet when all the other girls wear hats. I wish I could
+have pretty shoes for Sundays, but I won't let the boys know I care.
+
+"September 13.--I came straight home to-night. I wish school began at
+daylight and didn't let out till dark, there is so much trouble at
+home. Uncle George says it is all on account of me.
+
+"September 14.--I came straight home and got scolded.
+
+"September 15.--Got scolded again.
+
+"September 16.--Got scolded some more.
+
+"September 17.--Got put to bed without any supper on account of sitting
+down by the side of the pond to watch a frog. It was a funny frog and
+when I had to go to bed, I went to sleep thinking about it. When it was
+almost dark Uncle George came and woke me up to give me something to
+eat. He didn't scold. I am writing this the next morning for yesterday.
+
+"September 18.--It was a beautiful Saturday. My aunt had company and
+I played out in the orchard all day long. Ella and my aunt and the
+company went to drive in the afternoon so there wasn't anybody to scold
+me. I saw the mole to-day. He came out and walked around a little. I
+guess he knew my aunt was gone. Everything was happy in the orchard. I
+watched a caterpillar a long time. He went so fast he made me laugh. I
+guess he was going home from school and wanted to get there in time.
+
+"September 19.--This is Sunday. Uncle George called me in the parlor to
+sing for the company and some other folks that came. Aunt Amelia played
+on the piano and when she couldn't play any more on account of a cramp
+in her wrist, they told me to sing without any music and I did. The
+company wiped away some tears, and she said I could sing just the way
+my father did when he was a little boy, and then she took me in her lap
+and said she thought I looked like my mother. I was going to ask some
+questions, but my aunt said not to talk about some things, and then
+the company said it was going to rain, she guessed, and would I sing
+another song. I did and then my aunt sent me to my room, cross. I mean
+she was cross. I felt pretty bad at first but I got over it.
+
+"September 20.--Ella says there is a picture of my father in the album,
+and she will show it to me first chance she gets.
+
+"September 21.--My aunt was away when I got home from school so Ella
+said, 'Now's your chance,' and we went into the parlor and she showed
+me the picture. I smiled back at the face because it smiled at me. My
+father is pleasant and kind.
+
+"September 22.--I went in the parlor and looked at the picture again. I
+was afraid my aunt would come in and find me.
+
+"September 23.--It happened to-day. I was looking at the picture and
+my aunt came in still and caught me. She said dreadful things, and I
+cried and I don't know what I did, but she said I was saucy and she
+didn't know what to do with me. Uncle George heard the noise and came
+in and he scolded, too. I never saw him so cross. I almost thought he
+was angry with Aunt Amelia, but of course that was not so. At last he
+took my father's picture out of the album and gave it to me, and told
+me to keep it, and he told me not to go in my aunt's parlor because
+she didn't want me there. I knew that before, because I wanted to take
+lessons on the piano same as Ella, and she wouldn't let me.
+
+"I am so glad I have my father's picture. It is like having folks of
+your own to have a picture of somebody that was yours. I haven't missed
+a single question in school on the map of South America. I guess that
+is one map I can't forget. I wish I knew where my father went in South
+America. I don't dare ask Uncle George. He says I am the trial of his
+life, and he doesn't see why I don't behave like other children.
+
+"October 1.--I am getting so I don't care what happens to me. I don't
+come straight home from school any more. I always think I will until I
+get started home, and then I dread to come because nobody loves me and
+I will get scoldings and things anyway, so I stop and look at toads and
+frogs and have a good time before I get home, and sometimes nothing
+happens. My aunt says I tell things, but I don't. What would I tell
+for? I don't even write sad things in my diary because I don't want to
+make my grandchildren cry. It would make me feel pretty bad if I found
+out that nobody loved my grandmother.
+
+"October 2.--Had a lovely time playing Pocahontas in the grove.
+
+"October 3.--I tried to count the stars last night, but I couldn't. I
+wonder why we don't fall off the earth when China's on top? Aunt Amelia
+says I ought to know better than to ask her questions. I do.
+
+"October 20.--I listened to what the minister said to-day. It was about
+heaven. I've got to try to be awful good on earth so I can surely go
+there. Then I guess somebody will love me and when I walk in through
+one of the pearly gates, the angels won't look cross.
+
+"October 21.--You get tired of keeping your diary. I am going to write
+a book. Its name will be 'The Little Daughter of Thor.' I guess Thor
+never had a little girl, but I am going to write it in a book that he
+did, and one day when the little girl was a baby and she was playing
+with the golden apples, she fell right through the sky on to the earth.
+Then I am going to write about how the little girl watched for the
+Rainbow Bridge. She was a little stray child on earth, and even the
+giants were kind to her. Of course Thor's little daughter would know
+enough to know that the only way home was over the blue and golden
+Rainbow Bridge that she couldn't see only sometimes.
+
+"At the end of the story, Thor himself will find the little girl and
+will take her in his chariot across the Rainbow Bridge to the shining
+bright city in the clouds where her mother will hug her pretty near to
+pieces. Maybe when I get the book done, I will write another about what
+Thor's little daughter did when she got home. About the songs she used
+to sing with her mother, and the flowers they used to pick and about
+everything that is happiness. It will be nicer to do than keeping an
+old diary about real things.
+
+"The nicest looking man's picture I ever saw is my father, so I am
+going to have him for Thor. My father looks kind and smiling, but he
+looks, too, as if he would know how to use Thor's big hammer if the bad
+giants tried to cross the Rainbow Bridge. I think it is queer that I
+like the god of thunder so well that I will let him have my father's
+face in my book.
+
+"October 22.--I am going to put some last words in my diary, just
+to say that it is a good thing to write a book. Something dreadful
+happened after school to-night. I felt dreadful, nobody knows. I got
+over it though, and then because I had to stay in my room and have dry
+bread and water for my supper, I started my book and it was lots of
+fun. It is the best thing there is to do when you want to forget you
+are a little girl that nobody loves. If I live here until I am an old
+lady I presume I will turn into an author.
+
+"If it wasn't for the orchard and the locust grove and the way home
+from school, and recesses and my doll and my books, and the birds and
+the wild flowers and the lovely blue sky I can see from my window this
+minute, and a good many other things, I would wish I had died when I
+was a baby. That makes me laugh. It is a nice world to live in after
+all. A beautiful world."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII
+
+DIPHTHERIA
+
+
+EARLY in the winter, diphtheria broke out in the schools. Marian said
+little about it at home, fearing she might not be allowed to go, though
+the daily paper told the whole story. Why the schools were not closed
+was a question even in the long ago days when Marian was a child.
+Uncle George was indignant, but influenced by his wife's arguments,
+he allowed Marian to have her way. Mrs. St. Claire said Marian was
+better off in school than at home, and in no more danger of catching
+diphtheria than she would be hanging over the fence talking to passing
+children. Marian didn't tell her Uncle George that she was never
+allowed to speak to passing children. He might have kept her home.
+
+Weeks passed and many little ones died. The schoolroom became a solemn
+place to Marian. It seemed strange to look at empty seats and know
+that the ones who used to sit in them would never come to school again.
+Even the boys were quieter than ever before. There were no longer paper
+wads flying the minute the teacher's back was turned, perhaps because
+the chief mischief maker's curly head was missing. He was Tommy Jewel,
+and he made things lively at the beginning of the term.
+
+Marian felt that it was something to have known so many girls and boys
+who died. At recess in the basement she used to ask children from the
+other rooms how many of their number were missing. Marian felt so well
+and full of life it never entered her head that she might be taken ill
+herself, and the thought of death was impossible, although she often
+closed her eyes and folded her hands, trying to imagine her school-days
+were over.
+
+At home the children met but seldom after the outbreak of diphtheria.
+Marian ate her breakfast alone and Ella had hers when the little cousin
+had gone to school. It was easily possible for Mrs. St. Claire to keep
+the children entirely separate. To guard Ella from all danger of
+contagion was her daily care and the smell of burning sulphur was ever
+present in the house.
+
+One morning Marian's throat was sore and she felt ill. The child
+dressed quickly and went down to tell Uncle George. Tilly the maid was
+at her home on a short visit, and Uncle George was building the kitchen
+fire.
+
+"I've got the diphtheria," announced Marian, and there was terror in
+her face.
+
+"Let me look in your throat," said Uncle George. "Why it looks all
+right, Marian, just a little red."
+
+"I don't care, I feel sick all over," insisted the child, "and I tell
+you now and then, I know I've got it."
+
+When Aunt Amelia was called she said Marian imagined that her throat
+was sore and as Marian ate breakfast, she was sent to school. The child
+went away crying. She didn't swing her little dinner pail around and
+around that morning just to show that she could do it and keep the
+cover on. Uncle George was inclined to call her back, but Aunt Amelia
+laughed at him.
+
+"Any child," argued Mrs. St. Claire, "that could eat the breakfast she
+did, isn't at death's door, now you mark my words. She has let her
+imagination run away with her. Our darling Ella is far more apt to have
+diphtheria than that child. She would be willing to have the disease to
+get a little sympathy."
+
+Marian felt better out in the fresh air and as she met Ellen Day soon
+after leaving home, the way to school seemed short. The chief ambition
+of Marian's school life was to sit on a back seat, yet from the
+beginning, it had been her lot to belong to the front row. The teachers
+had a way of putting her there and Marian knew the reason. It wasn't
+because she was the smallest child in the room, although that was the
+truth. Tommy Jewel used to sit on a front seat, too, and once Marian
+had to share the platform with him. The teacher said they were a good
+pair and the other children laughed. Possibly the memory of Tommy's
+mischievous face caused the teacher to notice how quiet Marian was the
+morning her throat was sore. The child sat with her elbows on her desk,
+her face in her hands, staring solemnly into space.
+
+"Are you ill, Marian?" asked the teacher.
+
+"No, Miss Beck," the child answered, recalling her aunt's remarks.
+
+At last, conscious of pathetic eyes following her about the room and
+having heard of Aunt Amelia, the teacher again questioned Marian. "What
+is the trouble, little girl? Is there anything you would like to do?
+Would you like to write on the blackboard?"
+
+Marian's face lighted. "I wish I could sit in that empty back seat all
+day," she eagerly suggested.
+
+The teacher smiled. "You may pack your books, Marian, and sit there
+until I miss you so much I shall need you down here again."
+
+Marian knew what that meant. "I'll be awful good," she promised. "I
+mean, I'll be ever so good."
+
+So Marian sat in a back seat that last day and in spite of her sore
+throat and headache, she was happy. It was triumph to sit in a back
+seat. She was glad the children looked around and smiled. They might
+get bad marks for turning their heads, to be sure, but what of it?
+At recess Marian walked across the schoolroom once or twice, then
+returned to her seat. At noon she refused to go to the basement with
+the children to eat her luncheon. In fact, she couldn't eat. Marian
+wondered why time seemed so long.
+
+When the history class was called to the recitation seat early in the
+afternoon, one little girl was motionless when the signals were given.
+
+"Marian Lee's asleep," volunteered the child who sat in front of her.
+
+At that, Marian raised her head and stumbled to her class.
+
+"Don't you feel well?" asked the teacher.
+
+Marian shook her head. Her cheeks were crimson. She had never felt so
+wretched.
+
+"Don't you think you had better go home?" continued Miss Beck.
+
+"Oh, no," answered the child in tones of alarm. "Oh, she wouldn't let
+me come home before school is out."
+
+"There, there, don't cry," begged the teacher. "You may go back to
+your seat if you wish."
+
+Marian did so and was soon asleep again. At recess she awoke to find
+herself alone in the room with Miss Beck.
+
+"You had better go home, dear," the teacher urged. "I am sure you are
+ill. Let me help you put on your coat and hood."
+
+"I can't go home until school is out," and Marian began to cry.
+
+"Why not?"
+
+"Because on account of my aunt. She wouldn't let me come home."
+
+"But you are ill, Marian."
+
+"She won't let me be sick," was the sobbing reply, "and I don't dare go
+home. You don't know my aunt. I guess I feel better. I want to go where
+it isn't so hot."
+
+The teacher was young and hopeful. "Perhaps you will feel better if you
+go out to play," was her reply.
+
+Instead of going out of doors, Marian went into the basement and joined
+in a game of blind man's buff. Only a few minutes and she fell upon
+the floor in a dead faint. When the child opened her eyes she found
+herself the centre of attraction. The basement was quiet as though the
+command had been given to "Form lines." A strange teacher was holding
+Marian and Miss Beck was bathing her face with a damp handkerchief.
+Her playmates stood about in little groups, whispering the dread word
+"Diphtheria." Miss Beck came to her senses and ordered the children
+into the fresh air. How to send Marian home was the next question. The
+child listened to the various suggestions and then, struggling to her
+feet declared that she would walk home alone. She couldn't imagine what
+her aunt might say if she did anything else.
+
+The child had her way. Through the gate and down the road she went
+alone. The journey was long and the wind was cold. The little feet were
+never so weary as that December day. It seemed to Marian that she could
+never reach home. Finally she passed the church. Seven more houses
+after that, then a turn to the right and two more houses. If she dared
+sit down on the edge of the sidewalk and rest by the way, but that
+wouldn't do. "I could never stir again," she thought and plodded on.
+
+At last she reached her own gate and saw Ella at the window. Would Aunt
+Amelia scold? It would be good to get in where it was warm, anyway. Oh,
+if Aunt Amelia would open the front door and say, "Come in this way,
+Marian," but she didn't and the child stumbled along a few more steps
+to the back entrance. She was feeling her way through the house when
+Aunt Amelia stopped her in the dining-room.
+
+"Don't come any further," said she. "I have callers in the parlor. What
+are you home in the middle of the afternoon for?"
+
+"I've got the diphtheria," the child replied, and her voice was thick.
+
+Aunt Amelia made no reply but returned immediately through the
+sitting-room to the parlor.
+
+"I guess she knows I'm sick now," Marian whispered as she sank into a
+chair by the table and pushed her dinner pail back to make room for
+her aching head. The callers left. Marian heard the front door open
+and close. Then Aunt Amelia hastily entered the dining-room, threw
+a quantity of sulphur upon the stove and went back, closing the door
+behind her. Another door closed and Marian knew that her aunt was in
+the parlor with Ella.
+
+The child choked and strangled and called to her aunt. She tried to
+walk and couldn't stand. The fumes of burning sulphur grew stronger and
+stronger. The air was blue. Marian became terrified as no one replied
+to her calls, but in time a merciful feeling of rest and quiet stole
+over her and her head fell forward upon the table.
+
+For a long time she knew nothing. Then came dreams and visions. Part
+of the time Marian recalled that she was home from school early and
+that she had not taken off her hood and coat. Again she wondered where
+she was and why it was so still. Then came an awful dread of death.
+Where was everybody and what would become of her? The thought of
+death aroused Marian as nothing else had done. Would she be left to
+die alone? She remembered that some of her schoolmates were ill with
+diphtheria but a few hours before the end came. Where was Aunt Amelia?
+Had she gone away from the house? Marian could not lift her head and
+when she tried to call her aunt her voice was a smothered whisper. What
+she suffered before her uncle came was a story long untold. Things
+happened when Uncle George walked into the house. He aired the room and
+there was wrath in his voice as he demanded explanations.
+
+"Have patience a minute more, little girl, and it will be all right,"
+he said to Marian, as he brought a cot into the room and quickly made a
+bed. Then he undressed her, put her in bed and grabbed his hat.
+
+"Oh, don't leave me," begged Marian, "please don't, Uncle George, I'm
+awful sick and I'm afraid when I'm alone."
+
+"I'm going for the doctor," was the reply; "lie still and trust Uncle
+George."
+
+The man was gone but a moment and soon after he returned, the doctor
+came. It was no easy matter to look in Marian's throat. It needed more
+than the handle of a spoon to hold down the poor little tongue.
+
+"Am I going to die right off?" demanded the child. "Oh, if I can only
+live I'll be so good. I'll never do anything bad again. Tell me quick,
+have I got to die to-night?"
+
+For a time it seemed useless to try to quiet the little girl. "Oh, I'm
+afraid to die," she moaned, "I don't dare to die. Aunt Amelia says I
+won't go to heaven and I'm afraid. I don't want to tell what she does
+say. Oh, Uncle George, don't let me die. Tell the doctor you want me to
+get well. Tell him I'll be good."
+
+Uncle George sat down and covered his face with his hands when Marian
+told him she couldn't hear what he said, that it was dark and she
+wanted more light so she could see his face that she might know if he
+was angry. Then she called for Aunt Amelia, and Aunt Amelia would not
+come; she was afraid of the diphtheria.
+
+"But if I'm going to die, I've got to tell her," cried the child,
+clutching at the air, and it was some time before Uncle George
+understood.
+
+"Child, child, don't speak of cookies," he begged, "that was all right
+long ago;" but the assurance fell upon unheeding ears.
+
+The nurse came and went up-stairs to prepare a room for Marian. The
+woman's appearance convinced the child that there was no hope--she was
+surely going to die. Uncle George groaned as he listened to her ravings.
+
+At last the doctor put down his medicine case and drew a chair close
+beside the cot. He was a big man with a face that little children
+trusted. He took both of Marian's small, burning hands in one of his
+and told her she must look at him and listen to what he had to tell
+her. Uncle George moved uneasily. He thought the doctor was about to
+explain to Marian that unless she kept more quiet, nothing would save
+her, she would have to die. The man was surprised when he heard what
+the kind physician said. He talked to Marian of the friend of little
+children and of the beautiful home beyond the skies. Nor would he allow
+her to interrupt, but patiently and quietly told her over and over
+that the One who took little children up in His arms and blessed them,
+didn't ask whether they were good or bad. He loved them all. The sins
+of little children were surely forgiven.
+
+The troubled brain of the child grasped the meaning at last. There
+was nothing to fear. She closed her eyes and was quiet for a few
+moments. When she began to talk again, it was of summer mornings and
+apple-blossoms, of the wild birds and the chipmunk that lived in the
+locust grove. Many days passed before Marian realized anything more:
+then she knew that Uncle George took care of her nights and the nurse
+came every morning.
+
+"Where is my aunt?" asked the child. "Doesn't she come up here?"
+
+"Your aunt and little cousin," replied the nurse, "stay by themselves
+in the front part of the house down-stairs. They are afraid of the
+diphtheria."
+
+Marian stared at the wall. She was glad to know there was no danger
+that Aunt Amelia might walk in, but somehow it seemed better not to
+tell the nurse.
+
+"Am I going to die?" she asked.
+
+The question came so suddenly the nurse was taken by surprise.
+"Why--why we hope not," was the reply.
+
+Something in the tones of the woman's voice impressed the truth upon
+Marian's mind. She was far more likely to die than to live. "I only
+wanted to know," she remarked, "I'm not afraid any more. I only hope I
+won't be a grown up angel the first thing. I should like to be a little
+girl with a mother and live in one of the many mansions for a while,
+like other children. I'd pick flowers in the front yard."
+
+Soon after, the child fell asleep. When she awoke she was delirious,
+talking continually about the Rainbow Bridge. The doctor came, but it
+was hours before the Rainbow Bridge faded away and Marian was quiet.
+That was the day the little pilgrim seemed near the journey's end.
+Until sunset, Uncle George watched each fluttering breath. In the
+silent room below, Ella wept bitterly and Aunt Amelia waited to hear
+that the little soul was gone. She waited calmly, declaring that she
+had done her duty by the child up-stairs.
+
+Marian lived. A few weeks more and Aunt Amelia heard her ringing
+laugh and knew that she was happy. At last Marian was well enough to
+leave her room but it was days and days after the house was fumigated
+before she was allowed to see Ella or sit at the table with the family.
+Everything seemed changed. The rooms were brighter and more cheerful.
+The pictures on the walls had a different meaning. The very chairs
+looked new. Nothing appeared just as Marian left it. Even Aunt Amelia
+was better looking and spoke more kindly to the child. Nothing was ever
+the same after Marian had diphtheria. She never returned to the little
+back room where she was away from all the family at night, nor did she
+ever again doubt that Uncle George was her own uncle.
+
+Many bright days crowded one upon another during the remaining weeks
+of winter. The neighbors invited Marian to their homes and took her
+driving with them. Dolly Russel's mother gave a house party for her,
+inviting little girls from the country for a week in town. That was the
+time Marian was so happy she almost believed herself a princess in
+a fairy tale. When she was home again, the child added a line to her
+diary.
+
+"February 29.--I had diphtheria this winter and it was a good thing. I
+got well and now I am having the best time that ever was written down
+in a diary. I have changed my mind about being an author. I won't have
+time to write books. There is too much fun in the world."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV
+
+MUSICAL CONVERSATIONS
+
+
+ONCE in a great while Marian and Ella had a chance to play together.
+These rare occasions were times of joy.
+
+Mrs. St. Claire usually took Ella with her wherever she went, but
+sometimes she was compelled to leave the child at home with her father
+or Tilly, and there was merriment in the house. The little cousins
+had gay times and their only regret was that such hours of happiness
+were few. At last Marian thought of a plan. Her new room was opposite
+Ella's. As Aunt Amelia insisted upon sending Marian to bed at seven,
+Uncle George declared that early hours were necessary for Ella's
+welfare. Accordingly, both children went to their rooms at the same
+time with instructions not to talk. No one cautioned them not to sing
+and singing was one of Marian's habits. After listening to the solos a
+few nights, Ella tried a song of her own and that gave Marian an idea.
+She listened until Ella stopped for breath and then expressed a few
+thoughts to the tune of "Home, Sweet Home."
+
+  "O-oh, I know what will be great fun
+  And I'll tell you what it is,
+  We will play go to gay old concerts,
+  And take our children too.
+
+  "First the other lady
+  Can sing a good long song,
+  And then it will be my turn next,
+  And I'll sing a song myself.
+
+  "Fun fu-un-fun, fun-fun,
+  I guess it will be fun-fun,
+  I guess it will be fun."
+
+It was fun. The other lady took the hint quickly. She and her children
+went to the concert without waiting to get ready. Furthermore she left
+herself sitting beside her children in the best seat in the hall and at
+the same time took her place on the stage. She even went so far as to
+become a colored man while she sang
+
+  "Way down upon the Suwanee River."
+
+Ella's mother came up-stairs for something as the gentleman was
+rendering this selection with deep feeling, but she had no idea that
+her little daughter was singing on the stage, nor did she know that the
+greatest soprano in America was the next performer, although she did
+hear Marian begin in tragic tones, "'There is a happy land, far, far
+away.'" "Far, far away" was tremulous with emotion.
+
+From that hour dated many a concert, and after the concerts, the ladies
+continued to sing everything they had wished to talk over during the
+day. Often the musical conversations were cut short by an admonition
+from the hall below, but even Tilly never learned the nature of those
+evening songs. As the children disturbed nobody and were put to bed
+long before they were sleepy, Uncle George said, "Let them sing." In
+this way Marian and Ella became well acquainted.
+
+One night Marian asked Ella if she knew anything about how she happened
+to be taken to the Little Pilgrim's Home when she was a baby.
+
+    "No-o-o," replied Ella in shrill soprano,
+    "They won't tell-ell me-e a thing now-ow days
+    But a long time ago-go
+    They used to talk about everything
+    Right before me-e, only the trouble is-s,
+    I was such a little goo-oose
+    I didn't think much about it."
+
+    "Do you know anything about my mother-other-other?"
+    Chanted the musician across the hall.
+
+    "No-o-o," was the response,
+    "I only know-o that my mother-other
+    Didn't know your mother-other, ever in her li-ife,
+    But I do-oo remember-ember that the folks at that Ho-o-me
+    Had some things that used to belong-long
+    To your mother-other.
+    And they are packed away-way somewhere in the house.
+    I guess they are in the attic-attic,
+    But of course I don't know-o.
+
+    "Once I saw-aw a picture of your mother-other
+    But I don't remember-ember
+    What she looked like, looked like-looked like.
+    Don't you wi-ish your mother wasn't dead?
+    If you had a mother-other
+    I could go to your hou-ouse
+    And your mother-other
+    Would let us play together-ether."
+
+    "Yes, yes, she would," Marian's voice chimed in,
+    "She would let us play-ay
+    All the day-ay.
+    And sometimes I thi-ink my mother is ali-ive,
+    And if she is, won't I be gla-ad.
+    If I do find my mother-other
+    And I go to live with her-er,
+    Why, may be your mother-other will die-i
+    And then you can come and live with u-us
+    And won't that be gay-ay.
+    You never know what's going to happen in this world."
+
+"What kind of a song are you singing?" called Aunt Amelia.
+
+"Opera house music," replied Marian, who feared that concerts were over
+for the season when she heard the question.
+
+"I thought," responded Aunt Amelia, "that a lunatic asylum was turned
+loose. Don't let me hear another sound to-night."
+
+The musicians laughed softly, and there were no more solos that evening.
+
+The following day Ella and Aunt Amelia went visiting and in the middle
+of the forenoon, when Tilly was busily working in the kitchen, Marian
+climbed the attic stairs with determination in her eye. An old portrait
+of George Washington on the wall at the landing seemed to question
+her motives. "Don't worry, Mr. Washington," remarked the child, "I'm
+not going to tell a lie, but sir, I'm looking for my mother and I'm
+going to find her if she's here." Marian gazed steadily at the face in
+the old oaken frame, and meeting with no disapproval there, passed on,
+leaving the Father of her Country to guard the stairway.
+
+There were numerous trunks, boxes, barrels and an old sea-chest in the
+attic. Marian hesitated a moment before deciding to try the yellow
+chest. Her knees shook as she lifted the cover. At first she was
+disappointed; there seemed to be nothing but blankets in the chest.
+Then a bit of blue silk peeping from beneath the blankets caught her
+eye and Marian knew she was searching in the right place. From the
+depths of the chest she drew forth a bundle, unfolded it and beheld a
+beautiful gown of pale blue silk, trimmed with exquisite lace. Tears
+filled her eyes as she touched the shimmering wonder. She had never
+seen anything like it.
+
+"This was my mother's," she whispered, and kissed the round neck as
+she held the waist close in her arms. "She wore it once, my mother."
+Marian would gladly have looked at the dress longer but time was
+precious and there was much to see. Embroidered gowns of purest white,
+bright sashes and ribbons were there, and many another dainty belonging
+of the woman whose name was never mentioned in the presence of her
+child. In a carved ivory box, were jewels. Marian closed it quickly,
+attracted by a bundle at the bottom of the chest. She had found it at
+last. The picture of her mother. It was in an oval frame, wrapped in a
+shawl of white wool.
+
+"Oh, if I had her, if she could only come to me," cried Marian, as the
+lovely face became her own. Though the child might never again see the
+picture, yet would it be ever before her.
+
+When she dared stay in the attic no longer, Marian kissed the picture,
+wrapped it in the white shawl and laid it tenderly away. As she did so
+she noticed for the first time a folded newspaper on the bottom of the
+chest. Inside the paper was a small photograph. Marian tiptoed to the
+attic stairs and listened a moment before she looked at the photograph.
+Then she uttered a low exclamation of delight. There was no doubt that
+the face in the oval frame was her mother's, for the small picture was
+a photograph of Marian's father and a beautiful woman. "It's the same
+head," whispered the child, "and oh, how pretty she is. I am so glad
+she is my mother!
+
+"I wonder what they saved an old newspaper so carefully for?" continued
+Marian. "Maybe I had better look at it. What does this mean? 'Claimed
+by Relatives,' who was claimed, I wonder? Oh! I was! Now I'll find out
+all I want to know because, only see how much it tells!"
+
+Marian laid the photograph down and read the article from beginning
+to end. She didn't see George Washington when she passed him on the
+landing on the way down-stairs and for the rest of the day the child
+was so quiet every one in the house marveled. There were no concerts
+that evening. The leading soprano had too much on her mind. The
+following morning Marian sharpened her lead pencil and opened her
+diary. After looking for a moment at the white page she closed the book.
+
+"No use writing down what you are sure to remember," she remarked, "and
+besides that, it is all too sad and finished. I am going outdoors and
+have some fun." Marian was in the back yard watching a cricket, when
+Ella sauntered down the path singing, "Good-morning, Merry Sunshine."
+
+"Where are you going, sweetheart?" called her mother from the kitchen
+window.
+
+"Just down here by the fence to get some myrtle leaves," Ella replied
+and went on singing.
+
+Marian bent over the cricket nor did she look up although Ella gave her
+surprising information as she passed.
+
+    "If I were you, Miss Marian Lee,
+    I'll tell you what I'd do,
+    I'd pack my doll and everything I wanted to take with me,
+    Because in the very early morning,
+    You're surely going away
+    To a country town where you will stay
+    Until school begins again.
+
+    "I knew they were going to send you somewhere,
+    But I didn't know just when,
+    Until I just now heard my father and mother
+    Both talking all about it.
+    I know you'll have a pretty good time,
+    I wish I were going too,
+    But maybe you'll find some girls to play with,
+    I'm sure I hope you do."
+
+Marian smiled but dared not reply, especially as the singer broke
+down and laughed and Aunt Amelia knew there were no funny lines in
+"Good-morning, Merry Sunshine."
+
+The hint was enough. Marian straightened her affairs for a journey and
+a long absence from home.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XV
+
+LITTLE SISTER TO THE DANDELION
+
+
+MARIAN asked no questions the following morning until she was on her
+way to the station with Uncle George. "Where am I going?" she finally
+ventured.
+
+"Where you passed the summer last year," was the reply. "How does that
+suit you?"
+
+"Suit me," repeated Marian, "nothing ever suited me better. I'm pretty
+glad I'm going there. Why didn't you send me back to school, Uncle
+George? School won't be out for two months. I'm glad you didn't, but
+why?"
+
+"Well, sis, you told me you wanted to go to the country school."
+
+"Yes, but----"
+
+"Now's your chance," interrupted the man, "learn all you can and try to
+do some one thing better than any one else in school, will you?"
+
+"Well, but Uncle George, big boys and big girls go to country schools."
+
+"What of it, Marian? You do some one thing better than any one else in
+school, and when you come home this fall you may choose any book you
+wish at the book store, and I will buy it for you."
+
+"But, Uncle George, how will you know whether I really do something
+better than any one else or not?"
+
+"I'll take your word for it, Marian."
+
+"My word is true," the child remarked with dignity.
+
+"No doubt about it," added Uncle George, turning away to hide a smile.
+
+Just as the train pulled into the station, Marian caught a glimpse of a
+small blue butter-fly. It fluttered away out of sight as Uncle George
+said "good-bye." "Oh, I hate to leave that butter-fly," exclaimed
+Marian, and those were the last words Uncle George heard as he left
+her. The passengers smiled, but Uncle George looked thoughtful. There
+was so much to be seen from the car windows and so many folks to
+wonder about within the car, the journey seemed short.
+
+Two young ladies welcomed Marian at the train, hugging and kissing her
+the minute the small feet touched the platform. "I guess folks will
+think you're some relation to me," laughed the child.
+
+"So we are," replied Miss Ruth Golding. "We are your cousins."
+
+"Certainly," agreed Miss Kate, "your Uncle George knew us when we were
+little girls, so of course we are your cousins."
+
+"Of course!" echoed Marian, "and I know my summer of happiness has
+begun this day in April."
+
+"Your troubles have begun, you mean," warned Miss Ruth; "the
+school-teacher boards with us and you'll have to toe the mark."
+
+"Oh, goody!" exclaimed Marian. "I can walk to school with her."
+
+"You won't say 'goody' when you see the lady," predicted Miss Kate.
+"She's as sober as a judge, very quiet, and keeps to herself."
+
+"What's the matter with her?" asked Marian.
+
+"She's lived in the city all her life and eaten books," explained Ruth.
+"She eats them, Marian, covers, binding, pictures and everything. Too
+bad, but maybe you'll get used to it. Here is mother coming to meet
+you, and here comes Carlo."
+
+Marian ran ahead to throw her arms around Mrs. Golding's neck. "I am so
+glad they sent me back to you," she cried. "I didn't say anything about
+it to my aunt because she would have sent me somewhere else. It doesn't
+do to let her know when you're too happy. She isn't a bit like you, not
+a bit."
+
+"No, I think not," was the response. "You see, dear, your neighbor,
+Mrs. Russel, is one of my old friends, and she has told me so much
+about your aunt I feel as if I know her. I am sure we are not alike."
+
+"Why, I should say not!" laughed Marian. "Why she's as thin as--as
+knitting needles, and you're as plump as new pin cushions. Won't we
+have fun this summer, though? Well, Carlo, old fellow. Didn't forget
+Marian, did he? Nice old doggie."
+
+"Down, sir!" Mrs. Golding commanded. "He is so glad to see you, Marian,
+he can't express his feelings without trying to knock you over."
+
+"I wish Uncle George owned a dog," commented Marian; "there'd always
+be some one glad to see you when you got home. I like dogs. Does the
+teacher come home at noon, Mrs. Golding?"
+
+"No, sometimes we don't see her until supper time. She won't be such
+jolly company for you as my girls. She's too quiet."
+
+"Is she cross, Mrs. Golding?"
+
+"No, oh, no indeed."
+
+"Then I shall like her," was the quick reply.
+
+There were callers in the late afternoon, so Marian wandered out alone.
+She had gone but a short distance down the lane when she saw dandelions
+ahead. She gathered a handful of the short-stemmed blooms and walked
+on. In the distance she heard a bluebird singing. Marian ran to find it
+and was rewarded by a flash of glorious blue as the bird sought a tree
+across the river. Marian followed it as far as she could, being obliged
+to stop at the river's bank. As she stood gazing after the bird, she
+was startled by a woman's voice.
+
+"What have you in your hand, little girl?"
+
+Turning, Marian saw a young lady sitting on a log near by. "Just
+dandelions," the child replied, and would have hidden the bunch behind
+her if the young lady had not forbidden it.
+
+"We all love dandelions, little girl," she said; "come and show them to
+me."
+
+Marian wonderingly obeyed.
+
+"Did you ever look at a dandelion through a microscope?" continued the
+young lady.
+
+"No, I never did."
+
+The stranger passed Marian a microscope and asked her to tell what she
+saw.
+
+"Oh, I never knew a dandelion was like this," said Marian; "why there
+are a thousand little blossoms in it all crowded together, and they are
+the goldenest golden ever was! Oh, oh, oh! Wasn't it lucky you were
+here so I could see through your microscope? What if I had never seen
+that dandelion!"
+
+"Would you like to borrow the microscope often?" asked the young lady,
+smiling so pleasantly Marian straightway decided that she was pretty.
+
+"Well, I should say yes, Miss--Miss--you see I don't know what your
+name is?"
+
+"Oh, that's so, I am Miss Smith, Miss Virginia Smith. Who are you?"
+
+"My name," was the reply, "is Marian Lee, but who I am I don't really
+know."
+
+Miss Smith repressed her curiosity, believing that Marian was the
+little girl the Goldings were to meet that day.
+
+"It's everything to have a name," said she.
+
+"Yes, but I'd like some relatives," Marian explained, "some real
+sisters and cousins and aunts of my own."
+
+"Why don't you do as Hiawatha did?" Miss Smith suggested.
+
+"You mean play all the birds and squirrels are my brothers and sisters?
+I think I will. I'll be little sister to the dandelion."
+
+Miss Smith laughed with Marian. "I'll do the same thing," said she,
+"and if we are sisters to the dandelion, you must be my little sister
+and I'm your big sister and all the wild flowers belong to our family."
+
+"It's a game," agreed Marian. "I suppose little Indian children picked
+dandelions in the spring-time before Columbus discovered America."
+
+"There were no dandelions then to pick," Miss Smith remonstrated. "The
+plant was brought here by white men. Its name is from the French,
+meaning lion's tooth."
+
+"I don't see anything about a dandelion to mean lion's tooth," objected
+Marian; "do you?"
+
+"No, I don't, Marian, nor does any one know exactly how it came by
+its name. Some believe it was given to the plant because its root is
+so white; then again, in the old days lions were pictured with teeth
+yellow as dandelion blossoms. The explanation I like best is that the
+dandelion was named after the lion because the lion is the animal that
+used to represent the sun, and all flowers named after him are flowers
+of the sun."
+
+"Do you know anything more about dandelions?" questioned Marian.
+
+"If I don't," said Miss Virginia Smith, smiling as she spoke, "it isn't
+because there is nothing more to learn. Did you ever hear the dandelion
+called the shepherd's clock?"
+
+"No, Miss Smith, never. Why should they call it that?"
+
+"Because the dandelion is said to open at five and close at eight."
+
+"Well!" exclaimed Marian, "I guess you could write a composition about
+dandelions."
+
+"Possibly," was the laughing response. "As far as that goes, Marian,
+there isn't a thing that grows that hasn't a history if you take the
+time and trouble to hunt it up."
+
+"Skunk cabbages?" suggested Marian.
+
+"Yes, 'skunk cabbages,'" was the reply. "What flowers do you suppose
+are related to it?"
+
+"I don't know, unless Jack-in-the-pulpit, maybe, is it?"
+
+"That's right, guess again."
+
+"I'll have to give up, Miss Smith. I never saw anything except
+Jack-in-the-pulpit that looks a bit like old skunk cabbage."
+
+"The calla lily, Marian, what do you think of that?"
+
+"I don't know, Miss Smith, but such things happen, of course, because
+Winnie Raymond has a horrible looking old Uncle Pete, and Winnie's
+awful pretty herself. But how do you know so much about plants?"
+
+"By reading and observation, Marian."
+
+"Are there many books about wild flowers, Miss Smith?"
+
+"More than we can ever read, little girl. Better than that the country
+around this village is a garden of wild flowers. Down by the old mill
+and on the hills, in the fields and woods and along the river bank, we
+shall find treasures from now on every time we take the shortest walk."
+
+"Oh, dear," grumbled Marian, "isn't it too bad I've got to go to
+school?"
+
+"Why don't you like to go to school, child?"
+
+"At home I do, on account of recesses. I don't like the school part of
+it much, but here it would be recess all the time if I could go in
+the woods with you, besides having a good time with the Golding girls
+and playing all day long where I don't get scolded. Dear! I wish I
+didn't have to go to school, or else I wish they'd have lessons about
+birds and flowers and butterflies and little animals, instead of old
+arithmetic. I hate arithmetic."
+
+"Do you?" sympathized Miss Smith. "That's too bad, because we all need
+to understand arithmetic."
+
+"I don't," protested Marian. "I don't even think arithmetic thoughts."
+
+"Some day, Marian, you will wish you understood arithmetic," said Miss
+Smith. "Now if you and I went for a walk and we saw ten crows, three
+song sparrows, five bluebirds, seven chipping sparrows and twenty-seven
+robins, and Mrs. Golding asked us when we got home how many birds we
+saw, I wonder how you would feel if you couldn't add?"
+
+"Well, but don't you see," interrupted Marian, "I could add birds, yes
+and subtract and multiply and divide them. That's different. What I
+don't like is just figures and silly arithmetic things."
+
+"Well, Marian, I may as well tell you now that I'm the school-teacher
+and we'll have arithmetic stories about birds and flowers and little
+animals."
+
+"Oh, are you the teacher?" exclaimed Marian. "I thought she
+was--was--different, you know."
+
+"Different, how?"
+
+"Well, they told me the teacher was--was quiet."
+
+"So she is, usually," agreed Miss Smith, "but this afternoon she met
+one of her own folks. This little sister to the dandelion."
+
+"Won't we have fun!" was Marian's comment.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVI
+
+PROFESSOR LEE, BOTANIST
+
+
+MISS VIRGINIA SMITH knew how to teach arithmetic. Fractions lost
+their terror for Marian, even the mysteries of cube root were eagerly
+anticipated. History became more than ever a living story to the child,
+and geography was a never failing joy. On rainy days every stream and
+puddle between Mrs. Golding's home and the schoolhouse was named, and
+if several Mississippi Rivers emptied into Gulfs of Mexico, and if
+half a dozen Niles overflowed their banks over the country road, what
+difference did it make? When the sun shone bright and only dew-drops
+glistened in the shade, Marian saw deserts and plains, mountains and
+volcanoes along the dusty way.
+
+For a time the game of geography became so absorbing Marian played it
+at the table, forming snowy peaks of mashed potatoes and sprinkling
+salt upon the summits until the drifts were so deep, only the valleys
+below were fit to be eaten. Brown gravy was always the Missouri River
+winding its way across Marian's plate between banks of vegetables. Ice
+cream meant Mammoth Cave. A piece of pie was South Africa from which
+the Cape of Good Hope quickly disappeared. However hungry Marian might
+be, there was a time when she ate nothing but continents and islands.
+
+Whatever Miss Virginia Smith tried to teach the country children,
+Marian Lee appropriated for herself. She listened to all recitations
+whether of the chart class or the big boys and girls. Perhaps if Marian
+had attended more strictly to her own lessons, she might have made the
+kind of a record she thought would please Uncle George. As it was,
+Jimmie Black "Left off head" in the spelling class more times than she
+did, the first month. Belle Newman had higher standings in arithmetic
+and geography, and some one carried off all the other honors.
+
+Marian, however, knew something about botany before the end of May,
+and she gloried in the fact that she could name all the bones in her
+body. Mr. Golding was proud of her accomplishment and once when she
+went with him to see old Bess newly shod, he asked her to name the
+bones for the blacksmith: and the blacksmith thought it wonderful that
+a little girl knew so much. "Yes, but that's nothing," remarked the
+child, "all the big boys and girls in the fifth reader class know their
+bones."
+
+"Ain't you in the fifth reader?" asked the blacksmith.
+
+"No," was the reply, "I can read the whole reader through, but I'm
+not in that reader class. That's the highest class in the country. I
+suppose being in the fifth reader here is like being in the high school
+at home just before you graduate. I won't have to learn bones when I
+get up to the high school."
+
+"And still you say that ain't nothing," protested the blacksmith.
+
+Marian shook her head. "I haven't done one thing in school better'n
+anybody else," she said, "and to do something better'n anybody else
+is all that counts. Don't you try to be the best blacksmither in the
+country?"
+
+Old Bess flourished her tail in the blacksmith's face and the man spoke
+to her next instead of to Marian. He wasn't the best blacksmith and he
+knew it. Some years afterwards when he had won an enviable reputation,
+he told Mr. Golding that the first time he thought of trying to do
+unusually good work was when the little Lee girl asked him if he tried
+to be the best blacksmith in the country.
+
+Concerning botany, Miss Smith knew that Marian was interested in the
+wild flowers and had told her many a legend of wayside blooms when
+walking with her through the fields and across the hills: but she
+had no idea how much the child had learned from listening to the
+recitations of the botany class, until the Saturday morning when the
+wax doll went to school. Miss Smith happened to pass the corn-crib
+unnoticed by teacher or pupil.
+
+The doll was propped in an attitude of attention among the ears of corn.
+
+"Now, little girl," the instructor was saying, "if you ever expect to
+amount to anything in this world, you've got to use your eyes and
+ears. I'm the Professor of Botany your mother was reading about last
+night, who knew nothing about botany until she began to study it. Next
+winter when we can't get outdoors, I am going to give you lessons on
+seeds and roots and things and stems and leaves. The Professor of
+Botany has got to learn the names of the shapes of leaves and how to
+spell them. She really ought to own a book but she doesn't, and that
+can't be helped. You're sure to get what you want some time though, if
+you only try hard enough, and the Botany Professor will get a book. You
+just wait.
+
+"Don't think, little girl, because we are skipping straight over
+to flowers this morning that you are going to get out of learning
+beginnings. We're taking flowers because it is summer. Of course you
+know this is a strawberry blossom I hold in my hand. Well, if it
+wasn't for strawberry blossoms you couldn't have strawberry shortcake,
+remember that. That's the principal thing about strawberries. This
+little circle of white leaves is called the corolla. Now don't get the
+calyx mixed with the corolla as some children do. I tell you it makes
+me feel squirmy to hear some big girls recite. You ought to see this
+flower under a microscope. I guess I'll go and ask Professor Smith for
+hers."
+
+Marian turned around so quickly Professor Smith was unable to get out
+of sight. The doll's instructor felt pretty foolish for a moment, but
+only for a moment.
+
+"Marian Lee," said Miss Smith, "you shall join the botany class next
+Monday morning and I'll give you a book of mine to study."
+
+"What will the big girls say?" gasped Marian.
+
+"About as much as your doll in there," laughed Miss Smith, adding
+seriously, "I won't expect too much of you, Marian, but you may as well
+be in the class and learn all you can."
+
+On Monday morning, although the big girls smiled and the little girls
+stared, Professor Lee became a member of the botany class and learned
+to press the wild flowers.
+
+"I won't have the most perfect lessons of anybody in the class,"
+Marian confided to her doll, "because the big girls know so much; but
+I'll try and have the best specimens in my herbarium. I can do that, I
+am sure. I have just got to do something better than any one else in
+school before I go home."
+
+The following Saturday the doll listened with unchanging face to a
+confession. "Every one of the big girls can press specimens better than
+I can. Their violet plants look like pictures but mine look like hay.
+I guess Uncle George will be discouraged. I don't do anything best. A
+robin is building a nest just outside the window where my seat is in
+school and I forgot to study my spelling lesson. Of course I missed
+half the words. It was the robin's fault. She ought to keep away from
+school children."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVII
+
+THE COMPOSITION ON WILD FLOWERS
+
+
+ALL the children in Marian's class were writing in their copy-books
+"Knowledge is Power." The pens squeaked and scratched and labored
+across pages lighted by June sunshine. The little girls' fingers were
+sticky and boy hands were cramped. It was monotonous work. The "K" was
+hard to make and the capital "P" was all flourishes.
+
+Marian sighed, then raised her hand.
+
+"What is it?" asked Miss Smith.
+
+"Will you tell which one of us has the best looking page when we get
+through with 'Knowledge is Power'?"
+
+Miss Smith consented and Marian, determined to conquer, grasped her pen
+firmly and bent to the task. Two days later the page was finished and
+seven copy-books were piled upon Miss Smith's desk for inspection. At
+first Miss Smith smiled as she examined the various assertions that
+"Knowledge is Power," then she grew serious.
+
+"Did you try your best, children?" she asked, whereupon five girls and
+two boys looked surprised and hurt.
+
+"Well, then, I wonder what is the trouble?" continued Miss Smith. "I am
+ashamed of your work, children, it seems as if you could do better."
+
+"Which is best?" demanded Marian. It made no difference how poor her
+copy was if only it was better than the others. The child was sorry she
+had asked the question when she knew the truth. "I think it is pretty
+discouraging," she said, "when you try your best and do the worst."
+
+"We will begin something new," Miss Smith suggested. "Next week we will
+write compositions on wild flowers and to the one who does the neatest
+looking work, I will give the little copy of 'Evangeline' I have been
+reading to you. It will make no difference whether the compositions are
+long or short, but the penmanship must be good. Every one of you knows
+the spring flowers for we have had them here in school and have talked
+about them every day."
+
+"Will we have to write in our copy-books just the same?" asked Tommy
+Perkins.
+
+"No," was the reply; "you may work on your compositions all the time we
+usually write in the copy-books, and remember, it doesn't make a bit of
+difference how short your compositions are."
+
+That was exactly what Marian did not remember. At first she wrote:
+
+"No flower is so pretty as the anemone that blooms on the windy hill."
+
+At recess she consulted Miss Smith. "Is that long enough?" she asked.
+
+"Yes, that will do," was the reply.
+
+"Is it fair if I copy off her composition?" asked Tommy Perkins, "and
+practice writing it? I can't make up one."
+
+"That sentence will do as well as any other," agreed Miss Smith. "I
+simply wish you to write something you choose to do."
+
+Marian beamed upon Tommy. "I'll copy it for you," she said. "I don't
+really think anemones are the prettiest flowers, Tommy, but they are
+easy to write; no ups or downs in the word if the flowers themselves do
+dance like fairies all the day long."
+
+"I wish't you'd write me a composition," put in Frankie Bean.
+
+"I will," assented Marian, "after school calls, but now, come on out
+and play."
+
+After recess, Marian passed Frankie a piece of paper upon which was
+written this:
+
+"Clover loves a sunny home."
+
+"That's easy, Frankie, because 'y' is the only letter below the line.
+You can say sun-kissed if you would rather keep it all above the
+line. If I don't get the book, may be you will. I hope you won't be
+disappointed, though. I would try if I were you. Something may happen
+to me before next week, you never can tell."
+
+Monday and Tuesday Marian wrote compositions for the four girls to
+copy. They were more particular than the boys had been and their
+compositions were longer.
+
+By the time Marian was ready to settle down to her sentence on the
+anemone, she was tired of it and determined to write something new.
+Soon she forgot all about penmanship and Friday afternoon found her
+with a long composition to copy in an hour. Even then, after the first
+moment of dismay, she forgot that neatness of work alone, would count.
+
+Miss Virginia Smith read the composition aloud.
+
+
+"_Wild Flowers, by Marian Lee._
+
+"When you shut your eyes and think of wild flowers, you always want to
+open them and fly to the hills and the woods. You wish you had wings
+like the birds.
+
+"In an old flower legend book that tells about things most folks don't
+know, I found out what you were always sure of before you knew it. The
+anemones are fairy blossoms. The pink on the petals was painted by the
+fairies and on rainy nights elves hide in the dainty blooms.
+
+"Tulips are not wild, but how can I leave them out when the fairies
+used them for cradles to rock their babies in.
+
+"Some folks laugh at you when you hunt for four-leaved clover, but you
+can never see the fairies without one nor go to the fairy kingdom.
+
+"The old book says, too, that the bluebells ring at midnight to call
+the fairies together. I believe it because I have seen bluebells and
+have almost heard the music. I don't believe they ever were witches'
+thimbles.
+
+"You most always get your feet wet when you go after marsh marigolds,
+but it can't be helped. They are yellow flowers and live where they can
+hear the frogs all the time. I wonder if they ever get tired of frog
+concerts. I never do, only I think it is mournful music after the sun
+goes down. It makes you glad you are safe in the house.
+
+"There is one lovely thing about another yellow flower. It is the
+cinquefoil and you find it before the violets come if you know where to
+look. On rainy days and in damp weather, the green leaves bend over and
+cover the little yellow blossom. The cinquefoil plant must be afraid
+its little darling will catch cold.
+
+"If you ever feel cross, the best thing you can do is to go out where
+the wild flowers grow. You will be sure to hear birds sing and you may
+see a rabbit or a squirrel. Anyway, you will think thoughts that are
+not cross."
+
+"Evangeline" was given to Tommy Perkins. He had practiced writing the
+anemone sentence until his perfectly written words astonished Miss
+Virginia Smith.
+
+"I know my writing isn't good," admitted a little girl named Marian.
+"Only see how it goes up-hill and down-hill and how funny the letters
+are."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVIII
+
+MARIAN'S LETTER HOME
+
+
+MARIAN'S letters to her Uncle George were written on Sunday afternoons.
+She wrote pages and pages about Miss Smith and the country school and
+begged him not to come for her in August.
+
+"I haven't done anything better than any one else in school yet," she
+wrote, "but I am learning all kinds of things and having the best time
+ever was. I want to go to the country school until I graduate. I'll be
+ready for college before you know it if you will only let me stay.
+
+"I am good all the time because Mrs. Golding says so and Miss Ruth and
+Miss Kate take me almost everywhere they go--when they drive to town,
+circuses and things and I have lovely times every day.
+
+"I would tell you who I play with only you would forget the names of so
+many children. When I can't find any one else I go to the mill to see
+the miller's boy. That isn't much fun because the miller's boy is half
+foolish. His clothes are always covered with flour and he looks like
+a little old miller himself. He jumps out at you when you don't know
+where he is and says 'Boo!' and scares you almost out of your wits, and
+that makes his father laugh. I tried to teach him to read but I didn't
+have good luck. He read 'I see the cat' out of almanacs and everything.
+
+"The old miser died last night, Uncle George, and I saw him in the
+afternoon. Only think of it, I saw a man that died. After dinner I went
+to see the miller's boy and he wasn't there. His father said he was
+wandering along the river bank somewhere, so I stayed and talked to the
+miller. Pretty soon the boy came back making crazy motions with his
+arms and telling his father the old miser wanted to see him quick.
+
+"I went outside and watched the big wheel of the mill when the boy and
+his father went away, but it wasn't any time before the boy came back
+and said the old miser wanted to see me. Of course I went as fast as
+I could go, and when I got to the hut, the miller asked me if I could
+say any Bible verses, and if I could to say them quick because the old
+miser wanted somebody to read the Bible quick--quick. I thought it was
+queer, Uncle George, but I was glad I had learned so much out of the
+Bible.
+
+"The old miser was all in rags and I guess he didn't feel well then,
+because he was lying down on a queer old couch and he didn't stir, but
+I tell you he watched me. I didn't want to go in the hut, so I stood
+in the doorway where I could feel the sunshine all around me. Some
+way I thought that wasn't any time to ask questions, so I began the
+Twenty-third Psalm right straight off. When I got to the end of that I
+was going to say the first fourteen verses of John, but the old miser
+raised one hand and said, 'Again--again,' but before I got any further
+than 'The valley of the shadow,' he went to sleep looking at me and I
+never saw his face so happy. It smoothed all out and looked different.
+Poor old miser, the boys used to plague him. The miller motioned to
+his boy and me to go away. I guess he was afraid Jakey would wake the
+old miser. Of course I knew enough to keep still when a tired looking
+old man dropped to sleep.
+
+"I don't know just when the old miser died, Uncle George, nobody talks
+about it where I can hear a word. Mrs. Golding says when I grow up
+I will be glad that I could repeat the Twenty-third Psalm to a poor
+old man who hadn't any friends. She says it isn't true that he was a
+miser, he was just an unfortunate old man. I wonder if he was anybody's
+grandfather? You never can tell.
+
+"I am well acquainted with all the folks in the village, Uncle George,
+and lots of times I go calling. There are some old folks here who never
+step outside of their houses and they are glad to have callers. One old
+blind woman knits all the time. She likes to be read to, real well. And
+there is one woman, the shoemaker's wife, that has six children that
+bother her so when she tries to work; she says it does her good to see
+me coming.
+
+"Only think, Uncle George, how lonesome I will be when I get home where
+I am not acquainted. The only sad thing that has happened here all
+summer is that the miser died, and of course you know that might be
+worse.
+
+"I would like to be with Miss Smith more than I am but she studies
+almost all the time. I don't see what for because she knows everything,
+even about the stars. She likes me a great deal but I guess nobody
+knows it. You mustn't have favorites when you are a school-teacher, she
+told me so.
+
+"You don't know how hard it is, Uncle George, to do something better
+than anybody else. You might think it would be easy, but somebody
+always gets ahead of you in everything, you can't even keep your desk
+the cleanest. Some girls never bring in anything from the woods, so of
+course they can keep dusted.
+
+"I'm afraid you'll be disappointed in
+
+  "Your loving niece,
+   "MARIAN LEE."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIX
+
+THE MOST TRUTHFUL CHILD IN SCHOOL
+
+
+IN the early morning the schoolhouse was a quiet place, and there Miss
+Virginia Smith went to study. No one knew why she worked so hard,
+though Marian often wondered. It was her delight to please Miss Smith,
+and when the teacher waited several mornings until a certain mail train
+passed and the letters were distributed, Marian offered to stop at the
+post-office and get the mail.
+
+"Are you sure you won't lose anything?" asked Miss Smith.
+
+"Sure," promised Marian. "You go to school early as you used to do and
+I'll bring your letters when I come."
+
+Usually the postmaster gave Marian something to carry to Miss Smith,
+and all went well until a few days before school closed. Elizabeth
+Gray called for Marian that morning and together they went to
+the post-office where they waited on tiptoe for the postmaster to
+distribute the mail. There was one letter for Miss Smith, a thin,
+insignificant looking letter.
+
+"That's nothing but an old advertisement," declared Elizabeth; "it
+wasn't worth waiting for."
+
+"I guess you're right," agreed Marian, "see what it says in the corner.
+What's a seminary, anyway? Do you know?--'Young Ladies' Seminary.' Some
+kind of a new fashioned place to buy hats, may be, come on."
+
+"Yes, let's get started before the Prior kids and the Perkinses catch
+up with us. I can't bear that Tommy Perkins."
+
+"We could play De Soto if we had a crowd," suggested Marian. "You and
+I could be the head leaders and the Priors and the Perkins could be
+common soldiers."
+
+"How do you play De Soto?" asked Elizabeth. "I never heard of it."
+
+"You've heard of De Soto, the man that discovered the Mississippi
+River, I hope."
+
+"Of course, he's in the history."
+
+"Well, Elizabeth, I've been reading about him in one of Mr. Golding's
+books about early explorations and I knew in a minute that it would be
+fun to play De Soto on our way to school. Now, I'm De Soto."
+
+"No, I'm going to be De Soto," insisted Elizabeth.
+
+"You don't know how, Elizabeth Jane Gray, and you didn't think of it
+first. All right, though, you be De Soto if you want to. What are you
+going to do? Begin."
+
+"You always want to be the head one in everything, Marian Lee. You
+needn't think I'm Tommy Perkins!"
+
+"I don't, Elizabeth, I think you're that brave Spaniard Moscoso who
+was leader of the soldiers after De Soto died and was buried in the
+Mississippi River where the Indians couldn't find him. But if you want
+to be De Soto, go on, only I don't believe you know a thing about him
+except what the history says. Well, you're De Soto."
+
+"You'll have to tell me what to do, Marian."
+
+"I guess not, Miss Elizabeth, if you're De Soto you ought to know."
+
+Elizabeth walked on in silence for a few moments until seized by an
+inspiration. "I'll be De Soto to-morrow morning," she remarked; "it's
+your turn first, of course, because you thought of the game. I'm--who
+did you say I am, Marian?"
+
+"You're Moscoso, one of my officers, Elizabeth. Well, I'm De Soto and
+I have had wonderful adventures in my life. I was with Pizarro in the
+conquest of Peru and I went back to Spain rich, rich, rich. Now I am
+the Governor of Cuba and Florida and not long ago I had orders from
+Spain to explore Florida. Of course, Moscoso, you remember all about
+it, how we left Cuba with nine ships and landed at Tampa?"
+
+"I remember it, Soty, just as well as if it was yesterday," and
+Moscoso, laughing merrily, swung his dinner pail in a perfect circle.
+
+"Don't laugh, Moscoso, at serious things," continued De Soto; "and I
+think you really should call me Governor and I'll call you General.
+Well, General, we sent most of our ships back to Cuba, and now we're
+searching for gold in Florida, not in our little State of Florida, but
+the big, wide, long Florida that used to be. Now, Elizabeth, we'll
+play wander around for three years, living in Indian villages winters
+and camping out summers and having fights and discovering new birds
+to write to Spain about and having all kinds of adventures, until we
+get to that big ditch at the four corners and that will have to be the
+Mississippi River, and we'll cross it. We can tie our handkerchiefs to
+sticks for banners.
+
+"Let's play all the trees are Indians and all the little low bushes are
+wild beasts. The fences will do for mountains and I guess we'll think
+of other things to play as we go along. We'll have trouble with our
+soldiers, of course, they always do when they are hunting for gold. All
+these fields and woods, no, not woods, forests, I mean, are what you
+call the interior. Dandelions and buttercups will be gold that we steal
+from the Indians. We'll be awfully disappointed because this isn't a
+gold country like Peru, but we will take all there is, and I think we
+had better talk some about going home to Spain. Of course I don't know
+I'm going to die of fever beyond the Mississippi and you don't know
+you'll have to go back to the coast without me. I wish we could talk a
+little bit of real Spanish, don't you, Elizabeth?"
+
+"Hush," warned the General from Spain. "I hear Indians. Let's play the
+wind in the trees is Indian talk, Marian."
+
+"Sure enough, Elizabeth, we must advance cautiously, General Moscoso,
+they always 'advance cautiously' in the books, or else 'beat a hasty
+retreat.' We won't dare play retreat or we'll never get to school. Oh,
+they're friendly Indians, General, how fortunate."
+
+De Soto had crossed the Mississippi when he grew pale as death and
+suddenly deserted his followers. The banners of Spain trailed in the
+dust. "Elizabeth Jane Gray, where's that letter?"
+
+Two little girls gazed at each other in dismay.
+
+"Have you lost it?" gasped Elizabeth.
+
+"If I haven't, where is it?" asked Marian.
+
+"Can't you remember anything about it?" Elizabeth went on, "when you
+had it last, or anything?"
+
+"No, I can't. Let's go straight back over the road and hunt. I must
+have dropped it and perhaps we may find it if we look. I can't believe
+it is really lost. Oh, Elizabeth, what shall I do if it is? I adore
+Miss Smith and what will she think?"
+
+"She won't think anything if you keep still, Marian; the letter was
+only an old advertisement, anyway."
+
+"Oh, dear, dear, dear!" wailed Marian. "This is dreadful. I don't see
+a thing that looks like a letter anywhere. I am going to climb a tree
+and look way off over the fields." Although the children searched
+faithfully, they could not find the letter.
+
+"We'll hunt at noon," suggested Elizabeth, deeply touched by Marian's
+distress, "and if I were you I wouldn't say a word about it."
+
+"But Elizabeth, what if she asks me if there was a letter?"
+
+"Fib," was the response.
+
+"It's enough to make anybody, Elizabeth."
+
+"You'll be a goose, Marian, if you own up. I won't tell on you and the
+letter didn't amount to anything, anyway. Let's run for all we're worth
+and get there before school calls if we can. Sure's we're late she'll
+ask questions."
+
+Just as the bell was ringing, two breathless little girls joined their
+schoolmates. Their faces were flushed and their hair was tumbled.
+Miss Smith smiled when she saw them, but asked no questions. Noticing
+Marian's empty hands, she said evidently to herself, "No letter yet!"
+
+"You're going to get out of this as easy's pie, just keep your mouth
+shut," whispered Elizabeth.
+
+"I shall have to tell," groaned Marian.
+
+"Don't be silly," Elizabeth advised.
+
+During the morning exercises Marian determined to confess no matter
+what happened. When the chart class was called to the recitation seat
+she raised her hand and was given permission to speak to Miss Smith.
+Marian didn't glance towards Elizabeth Gray as she walked to the desk.
+Elizabeth had never stolen cookies. "Miss Smith," said Marian, "you
+had a letter this morning and I lost it."
+
+"You dear child, I am so glad you told me," and Miss Smith who had so
+often insisted that a school-teacher must never have favorites, put her
+arms around the little girl and kissed the soft, brown hair. "Now tell
+me what was printed on the envelope if you can remember."
+
+Word for word Marian described the letter.
+
+"It is the one I was expecting," said Miss Smith, and while the chart
+class waited, their teacher wrote a letter, stamped it and sent it to
+the post-office by Tommy Perkins.
+
+Two days later, Marian carried Miss Smith a letter exactly like the one
+she had lost. Miss Smith read it, smiled and asked Marian to stay after
+school.
+
+"You're going to get your scolding at last," predicted Elizabeth. "I
+told you not to tell."
+
+At four o'clock the children trooped out and flew down the road like
+wild birds escaped from a cage, leaving Marian uneasily twisting her
+handkerchief while she waited for Miss Smith to speak. Nothing was
+said until the sound of childish voices came from a distance. Then Miss
+Smith looked up and laughed. "Can you keep a secret for a few days,
+Marian?" she asked. "Come here, dear, and read the letter you brought
+me this morning."
+
+Marian read the short letter three times before she asked, "Are you
+going?"
+
+"Going," echoed Miss Smith; "that is the position I have long wished
+for, Marian. Only think how I shall enjoy teaching botany and English
+in a boarding-school. You see what they say, Marian, they want an
+immediate reply or it will be too late. If you hadn't told me about the
+letter you received the other day, I should have lost the position. I
+imagined what the letter was and sent for a copy. If you hadn't told me
+the truth, Marian, only think what a difference it would have made!"
+
+"I just have to tell the truth," said the little girl.
+
+"I believe you, dear, I never saw a more truthful child in my life."
+
+"Would you dare say I am the most honest child in school?" asked
+Marian, a sudden light making her face beautiful. "Will you write it
+down and sign your name?"
+
+"Well, you are the queerest mortal," exclaimed Miss Smith, but reaching
+for a piece of paper and a pen, she wrote this:
+
+ "Marian Lee is the most truthful pupil in my school.
+
+ "VIRGINIA SMITH, Teacher."
+
+"It's for Uncle George," Marian explained. "He told me to try to
+do something better than anybody else and I haven't done it. He's
+coming for me Saturday and please do ask him to send me to your
+boarding-school. He has often talked about sending me away to school,
+but I used to be afraid to go and made a dreadful fuss, and then I had
+diphtheria."
+
+Uncle George arrived on Friday in time to have a long talk with Miss
+Smith before she left on the evening train. Had Marian known the nature
+of their conversation, she might not have cried so bitterly when the
+hour of parting came.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XX
+
+MORE CHANGES
+
+
+MARIAN had been home a month when Uncle George decided to send her to
+boarding-school.
+
+"It is a curious thing," he remarked to the child, "that other people
+find it so easy to get along with you, and here at home there is no
+peace in the house while you are in it."
+
+The man's tones were savage and Marian cried. Tears always angered
+Uncle George, and when Uncle George was angry with Marian, Aunt Amelia
+generally sighed and straightway did her duty: and Aunt Amelia's duty
+towards Marian consisted in giving a detailed account of the child's
+faults and a history of her sins. She never failed to mention cookies.
+When Marian was wise, she kept still. If she ventured a remonstrance
+serious trouble was sure to follow. Out in the fresh air and sunshine,
+the child managed to be happy in spite of everything: but within the
+four walls of Aunt Amelia's home it took courage to face life. She
+didn't know that her uncle had written to Miss Virginia Smith.
+
+"They're going to do something with you, I don't know what," confided
+Ella. "I'll let you know as soon's I find out." Ella was as good as
+her word. "They're going to send you to boarding-school," was her next
+secret announcement, "but when or where, I don't know."
+
+One morning Marian went to her room after breakfast and sat long by the
+open window, wondering what would become of her and why she had been
+taken from the Little Pilgrim's Home by an aunt who didn't want her.
+Tears splashed upon the window sill. Marian wiped her eyes quickly.
+Young as she was, the child realized how dangerous it is to be sorry
+for oneself. Without a backward glance, Marian walked from the room and
+closed the door she was never to open again. When she came home from
+school that night, the child played in the orchard until supper-time.
+Then she wondered why Aunt Amelia didn't send her to her room. An hour
+passed before the woman looked at the clock and spoke. Instead of the
+words Marian expected to hear, Aunt Amelia said calmly:
+
+"Your trunk is packed and the carriage is waiting to take you to the
+station. Get your coat and hat."
+
+"Where am I going and who is going with me?" demanded the child,
+beginning to tremble so she could scarcely stand.
+
+"I shall accompany you," replied Aunt Amelia, "and it makes no
+difference where you are going. You will know soon enough."
+
+Marian shot a grateful look towards Ella, who was sobbing in a corner.
+But for the little cousin's assurance, Marian would have believed she
+was about to start for the long dreaded reform school. Nevertheless
+it was a shocking thing to be suddenly torn from every familiar sight
+and to be going so blindly into the unknown. Marian looked appealingly
+at Aunt Amelia and Uncle George before she broke down and cried. Aunt
+Amelia's face was stony, Uncle George looked cross and annoyed.
+Marian's grief became wild and despairing.
+
+"I wish I could have my mother's picture to take with me," she sobbed,
+"I wish I could."
+
+"That's a reasonable request and you shall have it," said Uncle George.
+
+"It will be time enough when she is older," Aunt Amelia put in, while
+Marian held her breath. Would she get the picture or not? A word might
+ruin her chances, so she kept still, trying hard to smother her sobs.
+
+"Are you going for the picture or shall I?" demanded Uncle George. Aunt
+Amelia went.
+
+Marian was disappointed when she saw the small photograph of her father
+and mother. She wished for the face in the oval frame. She would have
+been more disappointed had she never seen the photograph, because
+instead of giving it to the child or allowing her to look at the
+picture, Aunt Amelia wrapped it in a piece of paper and put it in her
+own satchel.
+
+Outside in the cool, silent night, Marian stopped crying. There was
+comfort in the steadily shining stars. During the first long hours on
+the sleeping car, Marian tossed, tumbled and wondered where she was
+going. Asleep she dreamed of reform school: awake she feared dreams
+might come true. When trains rushed by in the darkness the child was
+frightened and shivered at the thought of wrecks. At last she raised
+her curtain and watched the stars. Repeating over and over one verse
+of the poem she had recited the last day of school in the country, she
+fell peacefully asleep. There were no more troubled dreams nor startled
+awakenings. When Marian opened her eyes in the morning, the verse still
+haunted her memory.
+
+    "I know not where His islands
+      Lift their fronded palms in air,
+    I only know I cannot drift
+      Beyond His love and care."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXI
+
+MARIAN REMEMBERS HER DIARY
+
+
+"OCTOBER 15.--You might as well keep a diary, especially in a school
+where they have a silent hour. It is the queerest thing I ever heard of
+but every night between seven and eight it is so still in this building
+you don't dare sneeze. It isn't so bad when you have a roommate because
+then you have to divide the hour with her. You stay alone half and then
+you go to the reading-room or the library and read something and try
+not to whisper to any of the girls, while your roommate stays alone her
+half of the hour.
+
+"Perhaps the reason I don't like silent hour is because I used to have
+so many of them at home and now because I haven't any roommate I have
+to stay alone the whole hour. I don't know what to do with myself and
+that is why I am going to keep a diary again.
+
+"There is a good reason why I haven't any roommate. When my aunt
+brought me here the principal said they were expecting a little girl
+just my age and they were going to put her in this room with me. It
+isn't much fun to be a new girl in this kind of a school, especially
+when most everybody is older than you are. When the girls saw my aunt
+they stared, and they stared at me, too. It wasn't very nice and I felt
+uncomfortable. As long as my aunt stayed I didn't get acquainted. I
+didn't even dare say much to Miss Smith. I just moped around and wished
+I was out in the country with the happy Goldings. They said here, 'Poor
+little thing, she's homesick,' but I am sure I wasn't if that means I
+wanted to go back home. My aunt stayed two days and one night. She said
+she was waiting to see my roommate but at last she gave up and went
+home and then I felt different. I began to wonder what kind of a girl
+my roommate would be and when she came I was so happy I could scarcely
+breathe because she was Dolly Russel. We thought we were going to have
+such a good time, and we did for a few days until I was a big goose.
+I wrote home and told my aunt who my roommate was and that ended it.
+Aunt Amelia wrote to the principal and she wrote to me, and then Dolly
+went to room with an old girl eighteen years old, from Kansas.
+
+"Dolly says her new roommate is nice, but she's too old and besides
+that she's engaged. Dolly told me all about it.
+
+"My aunt wouldn't let me room with Dolly because she said we would play
+all the time instead of studying our lessons. I guess she was afraid
+we would have a little fun. She told me in a letter that if she had
+known Dolly Russel was coming to this school she would have sent me
+somewhere else or kept me at home, no matter what Uncle George and Miss
+Smith said. I know why. Dolly has told the Kansas girl and some others
+about my aunt already, how cross she is and such things. I don't mind
+now what anybody says about Aunt Amelia since I have found out that she
+isn't any relation to me. She is just my aunt by marriage and you can't
+expect aunts by marriage to love you, and if your aunt doesn't love
+you, what's the use of loving your aunt.
+
+"If I hadn't passed the entrance examinations here I couldn't have
+stayed. Dolly and a girl whose name is Janey somebody and I are the
+only little girls here. Janey is tall and wears her hair in a long,
+black braid. Mine's Dutch cut. Dolly Russel's is Dutch cut too. Janey
+calls us little kids and she tags around after the big girls. We don't
+care.
+
+"October 16.--There's another girl coming from way out west. Her folks
+are going to be in Chicago this winter and they want her in this
+school. The Kansas girl told Dolly and me.
+
+"October 17.--The new girl has come and they have put her with me.
+She's homesick. Her father brought her and then went right away. I
+didn't see him. I think I shall like the new girl. Her name is Florence
+Weston and she has more clothes than the Queen of Sheba. Miss Smith
+helped her unpack and I felt as if I would sink through to China when
+the new girl looked in our closet. It is a big closet and the hooks
+were nearly all empty because I haven't anything much to hang up. I'll
+never forget how I felt when the new girl said to me, 'Where are your
+dresses?' Before I could think of anything to say, Miss Smith sent me
+for the tack hammer and I didn't have to answer.
+
+"My room looked pretty lonesome after Dolly moved out, but now it is
+the nicest room in school because Florence Weston has so many beautiful
+things. She says this is horrid and I just ought to see her room at
+home. She can't talk about her home without crying. I know I'd cry if I
+had to go back to mine.
+
+"October 20.--That Janey is a queer girl. She won't look at me and I
+really think it is because I haven't any pretty dresses. She is in our
+room half the time, too, visiting with Florence. They are great chums
+and they lock arms and tell secrets and laugh and talk about what they
+are going to do next summer and where they are going Christmas and
+everything. I wish more than ever that I had Dolly for my roommate.
+I wouldn't be surprised if her father is richer'n Florence Weston's
+father.
+
+"That Janey puts on airs. Her last name is Hopkins. She signs her name
+'Janey C. Hopkins.' She never leaves out the 'C,' I wonder why.
+
+"October 21.--I like Florence Weston. She is not a bit like that proud
+Janey.
+
+"November 1.--Sometimes I wish I had never come here to school. Once in
+a while I feel more lonesome, almost--than I ever did at home. It is on
+account of that Janey C. Hopkins. She wants to room with Florence and
+she tried to get me to say I would move in with Laura Jones, the girl
+she rooms with. Janey says she's going to the principal. Let her go.
+Miss Smith told me not to worry, they won't let chums like Florence and
+Janey room together because they won't study.
+
+"November 2.--What did I tell you? I knew she'd be sorry. They won't
+let Janey room with Florence. Florence says she's glad of it. I suppose
+it is on account of hooks. Janey couldn't let her have more than half
+the hooks in the closet.
+
+"November 3.--It wasn't on account of hooks. Florence told me one of
+Janey's secrets and I know now what the 'C' means in Janey's name and I
+know who Janey C. Hopkins is, and I should think she would remember me,
+but she doesn't. Janey told Florence that she is adopted and that her
+new mother took her from the Little Pilgrims' home before they moved
+out to Minnesota. I was so surprised I almost told Florence I came from
+that same home, but I am glad I didn't.
+
+"The only reason Florence doesn't want to room with Janey is because
+she lived in an orphan's home. She says you never can tell about
+adopted children and that maybe Janey's folks weren't nice, and anyway,
+that if she ever lived in an orphan's home she would keep still about
+it.
+
+"I think I shall keep still, but I could tell Miss Florence Weston one
+thing, my folks were nice if they did die. I could tell her what I read
+in that newspaper in the sea-chest, how my father just would go to
+South America with some men to make his fortune and how after a while
+my mother thought he was dead and then she died suddenly and all about
+how I happened to be taken to the Little Pilgrims' Home in the strange
+city where my mother and I didn't know anybody and nobody knew us.
+
+"I could tell Florence Weston I guess that my father left my mother
+plenty of money and she wasn't poor, and after she died the folks she
+boarded with stole it all and pretty near everything she had and then
+packed up and went away and left me crying in the flat, and it just
+happened that some folks on the next floor knew what my name was and a
+few little things my mother told them.
+
+"I won't speak of the Little Pilgrims' Home, though, because I can't
+forget how Uncle George acted about it. It was a pleasant, happy home
+just the same, and when I grow up and can do what I want to I am going
+back and hunt for Mrs. Moore and I won't stop until I find her. I have
+missed her all my life. You can't help wondering why some mothers live
+and some mothers die, and why some children grow up in their own homes
+and other children don't have anybody to love them.
+
+"November 4.--Sunday. The queer things don't all happen in books. I am
+glad I have a diary to put things in that I don't want to tell Miss
+Smith nor Dolly. Just before dark I was in the back parlor with a lot
+of girls singing. When we were tired of singing we told stories about
+our first troubles. I kept still for once, I really couldn't think
+what my first one was anyway. Two or three girls said that when their
+mothers died, that was their first sorrow, but Florence Weston said
+that her first one was funny. She couldn't remember when her own father
+died so she can't count that. The father she has now is a step one.
+
+"Florence says she was a little bit of a girl when her mother took her
+one day to visit an orphan's home and she cried because she couldn't
+stay and have dinner with the little orphans. She says she remembers
+that one of the little girls wanted to go home with her and her mother
+and when she cried that little orphan girl cried too. They all laughed
+when Florence told her story, all but me. I knew then what my first
+sorrow was. What would Florence think if she knew I was that little
+orphan? I must never tell her though or she wouldn't room with me. I
+should think Florence would be the happiest girl in the world. I should
+be if I had her mother. I can see her now if I shut my eyes. Her hair
+was shining gold and her eyes were like the sky when the orchard is
+full of apple blossoms.
+
+"November 25.--Florence has gone to Chicago to stay until Monday
+morning because to-morrow is Thanksgiving day and her folks wanted to
+see her. Florence has two baby brothers and one little sister.
+
+"Dolly Russel's father and mother have come here to be with Dolly
+to-morrow and they have invited me to have dinner with them down town.
+I wonder what Aunt Amelia would say if she knew I am going to be with
+the Russels all day to-morrow. Miss Smith got permission for me to go,
+she knew what to say to the principal, and she kissed me too, right
+before Mrs. Russel. I am already beginning to dread going home next
+June.
+
+"Janey C. Hopkins is going home this afternoon and the Kansas girl
+is going with her. There will be ten girls all alone in the big
+dining-room here to-morrow. I guess they will feel queer. I know one
+thing, I would rather stay here with nobody but the matron Christmas,
+than to go home, and I am glad Aunt Amelia says it would be foolish for
+any one to take such a long journey so I could be home for the holidays.
+
+"Mrs. Russel is going to dress me all up to-morrow in one of Dolly's
+prettiest dresses. I do have some streaks of luck."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXII
+
+FLORENCE WESTON'S MOTHER
+
+
+MARIAN was studying Monday morning when Florence returned from Chicago.
+She burst into the room like a wind blown rose, even forgetting to
+close the door until she had hugged Marian and hugged her again.
+
+"Now shut your eyes tight," she commanded, "and don't you open them
+until I tell you to. You remember when you asked me if I had a picture
+of my mother and I said I hadn't anything only common photographs?
+well, you just wait."
+
+Marian closed her eyes while Florence dived into her satchel for a
+small package.
+
+"I have something in a little red leather case that will make you
+stare, Marian dear, you just wait."
+
+"Well, I am waiting," was the retort, "with my eyes shut so tight I can
+see purple and crimson spots by the million. Hurry up, why don't you?
+Is it a watch with your mother's picture in it?"
+
+"No, guess again."
+
+"A locket?"
+
+"Dear me, no. It is something--three somethings that cost forty times
+as much as a watch or locket. Now open your eyes and look on the
+bureau."
+
+"Why don't you say something?" questioned Florence, as Marian stood
+speechless before three miniatures in gold frames. "That's my mother
+and our baby in the middle frame, and the girl on this side is my
+little sister and the boy in the other frame we call brother, just
+brother, since the baby came. Why Marian Lee! I never thought of it
+before, but you look like brother just as sure as the world!
+
+"Why, Marian! what's the matter, what makes you cry when you look at
+mamma's picture?"
+
+"Nothing, Florence, only I want a mother myself, I always wanted one."
+
+"You poor young one!" exclaimed Florence, "it must be dreadful not to
+have a mother."
+
+"It's like the Desert of Sahara!" Marian declared, dashing the tears
+from her eyes and making an attempt to smile. "You will see your mother
+again soon."
+
+"I know it, Marian, only think, three weeks more and then the holidays.
+Are you going home Wednesday night or Thursday morning?"
+
+"I am not going home until June," was the reply.
+
+"Can you stand it as long as that, Marian?"
+
+The mere thought of feeling badly about not being home for the holidays
+made the child laugh.
+
+"You are the queerest girl," exclaimed Florence, "you cry when I don't
+see anything to cry about and you laugh when I should think you would
+cry."
+
+Marian checked an impulse to explain. How could Florence understand?
+Florence, whose beautiful mother smiled from the round, gold frame,
+the girl whose sister and brothers waited to welcome her home.
+
+"If they were mine," said Marian, gazing wistfully at the miniatures,
+"I would never leave them. I would rather be a dunce than go away to
+school."
+
+"Then my father wouldn't own you," said Florence, laughing. "Mamma
+says she's afraid he wouldn't have any patience if I disgraced him
+in school. You ought to belong to him, Marian, he would be proud of
+you. You know your lessons almost without studying and you have higher
+standings than the big girls. You've been highest in all your classes
+so far, haven't you?"
+
+"Yes," was the reply, "except in geometry, but what of it? Nobody
+cares."
+
+"Don't your folks at home? Aren't they proud of you?"
+
+"I used to hope they would be, Florence; but I tell you, nobody cares."
+
+"Well, haven't you any grandfathers or grandmothers or other aunts or
+uncles?"
+
+"I am not acquainted with them," said Marian. "My uncle hasn't any
+folks, only distant cousins."
+
+"That's just like my father," Florence interrupted. "His folks are all
+dead, though I have heard him mention one half brother with whom he
+wasn't friends. Mamma won't let me ask any questions about him. But,
+Marian, where are your mother's folks?"
+
+Where were they, indeed? Marian had never thought of them. "Well, you
+see," the child hastily suggested, "they don't live near us."
+
+The next time Florence saw Dolly Russel, she asked some questions
+that were gladly answered. "Go home!" exclaimed Dolly, "I shouldn't
+think she would want to go home! You see the St. Claires live right
+across the street from us and I have seen things with my own eyes that
+would astonish you. Besides that, a girl that used to work for the St.
+Claires, her name is Lala, works for us now, and if she didn't tell
+things that would make your eyes pop out of your head! Shall I tell
+you how they used to treat that poor little Marian? She's the dearest
+young one, too--Lala says so--only mamma has always told me that it's
+wretched taste to listen to folks like Lala."
+
+"Yes, do tell me," insisted Florence, and by the time Dolly Russel had
+told all she knew, Florence Weston was in a high state of indignation.
+
+"Oh, her uncle and her little cousin are all right," remonstrated
+Dolly; "they are not like the aunt."
+
+"I know what I shall do," cried Florence. "Oh, I know! I shall tell
+mamma all about Marian and ask if I may invite her to Chicago for the
+holidays. She would have one good time, I tell you. I like Marian
+anyway, she is just as sweet as she can be. I should be miserable if
+I were in her place, but she sings all the day long. My little sister
+would love her and so would brother and the baby. I am going straight
+to my room and write the letter this minute."
+
+"Mrs. St. Claire won't let Marian go," warned Dolly; "you just wait and
+see. She doesn't want Marian to have one speck of fun."
+
+Nevertheless Florence Weston wrote the letter to her mother and
+in due time came the expected invitation. At first Marian was too
+overjoyed for words: then she thought of Aunt Amelia and hope left her
+countenance. "I know what I will do," she said at last, "I will ask
+Miss Smith to write to Uncle George. Maybe then he will let me go.
+Nobody knows how much I want to see your mother."
+
+Florence laughed. "I think I do," she said. "I have told my mother how
+you worship her miniature. I shouldn't be surprised to come in some day
+and find you on your knees before it. My mother is pretty and she is
+lovely and kind, but I don't see how anybody could care so much for her
+picture. Most of the girls just rave over brother, but you don't look
+at him. Just wait until you see him, Marian. I'll teach him to call you
+sister. He says 'Ta' for sister."
+
+"Oh, I wish you would," said Marian, "I love babies and I never was
+anybody's sister of course. He is just as cunning as he can be. I am
+going now to ask Miss Smith to write to Uncle George. She can get him
+to say yes if anybody can."
+
+Miss Smith wrote and rewrote the letter, then waited for an answer
+with even less patience than Marian. At last it came, in Aunt Amelia's
+handwriting. Marian's heart sank when she saw the envelope. Her fears
+were well founded. Aunt Amelia was surprised to find that Marian knew
+no better than to trouble Miss Smith as she had. She might have known
+that Uncle George would not approve of her going to a city the size
+of Chicago to pass the holidays with strangers. Miss Smith, Dolly and
+Florence were indignant. Even Janey did some unselfish sputtering.
+
+"Anything's better than going home," Marian reasoned at last, "and
+what's the use of crying about what you can't help. I ought to be glad
+it isn't June."
+
+As a matter of fact, the holidays passed pleasantly for Marian in the
+big deserted house. The matron and the teachers who were left did
+everything in their power to please the child, and on Christmas Day
+the postman left her more gifts than she had ever received before.
+There were no potatoes in her stocking that year. During the holidays,
+Marian kept the photograph of her own mother beside the miniatures, and
+as the days went by she became convinced that her mother and Florence
+Weston's mother looked much alike.
+
+"My mother is prettier," she said aloud the last day of the old year,
+"but she is dead and as long as I live I never can see her. Perhaps I
+may see this other mother and perhaps she may love me. I shall have
+to put my picture away because it will get faded and spoiled, and I
+think I will pretend that Florence Weston's mother is my mother. Then I
+won't feel so lonesome. I never thought of pretending to have a mother
+before."
+
+When Florence returned after the holidays, she was unable to account
+for the change in Marian. The child was radiantly happy. Tears no
+longer filled her eyes when she gazed too intently upon the miniatures.
+Instead, she smiled back at the faces and sometimes waved her hand to
+them when she left the room. How could Florence dream that Marian had
+taken the little brothers, the sister and the mother for her own.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIII
+
+HOW MARIAN CROSSED THE RAINBOW BRIDGE
+
+
+JUNE sent her messengers early. Every blade of grass that pushed its
+way through the brown earth, every bursting lilac bud or ambitious
+maple, spoke to Marian of June. Returning birds warbled the story and
+the world rejoiced. Teachers and pupils alike talked of June until it
+seemed to Marian that all nature and educational institutions had but
+one object, and that was to welcome June. She dreaded it. June meant
+Aunt Amelia and the end of all happiness. Yet Marian was only one.
+Ninety-nine other girls were looking eagerly forward to the close of
+school. They talked of it everywhere and at all hours.
+
+It was the one subject of conversation in which Marian had no share,
+one joy beyond her grasp. Try hard as she would, Marian couldn't
+pretend to be glad she was going home. That was a game for which she
+felt no enthusiasm. The mother, the little sister and the baby brothers
+in the golden frames would soon be gone, and gone forever. "We're all
+going back West just as soon as school closes," Florence had told her.
+"Next winter we will be home."
+
+Nor was that all that Florence told Marian. She pictured the beautiful
+home in the West in the midst of her father's broad lands. She
+described her room, all sunshine and comfort, and the great house
+echoing with music and laughter. She told Marian of the gardens and
+the stables, of the horses, ponies and many pets. She described the
+river and the hills and the mountain peaks beyond. Florence almost
+forgot the presence of her wide eyed roommate in telling of the holiday
+celebrations at home and of the wondrous glory of the annual Christmas
+tree. Best of all, Florence spoke tenderly of her mother and her voice
+grew tender in speaking of the woman who never scolded but was always
+gentle and kind; the beautiful mother with the bright, gold hair.
+Florence had so much to say about the little sister, brother and the
+baby, that Marian felt as if she knew them all.
+
+Thus it was that Florence Weston was going home and Marian Lee was
+returning to Aunt Amelia. Miss Smith understood all about it and it
+grieved her. She had seen Aunt Amelia and that was enough. She didn't
+wonder that Marian's eyes grew sad and wistful as the days lengthened.
+At last Miss Virginia Smith thought of a way to win smiles from Marian.
+The botany class had been offered a prize. A railroad president,
+interested in the school had promised ten dollars in gold to the member
+of the botany class who made the best herbarium. Marian might not
+win the prize, but it would give her pleasure to try. She would have
+something more agreeable to think of than Aunt Amelia.
+
+It was with some difficulty that Miss Smith obtained permission from
+the principal for Marian to enter the class, and but for the experience
+in the country school, the objection that Marian was too young would
+have barred her out. Miss Smith was right. Marian was delighted and for
+hours at a time Aunt Amelia vanished from her thoughts. The members of
+the botany class were surprised that such a little girl learned hard
+lessons so easily, but Miss Smith only laughed.
+
+In the beginning when the spring flowers came and every wayside bloom
+suggested a specimen, fully half the class intended to win the prize,
+Marian among the number. One by one the contestants dropped out as
+the weeks passed, leaving Marian with perhaps half a dozen rivals. At
+that early day, Miss Virginia Smith, who had no favorites, rejoiced
+secretly in the belief that Marian would win the prize. The commonest
+weed became beautiful beneath her hands and the number of specimens
+she found on the school grounds alone, exceeded all previous records.
+There was never so much as a leaf carelessly pressed among Marian's
+specimens. At last the child began to believe the prize would be hers
+and for the first time, going home lost its terrors.
+
+If she won the prize, Uncle George would be proud of her and she would
+be happy. Finally Marian wrote to her uncle, telling him of the glories
+of commencement week. She was to recite "The Witch's Daughter" at the
+entertainment, to take part in the operetta and to sing commencement
+morning with three other little girls. More than that, she was sure to
+win the prize, even her rivals admitted it. "Now Uncle George," the
+letter proceeded, "please be sure and come because I want somebody that
+is my relation to be here. Florence Weston says her father would come
+from Honolulu to see her win a prize, so please come, Uncle George, or
+maybe Florence will think nobody cares for me."
+
+Marian was scarcely prepared to receive the answer that came to her
+letter from Aunt Amelia. Uncle George was too busy a man to take so
+long a journey for nothing. Aunt Amelia would come the day after
+commencement and pack Marian's trunk. So far as winning the prize
+was concerned, Uncle George expected Marian to win a prize if one
+were offered. That was a small way to show her gratitude for all that
+had been done for her. The child lost the letter. Janey C. Hopkins
+found and read it. Before sunset every one of the ninety-nine knew
+the contents. When night settled down upon the school, one hundred
+girls were thinking of Aunt Amelia, one in tears, the ninety-nine with
+indignation.
+
+The following morning Marian replied to her aunt's letter, begging to
+be allowed to go home with Dolly Russel and her mother, and assuring
+Aunt Amelia that she could pack her own trunk. Even that request was
+denied. Aunt Amelia would call for Marian the day after commencement
+and she wished to hear nothing further on the subject. She might have
+heard more had she not been beyond sound of the ninety-nine voices.
+Marian was too crushed for words. That is, she was crushed for a day.
+Her spirits revived as commencement week drew near and Miss Smith and
+the ninety-nine did so much to make her forget everything unpleasant.
+Marian couldn't understand why the girls were so kind nor why Janey
+C. Hopkins took a sudden interest in her happiness. The Sunday before
+commencement Marian wore Janey's prettiest gown to church. It was
+rather large for Marian but neither she nor Janey found that an
+objection. Miss Smith approved and Sunday was a bright day for Aunt
+Amelia's little niece.
+
+Monday, Dolly Russel's mother came and thanks to her, Marian appeared
+in no more garments that had disgraced the hooks in her closet. She
+danced through the halls in the daintiest of Dolly's belongings, and
+was happy as Mrs. Russel wished her to be.
+
+Every hour brought new guests and in the excitement of meeting nearly
+all the friends of the ninety-nine and being kissed and petted by
+ever so many mothers, Marian forgot Aunt Amelia. Tuesday evening at
+the entertainment she did her part well and was so enthusiastically
+applauded, her cheeks grew red as the sash she wore, and that is saying
+a great deal, as Dolly's sash was a bright scarlet, the envy of the
+ninety-nine.
+
+Florence Weston's father and mother were present at the entertainment,
+but Marian looked for them in vain. "They saw you just the same,"
+Florence insisted when she and Marian were undressing that night, "and
+mamma said if it hadn't been so late she would have come up to our room
+to-night, but she thought they had better get back to the hotel and
+you and I must settle down as quickly as we can. I can hardly keep my
+eyes open." Florence fell asleep with a smile upon her face. Marian's
+pillow was wet with tears before she drifted into troubled dreams of
+Aunt Amelia.
+
+"Isn't it too bad!" exclaimed Florence the next morning. "They are
+going to present the prize in the dining-room at breakfast and my
+father and mother won't be up here until time for the exercises in the
+chapel. I wanted them to see you get the prize. I'm so disappointed.
+Never mind, though, you will see mamma all the afternoon, because she
+is going to pack my things. We leave to-morrow. I am going down-town
+with papa and mamma when we get through packing and stay all night. You
+will have the room all to yourself. What? are you crying, Marian? Why,
+I'll come back in the morning and see you before I go. I wouldn't cry
+if I were you!"
+
+It was easy enough for a girl who had every earthly blessing to talk
+cheerfully to a weary little pilgrim.
+
+Marian experienced the bitterest moment of her life when the prize
+was presented in the dining-room. There were many fathers and mothers
+there, and other relatives of the ninety-nine who joined in cheering
+the little victor. Yet Marian wept and would not be comforted. Even
+Miss Smith had no influence. In spite of the sympathetic arms that
+gathered her in, Marian felt utterly forsaken. She had won the prize,
+but what could it mean to a motherless, fatherless, almost homeless
+child? After breakfast, Marian, slipping away from Miss Smith and the
+friendly strangers, sought a deserted music room on the fourth floor
+where she cried until her courage returned: until hope banished tears.
+Perhaps Uncle George would be pleased after all.
+
+"Where have you been?" demanded Florence when Marian returned to her
+room. "I have hunted for you everywhere. What a little goose you were
+to cry in the dining-room. Why, your eyes are red yet."
+
+The only answer was a laugh as Marian bathed her tear-stained face.
+
+"I want you to look pretty when mamma sees you," continued Florence,
+"so don't you dare be silly again."
+
+In spite of the warning, Marian was obliged to seek the obscurity of
+the fourth floor music room later in the day, before she thought of
+another refuge--Miss Smith's room. The sight of so many happy girls
+with their mothers was more than she could endure and Miss Smith
+understood. Even the thought of seeing Florence Weston's mother was a
+troubled one, for alas! she couldn't beg to go with the woman as she
+once did in the Little Pilgrims' Home.
+
+When the child was sure that Florence and her mother were gone and
+while Miss Smith was busy in the office, she returned to her room. "The
+trunks are here yet," observed Marian, "but may be they won't send for
+them until morning," and utterly worn out by the day's excitement, the
+child threw herself upon the bed and sobbed in an abandonment of grief.
+
+Half an hour later the door was opened by a woman who closed it softly
+when she saw Marian. "Poor little dear," she whispered, and bending
+over the sleeping child, kissed her. Marian was dreaming of her mother.
+
+"Poor little dear," repeated the woman, and kissed her again. That
+kiss roused the child. Opening her eyes, she threw her arms around the
+woman's neck, exclaiming wildly,
+
+"My mother, oh, my mother!"
+
+"But I am not your mother, dear," remonstrated the woman, trying to
+release herself from the clinging arms. "I am Florence Weston's mother.
+I have come for her little satchel that we forgot. Cuddle down, dear,
+and go to sleep again."
+
+At that, Marian seemed to realize her mistake and cried so pitifully,
+Florence Weston's mother took her in her arms and sitting in a low
+rocker held Marian and tried to quiet her.
+
+The door opened and Florence entered. "Why mamma, what is the matter?"
+she began, but without waiting for a reply, she was gone, returning in
+a moment with her father. "Now what is the matter with poor Marian?"
+she repeated.
+
+"Nothing," explained Marian, "only everything."
+
+"She thought I was her mother, Florence, the poor little girl; there,
+there, dear, don't cry. She was only half awake and she says I look
+like her mother's picture."
+
+"You do, you look just like the picture," sobbed Marian.
+
+"What picture?" asked the man; "this child is the image of brother.
+What picture, I say?"
+
+"Oh, she means mamma's miniature," said Florence.
+
+"I don't mean the miniature," Marian interrupted, "I mean my own
+mother's picture," and the child, kneeling before her small trunk
+quickly found the photograph of her father and mother. "There! doesn't
+she look like my mother?"
+
+There was a moment of breathless silence as Florence Weston's father
+and mother gazed at the small card. The woman was the first to speak.
+
+"Why, Richard Lee!" she exclaimed. "That must be a photograph of you!"
+
+"It is," was the reply, "it is a picture of me and of my dead wife, but
+the baby died too."
+
+"Well, I didn't die," cried Marian. "I was two months old when my
+father went away, and when my mother died, the folks wrote to the place
+where my father was the last time they knew anything about him, and I
+s'pose they told him I was dead, but I wasn't, and that's my mother.
+Uncle George knows it----"
+
+"Uncle George, my brother George," for a moment it was the man who
+seemed to be dreaming. Then a light broke over his face as he snatched
+Marian and said, "Why, little girl, you are my child."
+
+"And my mother will be your mother," Florence put in, "so what are you
+and mamma crying about now?"
+
+"Didn't you ever hear," said Marian, smiling through her tears, "that
+sometimes folks cry for joy?"
+
+It was unnecessary for Aunt Amelia to take the long journey. Marian's
+father telegraphed for Uncle George who arrived the next day with
+papers Marian knew nothing about, proving beyond question the identity
+of the child.
+
+The little girl couldn't understand the silent greeting between the
+brothers, nor why Uncle George was so deeply affected when she talked
+of his kindness to her and the many happy days she thanked him for
+since he found her in the Little Pilgrims' Home. Neither could she
+understand what her father meant when he spoke of a debt of gratitude
+too deep for words.
+
+Marian only knew that unpleasant memories slipped away like a dream
+when Uncle George left her with her father and mother: when he smiled
+and told her he was glad she was going home.
+
+         *       *       *       *       *
+
+                            Transcriber Notes
+
+            Tags that surround the words: _fish_ indicate italics.
+                                          =Gladys= indicate bold.
+
+            Words in small capitals are shown in UPPERCASE.
+
+            Retained anachronistic and non-standard spellings as printed.
+
+            Free use of quotes, typical of the time, is retained.
+
+        +------------------------------------------------------------+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Rainbow Bridge, by 
+Frances Margaret Fox and Frank T. Merrill
+
+*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 55837 ***
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-The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Rainbow Bridge, by 

-Frances Margaret Fox and Frank T. Merrill

-

-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/license

-

-

-Title: The Rainbow Bridge

-

-Author: Frances Margaret Fox

-        Frank T. Merrill

-

-Release Date: October 28, 2017 [EBook #55837]

-

-Language: English

-

-Character set encoding: ASCII

-

-*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE RAINBOW BRIDGE ***

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-</pre>

-

-

-<div class="figcenter">

-    <img src="images/cover.jpg"

-         alt="Book front cover" />

-  </div>

-

-<p class="ph1"><span class="gesperrt">The Rainbow Bridge</span></p>

-

-

-<div class='box'>

-

-<p class="ph3">BOOKS BY<br />

-FRANCES MARGARET FOX</p>

-

-<hr class="r5" />

-

-<p class="ht"><b>WHAT GLADYS SAW.</b> <span class="smcap">A Nature Story of<br />

-Farm and Forest.</span> With full page illustration.<br />

-Containing 318 pages. Cloth bound. Price, $1.25.</p>

-

-<p class="ht"><b>THE RAINBOW BRIDGE.</b> <span class="smcap">A Story.</span> With<br />

-full page colored frontispiece. Containing 254<br />

-pages. Cloth bound. Price, $1.25.</p>

-

-</div>

-

-<div class="figcenter">

-<img src="images/fig1.jpg" alt="" />

-<p class="caption center">MRS. MOORE ROCKED A BABY BEFORE THE NURSERY FIRE.

-</p>

-</div>

-

-<div class="newpage"></div>

-

-<h1>The Rainbow Bridge</h1>

-

-<p class="c">

-

-A Story<br />

-<br />

-By<br />

-FRANCES MARGARET FOX<br />

-<br />

-<i>Author of "What Gladys Saw," "Farmer<br />

-Brown and the Birds," etc.</i><br />

-<br />

-<span class="smcap">Illustrated by</span><br />

-FRANK T. MERRILL

-</p>

-

-<div class="figcenter">

-<img src="images/fig2.jpg" alt="" />

-</div>

-

-<p class="c">

-W. A. WILDE COMPANY<br />

-BOSTON&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;  CHICAGO

-</p>

-

-<div class="newpage"></div>

-

-<p class="c">

-<i>Copyright, 1905</i><br />

-<span class="smcap">By W. A. Wilde Company</span><br />

-<br />

-<i>All rights reserved</i><br />

-<br />

-</p>

-

-<hr class="r5" />

-

-<div class="newpage"></div>

-

-<p class="c">

-

-<i>To<br />

-the dear friend of my childhood<br />

-and later years<br />

-Mrs. William W. Crouch</i><br />

-</p>

-

-<div class="newpage"></div>

-

-<h2>Contents</h2>

-

-

-

-

-

-<div class="center">

-<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" summary="Contents">

-<tr><td class="tdr">I.</td><td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_I"><span class="smcap">A Little Pilgrim Begins a Journey</span></a></td><td class="tdr">11</td></tr>

-<tr><td class="tdr">II.</td><td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_II"><span class="smcap">Marian's First Day in School</span></a></td><td class="tdr">19</td></tr>

-<tr><td class="tdr">III.</td><td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_III"><span class="smcap">She Goes to Church</span></a></td><td class="tdr">27</td></tr>

-<tr><td class="tdr">IV.</td><td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_IV"><span class="smcap">Aunt Amelia</span></a></td><td class="tdr">40</td></tr>

-<tr><td class="tdr">V.</td><td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_V"><span class="smcap">Marian's New Home</span></a></td><td class="tdr">48</td></tr>

-<tr><td class="tdr">VI.</td><td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_VI"><span class="smcap">That Yellow Cucumber</span></a></td><td class="tdr">58</td></tr>

-<tr><td class="tdr">VII.</td><td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_VII"><span class="smcap">An Undeserving Child</span></a></td><td class="tdr">66</td></tr>

-<tr><td class="tdr">VIII.</td><td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_VIII"><span class="smcap">In the Name of Santa Claus</span></a></td><td class="tdr">73</td></tr>

-<tr><td class="tdr">IX.</td><td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_IX"><span class="smcap">At the Rich Man's Table</span></a></td><td class="tdr">83</td></tr>

-<tr><td class="tdr">X.</td><td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_X"><span class="smcap">A Game of Sliced Birds</span></a></td><td class="tdr">94</td></tr>

-<tr><td class="tdr">XI.</td><td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XI"><span class="smcap">The Way of the Transgressor</span></a></td><td class="tdr">105</td></tr>

-<tr><td class="tdr">XII.</td><td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XII"><span class="smcap">Marian's Diary</span></a></td><td class="tdr">127</td></tr>

-<tr><td class="tdr">XIII.</td><td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIII"><span class="smcap">Diphtheria</span></a></td><td class="tdr">146</td></tr>

-<tr><td class="tdr">XIV.</td><td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIV"><span class="smcap">Musical Conversations</span></a></td><td class="tdr">163</td></tr>

-<tr><td class="tdr">XV.</td><td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XV"><span class="smcap">Little Sister to the Dandelion</span></a></td><td class="tdr">173</td></tr>

-<tr><td class="tdr">XVI.</td><td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVI"><span class="smcap">Professor Lee, Botanist</span></a></td><td class="tdr">185</td></tr>

-<tr><td class="tdr">XVII.</td><td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVII"><span class="smcap">The Composition on Wild Flowers</span></a></td><td class="tdr">192</td></tr>

-<tr><td class="tdr">XVIII.</td><td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVIII"><span class="smcap">Marian's Letter Home</span></a></td><td class="tdr">199</td></tr>

-<tr><td class="tdr">XIX.</td><td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIX"><span class="smcap">The Most Truthful Child in School</span></a></td><td class="tdr">204</td></tr>

-<tr><td class="tdr">XX.</td><td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XX"><span class="smcap">More Changes</span></a></td><td class="tdr">215</td></tr>

-<tr><td class="tdr">XXI.</td><td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXI"><span class="smcap">Marian Remembers Her Diary</span></a></td><td class="tdr">220</td></tr>

-<tr><td class="tdr">XXII.</td><td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXII"><span class="smcap">Florence Weston's Mother</span></a></td><td class="tdr">231</td></tr>

-<tr><td class="tdr">XXIII.</td><td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXIII"><span class="smcap">How Marian Crossed the Rainbow Bridge</span></a></td><td class="tdr">241</td></tr>

-</table></div>

-

-

-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span></p>

-

-

-

-

-<hr class="chap" />

-<h2><a name="CHAPTER_I" id="CHAPTER_I"></a>CHAPTER I</h2>

-

-<p class="c">A LITTLE PILGRIM BEGINS A JOURNEY</p>

-

-

-<p><span class="smcap">There</span> was always room for one more in

-the Home for Little Pilgrims. Especially was

-this true of the nursery; not because the nursery

-was so large, nor because there was the

-least danger that the calico cats might be

-lonesome, but Mrs. Moore loved babies. It

-made no difference to her whether the wee

-strangers were white or black, bright or stupid,

-she treated them all alike. They were dressed,

-undressed, bathed, fed and put to sleep at exactly

-the same hours every day, that is, they

-were laid in their cribs whenever it was time

-for them to go to sleep. Little Pilgrims were

-never rocked and Mrs. Moore had no time for

-lullaby songs, whatever may have been her

-inclination.</p>

-

-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span></p>

-

-<p>Yet there came a night when Mrs. Moore

-rocked a baby before the nursery fire and sung

-to it all the songs she knew. That was the

-night Marian Lee entered the Home with

-bright eyes wide open. She not only had

-her eyes open when she was placed in Mrs.

-Moore's arms, but she kept them open and

-somehow compelled Mrs. Moore to break her

-own rules and do as she had never done with

-a new baby.</p>

-

-<p>To be sure, Marian Lee couldn't talk, having

-started on her pilgrimage only six months before,

-but in a way of her own, she declared

-herself well pleased with the Home and with

-the nursery in particular. She enjoyed her

-bath and said so. The warm fire in the grate

-pleased her and Mrs. Moore's face was lovely,

-if a baby's ideas were of any account. The

-trouble began when Marian was carried into

-the still room where the sleeping Pilgrims

-were, and placed in a crib. The minute her

-head touched the pillow she began to cry.

-When Mrs. Moore left her, she cried louder.

-That awakened tiny Joe in the nearest crib

-and when he began to wail, Bennie and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span>

-Johnnie, Sam and Katie, as well as half a

-dozen others joined in the chorus. Not to

-be outdone by these older Pilgrims, Marian

-screamed louder than any of them until Mrs.

-Moore took her back to the fire and quiet was

-restored.</p>

-

-<p>Now it was strictly against Mrs. Moore's

-rules to humor a baby in that fashion, and

-Mrs. Moore told Marian so, although she added

-in the next breath, "Poor little dear." The

-"poor little dear" was cooing once more and

-there really seemed nothing to do but kiss,

-and cuddle and rock the baby as her own

-mother might have done. She was so unlike

-the others in the Home; so soft, round and

-beautiful.</p>

-

-<p>"You are no ordinary baby, precious one,"

-said Mrs. Moore, whereupon Marian laughed,

-flourished her hands and seemed much pleased.

-"I think," continued Mrs. Moore, as she kissed

-the pink fists, "I think some one has talked

-to you a great deal. My babies are different,

-poor little things, they don't talk back as you

-do."</p>

-

-<p>Before long, the rows of white cribs in the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span>

-other room were forgotten and Mrs. Moore began

-singing to Marian as though she were the

-only baby in the big Home. Lullaby after

-lullaby she sang while the fire burned low,

-yet the baby would not sleep. Softly at last,

-Mrs. Moore began a lullaby long unsung:</p>

-

-<div class="poem-container">

-<div class="poem">

-<div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">"All the little birdies have gone to sleep,</span><br />

-<span class="i2">Why does my pet so wide awake keep?</span><br />

-<span class="i0">Peep, peep, go to sleep, peep, peep, go to sleep.</span><br />

-</div>

-

-<div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">"All the little babies their prayers have said,</span><br />

-<span class="i2">Their mothers have tucked them up snugly in bed.</span><br />

-<span class="i0">Peep, peep, go to sleep, peep, peep, go to sleep."</span><br />

-</div>

-</div>

-</div>

-

-<p>When the blue eyes closed, Mrs. Moore suddenly

-realized it was but another Little Pilgrim

-that she held and not her own baby so

-often hushed to sleep by that old lullaby

-many years ago. For the sake of that baby,

-Mrs. Moore had loved all the motherless little

-ones in the Home&mdash;all the unfortunate, neglected

-waifs brought to its doors. She had

-loved them impartially until that night. She

-had never before asked who a baby was, nor

-what its surroundings had been. Its future<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span>

-was her only concern. To care for each baby

-while it was in the nursery and to be sure it

-was placed in a good home when taken away,

-was all she wished to know. No baby had

-ever crept into Mrs. Moore's innermost heart

-as Marian did that night. An hour later the

-superintendent was surprised when Mrs. Moore

-asked for the history of that latest Little Pilgrim.</p>

-

-<p>"She's a fine child," mused the superintendent,

-adding cheerfully, "we'll have no

-trouble finding a home for her; I doubt if

-she's here a month."</p>

-

-<p>Mrs. Moore said nothing but she was sure

-Marian would stay more than a month.

-After she heard the superintendent's story,

-she was more sure of it. Thus it happened

-that tiny Joe, who was not a bit attractive, and

-Bennie and Johnnie, who were disagreeable

-babies if such a thing may be, and Sam and

-Katie whose fathers and mothers were drunkards,

-as well as a dozen other little waifs,

-were given away long before Marian learned

-to talk: Marian, the beautiful baby, was

-somehow always kept behind Mrs. Moore's<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span>

-skirts. As the child grew older, she was still

-kept in the background. The plainest dresses

-ever sent in to Little Pilgrims, were given to

-Marian. Her hair was kept short and when

-special visitors were expected, she was taken

-to the playground by an older girl. All this

-time a happier baby never lived than Marian.

-No one in the Home knew how tenderly Mrs.

-Moore loved her. No one knew of the caresses

-lavished upon her when the infant

-Pilgrims were busy with their blocks or

-asleep in their cribs.</p>

-

-<p>At last the superintendent questioned Mrs.

-Moore. He said it seemed strange that no

-one wished to adopt so lovely a child. Mrs.

-Moore explained. She told the superintendent

-she hoped Marian would be claimed by

-folks of her own, but if not&mdash;Mrs. Moore

-hesitated at that and the superintendent

-understood.</p>

-

-<p>"We won't give her away," he promised,

-"until we find the right kind of a mother

-for her. That child shall have a good

-home."</p>

-

-<p>Too soon to please Mrs. Moore, Marian out<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span>grew

-her crib and went to sleep in the dormitory.

-The child was pleased with the

-change, especially as Mrs. Moore tucked her

-in bed and kissed her every night just as she

-had done in the nursery. Marian was glad

-to be no longer a baby. The dormitory with

-its rows and rows of little white beds, delighted

-the child, and to be allowed to sit up

-hours after the babies were asleep was pure

-joy.</p>

-

-<p>The dining-room was another pleasure. To

-sit down to dinner with two hundred little

-girls and boys and to be given one of the two

-hundred bright bibs, filled her heart with

-pride. The bibs certainly were an attraction.

-Marian was glad hers was pink. She

-buttoned it to her chair after dinner just as

-she saw the others do.</p>

-

-<p>One thing troubled Marian. She wished

-Mrs. Moore to sit at the table beside her and

-drink milk from a big, white mug. "Do

-childrens always have dinner all alone?"

-she asked.</p>

-

-<p>Instead of answering the child, Mrs. Moore

-told her to run away and play. Then she<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span>

-looked out of the window for a long, long time.

-Perhaps she had done wrong after all in keeping

-the baby so long in a "Home with a

-capital H."</p>

-

-<hr class="chap" />

-

-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span></p>

-

-

-

-

-<h2><a name="CHAPTER_II" id="CHAPTER_II"></a>CHAPTER II</h2>

-

-<p class="c">MARIAN'S FIRST DAY IN SCHOOL</p>

-

-

-<p><span class="smcap">There</span> was no kindergarten in the Home

-for Little Pilgrims when Marian was a baby.

-The child was scarcely five when she marched

-into the schoolroom to join the changing ranks

-of little folks who were such a puzzle to their

-teacher. Every day one or more new faces

-appeared in that schoolroom and every day

-familiar faces were gone. For that reason

-alone it was a hard school to manage.</p>

-

-<p>The teacher, who had been many years in

-the Home, smiled as she found a seat for

-Marian in the front row. Marian at least

-might be depended upon to come regularly to

-school: then, too, she would learn easily and

-be a credit to her instructor. Plain dresses

-and short hair might do their worst, the face

-of the child attracted attention. The teacher

-smiled again as Marian sat in the front seat

-before her, with hands folded, waiting to see

-what might happen next.</p>

-

-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span></p>

-

-<p>Roll call interested the child. She wondered

-why the little girls and boys said

-"Present" when the teacher read their

-names from a big book. Once in a while

-when a name was called, nobody answered.

-Finally the teacher, smiling once more, said,

-"Marian Lee." The little girl sat perfectly

-still with lips tightly closed.</p>

-

-<p>"You must say 'present' when your name

-is called," suggested the teacher.</p>

-

-<p>No response.</p>

-

-<p>"Say present," the teacher repeated.</p>

-

-<p>"But I don't like this kind of play,"

-Marian protested, and then wondered why

-all the children laughed and the teacher

-looked annoyed.</p>

-

-<p>"But you must say present," the young

-lady insisted and Marian obeyed, though she

-thought it a silly game.</p>

-

-<p>The things that happened in the schoolroom

-that morning were many and queer. A

-little boy had to stand on the floor in front

-of the teacher's desk because he threw a

-paper wad. Then when the teacher wasn't

-looking he aimed another at Marian and hit<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span>

-her on the nose and when Marian laughed

-aloud, the teacher, who didn't know what

-happened, shook her head and looked cross.

-It distressed Marian so to have the teacher

-look cross that she felt miserable and wondered

-what folks went to school for anyway.

-A few moments later, she knew. The primer

-class was called and Marian, being told to do

-so, followed a dozen Little Pilgrims to the

-recitation seat where she was told that children

-go to school to learn their letters.

-Marian knew her letters, having learned

-them from the blocks in the nursery.</p>

-

-<p>"You must learn to read," advised the

-teacher, and Marian stared helplessly about

-the schoolroom. She felt sure it wouldn't be

-a bit of fun to learn to read. Nor was it, if

-her first lesson was a sample.</p>

-

-<p>It wasn't long before Marian was tired of

-sitting still. She wasn't used to it. At last

-she remembered that in her pocket was a

-china doll, an inch high. On her desk was

-the new primer. The cover was pasteboard

-and of course one could chew pasteboard. The

-china doll needed a crib and as there seemed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span>

-nothing to make a crib of but the cover of

-her primer, Marian chewed a corner of it,

-flattened it out and fitted the doll in. It

-pleased her, and she showed it to the little

-girl in the next seat. Soon the teacher

-noticed that Marian was turning around

-and showing her primer to all the children

-near, and the children were smiling.</p>

-

-<p>"Marian, bring your book to me," said the

-teacher. Then there was trouble. Little Pilgrims

-had to be taught not to chew their

-books. The teacher gave Marian what one

-of the older girls called a "Lecture," and

-Marian cried.</p>

-

-<p>"I didn't have anything to do," she sobbed.</p>

-

-<p>"Nothing to do?" exclaimed the teacher,

-"why, little girl, you should study your lesson

-as you see the other children doing. That

-is why you are in school&mdash;to study."</p>

-

-<p>Marian went to her seat, but how to study

-she didn't know. She watched the other children

-bending over their books, making noises

-with their lips, so she bent over her primer

-and made so much noise the teacher told her

-she must keep still.</p>

-

-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span></p>

-

-<p>"Why, Marian," said the young lady,

-"what makes you so naughty? I thought

-you were a good little girl!"</p>

-

-<p>Poor Marian didn't know what to think.

-Tears, however, cleared her views. She decided

-that as going to school was a thing that

-must be endured because Mrs. Moore would be

-displeased otherwise, it would do no good to

-make a fuss. She would draw pictures on her

-slate or play with the stones in her pocket&mdash;anything

-to pass the time. There was a great

-deal in knowing what one could or could not

-do safely, and Marian learned that lesson

-faster than she learned to read. When she

-was dismissed that afternoon, the little girl

-flew to the nursery to tell Mrs. Moore about

-her first school day. Soon after when Marian

-ran laughing into the hall on her way to the

-playground, she met Janey Clark who sat behind

-her in school.</p>

-

-<p>"Is Mrs. Moore your ma?" asked Janey.</p>

-

-<p>"What's a ma?" inquired Marian, seizing

-Janey's two hands.</p>

-

-<p>"A ma," was the reply, "why a ma is a

-mother. Is Mrs. Moore your mother?"</p>

-

-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span></p>

-

-<p>"Maybe," agreed Marian. "Oh, no, she

-isn't either. I know all about mothers, we

-sing about 'em, of course. I guess I never

-had one."</p>

-

-<p>"My mother just died," declared Janey,

-tossing her head in an important way that

-aroused Marian's envy.</p>

-

-<p>"Well, mine died too!" responded Marian.</p>

-

-<p>"Did you have a funeral?" persisted

-Janey.</p>

-

-<p>"Did you?" Marian cautiously inquired.</p>

-

-<p>"Well I should say yes," was the reply.</p>

-

-<p>"Then I did too," observed Marian.</p>

-

-<p>"Well," remarked Janey, "that's nothing

-to brag of; I don't suppose there's anybody in

-this Home that got here unless all their folks

-died dead. We are here because we don't belong

-anywhere else, and we are going to be

-given away to folks that'll take us, pretty

-soon."</p>

-

-<p>That was too much for Marian. "Why,

-Janey Clark, what a talk!" she exclaimed,

-then turning, she ran back to the nursery.</p>

-

-<p>"Nanna, Nanna!" she cried, "where's my

-mother?"</p>

-

-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span></p>

-

-<p>Mrs. Moore almost dropped a fretful baby

-at the question.</p>

-

-<p>"Did I ever have a mother?" continued

-the child, whose dark blue eyes looked black

-she was so much in earnest. "I thought

-mothers were just only in singing, but Janey

-Clark had a mother and she died, and if Janey

-Clark had a mother, I guess I had one too that

-died."</p>

-

-<p>The fretful baby was given to an assistant

-and Mrs. Moore took Marian in her lap.

-"What else did Janey tell you?" she

-asked.</p>

-

-<p>"Well, Janey said that all of us childrens

-are going to be gived away to folks. Mrs.

-Moore, did all the childrens that live here

-have mothers that died?"</p>

-

-<p>"Not all of them, Marian, some of the

-mothers are living and the children will go

-back to them: but your mother, little girl,

-will never come back for you. God took her

-away when He sent you to us. We keep little

-children here in our home until we find

-new fathers and mothers for them. Sometimes

-lovely mothers come here for little girls<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span>

-like you. How is it, Marian, do you want a

-mother?"</p>

-

-<p>The child nodded her head and looked

-so pleased Mrs. Moore was disappointed. It

-would be hard enough to part with the child

-anyway, but to think she wished to go was

-surprising.</p>

-

-<p>Two soft arms stole around Mrs. Moore's

-neck. "I'm going to have you for my

-mother," Marian explained, "and I'm going

-to live here always. I don't want to be gived

-away."</p>

-

-<hr class="chap" />

-

-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span></p>

-

-

-

-

-<h2><a name="CHAPTER_III" id="CHAPTER_III"></a>CHAPTER III</h2>

-

-<p class="c">SHE GOES TO CHURCH</p>

-

-

-<p><span class="smcap">Janey Clark</span> was taken ill one day and

-was carried to the hospital. When she returned

-months afterward, she had something

-to tell Marian.</p>

-

-<p>"You want to get yourself adopted," was

-her advice. "I'm going to, first chance I get.

-When I was too well to stay in the hospital

-and not enough well to come home, a pretty

-lady came and said would I like to go to her

-house and stay until I was all better."</p>

-

-<p>"Did she 'dopt you?" questioned Marian.</p>

-

-<p>"No, of course not, or I could have stayed

-at her house and she would be my mother.

-She didn't want to keep me but only to borrow

-me so the children she is aunt to would

-know about Little Pilgrims and how lucky it

-is not to be one their own selves. And at

-her house," continued Janey, "if you liked

-something they had for dinner pretty well,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span>

-you could have a second helping, if you would

-say please. You better believe I said it when

-there was ice cream. And the children she

-was aunt to took turns dividing chocolate

-candy with me, and the only trouble was they

-gave me too much and made me sick most all

-the time. What do you think! One day a

-girl said she wished I was a little cripple like

-a boy that was there once, because she liked

-to be kind to little cripples and wash their

-faces. Wasn't she just lovely? Oh, Marian,

-I want to be adopted and have a mother like

-that lady and a room all my own and everything."</p>

-

-<p>"But I would rather live with Mrs. Moore,"

-objected Marian. "I've picked her out for my

-mother."</p>

-

-<p>"All right for you, stay here if you want

-to," agreed Janey, "but I'm not, you just wait

-and see."</p>

-

-<p>Janey Clark was adopted soon after and

-when Marian was invited to visit her, she

-changed her mind about living forever in the

-Home for Little Pilgrims. Mrs. Moore promised

-to choose a mother for her from the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span>

-many visitors to the Home, yet she and

-Marian proved hard to suit.</p>

-

-<p>"I want a mother just like my Nanna,"

-said Marian to the superintendent, who

-agreed to do all he could to find one. In

-spite of his help Marian seemed likely to

-stay in the Home, not because no one wanted

-her but because the child objected to the

-mothers who offered themselves. All these

-months the little girl was so happy and contented

-the superintendent said she was like a

-sunbeam among the Little Pilgrims and if

-the school-teacher had some ideas that he

-and Mrs. Moore didn't share, she smiled and

-said nothing.</p>

-

-<p>In time, Marian talked of the mother she

-wished to have as she did of heaven&mdash;of

-something beautiful but too indefinite and far

-away to be more than a dream. One never-to-be-forgotten

-morning, the dream took shape.

-A woman visited the Home, leading a little

-girl by the hand. A woman so lovely the

-face of the dullest Little Pilgrim lighted as

-she passed. It was not so much the bright

-gold of her hair, nor the blue eyes that at<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span>tracted

-the children, but the way she smiled

-and the way she spoke won them all.</p>

-

-<p>She was the mother for whom Marian had

-waited. It didn't occur to the child that the

-woman might not want her.</p>

-

-<p>It was noon before the strangers were

-through visiting the chapel, the schoolroom,

-the nursery and the dormitories.

-Like a shadow Marian had followed them

-over the building, fearing to lose sight of her

-chosen mother. On reaching the dining-room

-the woman and child, with the superintendent,

-stood outside the door where they watched the

-Little Pilgrims march in to dinner. Noticing

-Marian, the superintendent asked her why she

-didn't go to the table, and Marian tried to tell

-him but couldn't speak a word. The man was

-about to send her in the dining-room when he

-caught the appealing look on the child's face.

-At that moment the stranger turned. Marian

-seized her dress and the woman, glancing

-down, saw the dear little one and stooping,

-kissed her.</p>

-

-<p>The superintendent smiled but Marian began

-to cry as the woman tried ever so gently<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span>

-to release her dress from the small, clinging

-fingers.</p>

-

-<p>"We must go now," the stranger said, "so

-good-bye, dear child."</p>

-

-<p>"I'm going with you," announced Marian.

-"I want you for my mother."</p>

-

-<p>"But, don't you see, I have a little girl?

-What could I do with two?" remonstrated

-the woman. "There, there," she continued,

-as Marian began to sob piteously, "run in

-to dinner and some day I will come to see

-you again. Perhaps they may let you visit

-my little girl and me before long. Would

-you like that?"</p>

-

-<p>"No, no," wailed Marian, "I want you for

-my mother."</p>

-

-<p>"Come, Marian, sweetheart, let's go find

-Mrs. Moore," suggested the superintendent,

-taking her by force from the visitor, whose

-eyes filled with tears at the sight of little outstretched

-arms. For years afterwards there

-were times when that woman seemed to feel

-the clinging fingers of the Little Pilgrim

-who chose her for her mother. She might

-have taken her home. The next time she<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span>

-called to inquire for the child, Marian was

-gone.</p>

-

-<p>An unexpected thing happened as Marian

-was borne away to the nursery. The stranger's

-little girl cried and would not be comforted

-because she couldn't stay and have

-dinner with the Little Pilgrims. She was

-still grieving over her first sorrow after Mrs.

-Moore had succeeded in winning back the

-smiles to the face of her precious Marian.</p>

-

-<p>"Well, I know one sure thing," declared

-the Little Pilgrim as she raised her head

-from Mrs. Moore's shoulder and brushed away

-the tears. "I know that same mother will

-come and get me some time and take me home

-and then you will come and live with me&mdash;and

-won't it be lovely! Let's have some

-dinner, I'm hungry!"</p>

-

-<p>Mrs. Moore smiled and sighed at the same

-time, but she ordered a luncheon for two

-served in the nursery and Marian's troubles

-vanished: also the luncheon.</p>

-

-<p>The next time the superintendent saw the

-child, she was sitting on the nursery floor

-singing to the babies. He was surprised and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span>

-pleased when he heard the sweet, clear voice

-and straightway sought Mrs. Moore.</p>

-

-<p>"Let me take her Sunday," he suggested.

-"I didn't know our Marian was a singer."</p>

-

-<p>"Are you going into the country?" asked

-the nurse.</p>

-

-<p>"No, Mrs. Moore, not this time. We expect

-to have services in one of the largest

-churches right here in the city. We have

-made special arrangements and I shall take

-twenty-five of the best singers in the Home

-with me. Marian will have plenty of company."</p>

-

-<p>"She is young," objected Mrs. Moore.</p>

-

-<p>The superintendent laughed. "Petey

-Ross," said he, "was two years old when

-he made his first public appearance on the

-platform; Marian is nearly six."</p>

-

-<p>"Yes," agreed Mrs. Moore, "that is true and

-I remember that Petey Ross was adopted and

-in less than a week after that first appearance.

-Marian," she continued, "come here, darling.

-Do you want to go to a big church with the

-children next Sunday and sing one of the

-songs you and I sing to the babies?"</p>

-

-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span></p>

-

-<p>"Yes, Nanna, what for?"</p>

-

-<p>"Because the superintendent wishes you to.

-Every Sunday he takes some of our little

-boys and girls away to sing in the different

-churches, where he tells the people all about

-the Home for Little Pilgrims."</p>

-

-<p>"Oh, yes, now I know," declared Marian.

-"Janey Clark used to go and sing. She said

-that was the way to get yourself adopted. I'd

-like to go if I don't have to get adopted and

-if Nanna may go too."</p>

-

-<p>"All right, Marian, I will go," assented

-Mrs. Moore, "and nobody shall adopt you

-unless you wish it. Now run back to the

-babies. Little Ned and Jakey are quarreling

-over the elephant. Hurry, Marian, or its ears

-will be gone."</p>

-

-<p>"She'll demand a salary in another year,"

-remarked the superintendent, watching the

-little girl's successful management of the

-babies.</p>

-

-<p>"I shouldn't know how to get along without

-her," said Mrs. Moore, "and yet it isn't

-right to let her grow up here."</p>

-

-<p>Sunday morning it would have been hard<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span>

-to find a happier child than Marian anywhere

-in the big city. She had never been in a

-church before and quickly forgot her pretty

-white dress and curls in the wonder of it all.

-She sat on the platform, a radiant little Pilgrim

-among the twenty-five waifs. Soon the

-church was filled. After the opening exercises

-the service was turned over to the superintendent

-of the Home for Little Pilgrims.

-He made a few remarks, and then asked

-Marian to sing. Pleased by the friendly faces

-in the pews and encouraged by Mrs. Moore's

-presence, Marian sang timidly at first, then

-joyously as to the babies in the nursery.</p>

-

-<div class="poem-container">

-<div class="poem">

-<div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">"'I am Jesus' little lamb</span><br />

-<span class="i0">Happy all the day I am,</span><br />

-<span class="i0">Jesus loves me this I know</span><br />

-<span class="i0">For I'm His lamb.'"</span><br />

-</div>

-</div>

-</div>

-

-<p>As she went on with the song, the little girl

-was surprised to see many of the audience in

-tears. Even Mrs. Moore was wiping her eyes,

-although she smiled bravely and Marian knew

-she was not displeased. What could be the

-matter with the folks that bright Sunday morn<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span>ing?

-Janey Clark said everybody always cried

-at funerals. Perhaps it was a funeral. At the

-close of her song Marian sat down, much

-puzzled. After Johnnie Otis recited the poem

-he always recited on Visitors' Day at school,

-"The Orphan's Prayer," all the Little Pilgrims,

-Marian included, were asked to sing

-their chapel song. What was there sad about

-that, Marian wondered. She always sang it

-over and over to the babies to make them

-stop crying.</p>

-

-<div class="poem-container">

-<div class="poem">

-<div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">"It is all for the best, oh, my Father,</span><br />

-<span class="i2">All for the best, all for the best."</span><br />

-</div>

-</div>

-</div>

-

-<p>When the Little Pilgrims were seated, the

-superintendent made a speech to which

-Marian listened. For the first time in her

-life she knew the meaning of the Home for

-Little Pilgrims. She understood at last all

-that Janey Clark had tried to tell her. No

-wonder the people cried. Marian stared at

-the superintendent, longing and dreading to

-hear more. Story after story he told of

-wrecked homes and scattered families; of

-little children, homeless and friendless left

-to their fate upon the street.</p>

-

-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span></p>

-

-<p>"Whatever may be the causes which bring

-these waifs to our doors, remember," said he,

-"the children themselves are not to blame.

-It is through no fault of theirs their young

-lives have been saddened and trouble has

-come upon them while your little ones are

-loved and cared for in comfortable homes."</p>

-

-<p>The superintendent grew eloquent as he

-went on. How could it be, Marian wondered,

-that she had never known before what a sad,

-sad place was the Little Pilgrims' Home?

-Where did her mother die and where was her

-father? Perhaps he was in the dreadful prison

-mentioned by the superintendent. It was

-such a pitiful thing to be a Little Pilgrim.

-Marian wondered how she had ever lived so

-long. Oh, if she could change places with

-one of the fortunate little ones in the pews.

-The superintendent was right. Every little

-girl needed a father and mother of her own.

-She wanted the lovely mother who had passed

-her by. What was the superintendent saying?

-something about her? The next thing

-Marian knew the man had taken her in his

-arms and placed her upon the little table<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span>

-beside him. She thought he said "'For of

-such is the Kingdom of Heaven,'"&mdash;she

-wasn't sure.</p>

-

-<p>In the quiet moment that followed, Marian

-looked all over the church for the mother of

-her dreams. Maybe she was there and perhaps

-she would take her home. If she could

-only see that one face for a moment.</p>

-

-<p>"I am going to ask our little girl for

-another song," the superintendent said, telling

-Marian what to sing. The child hesitated,

-then looked appealing towards Mrs.

-Moore. She had forgotten her during the

-speech&mdash;dear, kind Mrs. Moore.</p>

-

-<p>"Don't be frightened," whispered the superintendent,

-whereupon to the surprise of every

-one in the church, Marian put her head upon

-his shoulder and sobbed aloud, "I don't want

-to be a Little Pilgrim any more! Oh, I don't

-want to be a Little Pilgrim any more!"</p>

-

-<p>Another second and Mrs. Moore's arms were

-around the child and the superintendent was

-alone on the platform with the twenty-five.</p>

-

-<p>"He told me to take you for a walk in the

-park," whispered Mrs. Moore, "so don't cry,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span>

-Marian, and we will leave the church quickly

-as we can. We will talk about the Little

-Pilgrims out in the sunshine where the birds

-are singing and we can see the blue sky."</p>

-

-<p>Mrs. Moore would have been tempted to

-have stayed in the church had she known the

-superintendent's reason for wishing her to

-take the child away; nor would the good man

-have done as he did, could he have guessed

-the immediate consequences. When Marian

-was gone, the superintendent told her story

-effectively. She might have had her choice

-of many homes within a week had it not been

-for the appearance of Aunt Amelia.</p>

-

-<hr class="chap" />

-

-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span></p>

-

-

-

-

-<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IV" id="CHAPTER_IV"></a>CHAPTER IV</h2>

-

-<p class="c">AUNT AMELIA</p>

-

-

-<p><span class="smcap">There</span> was no question about it. Aunt

-Amelia had a perfect right to claim the child.

-The superintendent was sorry to admit it, but

-what could he do? Mrs. Moore was heartbroken,

-but she was powerless. The proofs

-were positive. Aunt Amelia's husband and

-Marian Lee's father were half-brothers and

-here was Aunt Amelia insisting upon her

-right to do her duty by the child.</p>

-

-<p>Marian never heard of Aunt Amelia until

-it was all over and the superintendent sent for

-her. She came dancing into the office, her

-face aglow until she saw Aunt Amelia. Then

-the sunshine faded from her eyes and she

-shrank past the stranger, scarcely breathing

-until the superintendent's arms were about

-her. From that safe shelter she surveyed

-Aunt Amelia.</p>

-

-<p>There was nothing in the woman's appearance

-to inspire confidence in a little child.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span>

-She was tall, thin, bloodless. One felt conscious

-of the bones in her very forehead.

-She wore her scant, black hair in wiry crimps

-parted in the middle. Her eyes were the

-color of stone, while her lips formed a thin,

-pale lone line closing over projecting front

-teeth. There was a brittle look about her

-ears and nose as though a blow might shatter

-them. Angles completed the picture.</p>

-

-<p>"You say you have a child of your own,

-Mrs. St. Claire?" The superintendent asked

-the question doubtfully. It seemed probable

-that his ears had deceived him.</p>

-

-<p>"I have," was the reply.</p>

-

-<p>"Then Marian will be sure of a playmate."

-The man seemed talking to himself.</p>

-

-<p>"If she behaves herself&mdash;perhaps," was the

-response.</p>

-

-<p>"What do you mean?" demanded the superintendent.</p>

-

-<p>"I think I expressed myself clearly," said

-Mrs. St. Claire. "If Marian behaves and is

-worthy of my little daughter's companionship,

-we may allow them to play together

-occasionally."</p>

-

-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span></p>

-

-<p>"Does she want to 'dopt me?" whispered

-Marian; "tell her no, quick&mdash;I got to go back

-to the nursery. Put me down."</p>

-

-<p>"I am your Aunt Amelia," announced

-the woman, "and I have come to take you

-to Michigan to live with your Uncle George

-and me."</p>

-

-<p>"Where did I get any Uncle George?"

-asked Marian, turning to the superintendent.</p>

-

-<p>"It isn't necessary to give a mere child

-too much information," put in Mrs. St. Claire;

-"it is enough for her to know that she has

-relatives who are willing to take her and do

-their duty by her."</p>

-

-<p>Regardless of this the man answered one of

-the questions he saw in Marian's solemn blue

-eyes.</p>

-

-<p>"Your uncle and aunt," he explained, "are

-visiting in the city; they were in church last

-Sunday when you sang. When relatives come

-for Little Pilgrims, Marian, we have to let

-them go."</p>

-

-<p>"You will not send me away with&mdash;her!"

-exclaimed the child, terror and entreaty expressed

-in the uplifted face.</p>

-

-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span></p>

-

-<p>"Dear child, we must."</p>

-

-<p>"But I won't go, I won't go," cried Marian,

-clinging to the superintendent for protection.

-"Oh, you won't send me away, Mrs. Moore

-won't let them take me&mdash;I won't go! Please

-let me stay until the pretty mother comes

-again and I will ask her to take me and I

-know she will. Oh, if you love me, don't

-send me away with her!"</p>

-

-<p>"It is just as I told my husband Sunday

-morning," remarked Mrs. St. Claire as the

-superintendent tried to soothe Marian's violent

-grief. "I said the child was subject to

-tantrums. It is sad to see such traits cropping

-out in one so young. Lack of training

-may have much to do with it. Other influences&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

-

-<p>"Pardon me, madam," interrupted the superintendent,

-"you forget that this little one

-has been with us since she was six months

-old. Mrs. Moore has been a mother to her in

-every sense of the word. It is only natural

-that she dreads going among strangers. She

-is a good little girl and we all love her.

-Hush, sweetheart," he whispered to the sob<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span>bing,

-trembling child, "perhaps your aunt

-may decide to leave you with us."</p>

-

-<p>"I&mdash;I&mdash;I won't&mdash;won't go," protested Marian,

-"I&mdash;I won't go, I won't go!"</p>

-

-<p>"Are you willing, madam, to give this

-child to us?" continued the superintendent;

-"perhaps you may wish to relinquish your

-claim, under the circumstances."</p>

-

-<p>"I never shrink from my duty," declared

-the woman, rising as she spoke, grim determination

-in every line of her purple gown; "my

-husband feels it a disgrace to find his brother's

-child in an orphan asylum. She cannot

-be left in a charitable institution while we

-have a crust to bestow upon her. She will

-take nothing from this place except the articles

-which belonged to her mother. I will

-call for the child at eight this evening. Good-morning,

-sir."</p>

-

-<p>"I&mdash;I won't go&mdash;I&mdash;won't go! You&mdash;you

-needn't come for me!" Marian had the last

-word that time.</p>

-

-<p>The babies were left to the care of assistant

-nurses that afternoon. Mrs. Moore held

-Marian and rocked her as on that night so<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span>

-long before when she became a little Pilgrim.

-For some time neither of them spoke and

-tears fell like rain above the brown head

-nestled in Mrs. Moore's arms. Marian was the

-first to break the silence. "I&mdash;I won't go, I

-won't go," she repeated between choking sobs,

-"I&mdash;I won't go, I won't go, she'll find out she

-won't get me!"</p>

-

-<p>Mrs. Moore tried to think of something to

-say. Just then a merry voice was heard singing

-in the hall outside,</p>

-

-<div class="poem-container">

-<div class="poem">

-<div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">"It is all for the best, oh, my Father,</span><br />

-<span class="i2">All for the best, all for the best."</span><br />

-</div>

-</div>

-</div>

-

-<p>"Will they let me come to see you every

-day?" asked Marian when the singer was beyond

-hearing. "Will they?" she repeated as

-Mrs. Moore made no answer. "Where is

-Michigan, anyway? What street car goes out

-there?"</p>

-

-<p>It was some time before Mrs. Moore could

-speak. Her strongest impulse was to hide

-the precious baby. What would become of

-her darling among unloving strangers? Who<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span>

-would teach her right from wrong? Suddenly

-Mrs. Moore realized that in days to come there

-might be time enough for tears. There were

-yet a few hours left her with the little girl

-which she must improve.</p>

-

-<p>Gently and tenderly she told Marian the

-truth. Michigan was far, far away. She

-must go alone, to live among strangers&mdash;yet

-not alone, for there was One in heaven who

-would be with her and who would watch over

-her and love her always, as He had in the

-Home. Poor Marian heard the voice but the

-words meant nothing to her until long afterwards.

-Mrs. Moore herself could never recall

-just what she said that sad day. She knew

-she tried to tell Marian to be brave, to be

-good; to tell the truth and do right: but more

-than once she broke down and wept with her

-darling.</p>

-

-<p>When Mrs. St. Claire called at eight, she

-was greeted by a quiet, submissive child who

-said she was ready to go. More than that,

-the little thing tried to smile as she promised

-to be a good girl. Perhaps the smile wouldn't

-have been so easily discouraged if Mrs. St.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span>

-Claire had kissed the swollen, tear-stained

-face, or had said one comforting word.</p>

-

-<p>The time of parting came. When it was

-over, Mrs. Moore lifted the sobbing child into

-the carriage. Then she knew that in spite of

-the stars the night was dark.</p>

-

-<hr class="chap" />

-

-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span></p>

-

-

-

-

-<h2><a name="CHAPTER_V" id="CHAPTER_V"></a>CHAPTER V</h2>

-

-<p class="c">MARIAN'S NEW HOME</p>

-

-

-<p><span class="smcap">The</span> second day of the journey to the new

-home, Marian laughed aloud. She had slept

-well the night before and had taken a lively

-interest in everything she saw from the time

-she was awakened by the first glimpse of daylight

-through the sleeper windows. Not that

-she was happy, far from it, but it was something

-that she wasn't utterly miserable.</p>

-

-<p>Uncle George was pleasanter than his wife,

-and although he said little from behind his

-newspaper, that little was encouraging: his

-tones were kind.</p>

-

-<p>Ella St. Claire, the cousin, three years

-younger than Marian, was inclined to be

-friendly. Left to themselves the children

-might have had a delightful time, but Mrs.

-St. Claire had no intention of leaving the two

-to themselves; it was not part of her plan.

-Marian made several attempts to get acquainted<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span>

-and Ella kept edging away from her mother,

-until in the middle of the forenoon, Mrs. St.

-Claire remarked that if she wished to have

-any peace she must separate the children.

-Accordingly she took Ella by the hand and

-went several seats back, leaving Marian alone.

-As she left, Ella begged for a cooky.</p>

-

-<p>"I'm hungry, too," added Marian.</p>

-

-<p>Mrs. St. Claire gave Ella the cooky and

-passed a bit of dry bread to Marian.</p>

-

-<p>"If you please," suggested Marian, "I like

-cookies, too."</p>

-

-<p>"You will take what I give you or go without,"

-said Mrs. St. Claire; "you can't be starving

-after the breakfast you ate in Buffalo."</p>

-

-<p>Marian, sorry she had spoken, dropped from

-sight in the high-backed seat. There was a

-lump in her throat and so deep a longing for

-the Home she had left it was hard to keep the

-tears back. Just then an old man began snoring

-so loud the passengers smiled and Marian

-laughed in spite of herself. Having laughed

-once she grew more cheerful. There were

-green fields and bits of woodland to be seen

-from the car windows, cows, sheep, bright<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span>

-flowers growing along the track, country roads

-and little children playing in their yards, sitting

-on fences and waving their hands to the

-passing train. Wonderful sights for a child

-straight from the Little Pilgrims' Home in a

-big city.</p>

-

-<p>Uncle George, growing tired of his paper,

-crossed the aisle and sat down beside his niece.

-Marian looked up with a happy smile. "I

-wish the cars would stop where the flowers

-grow," she said, "I'd like to pick some."</p>

-

-<p>"The cars will stop where the flowers grow,"

-answered the man. "When we get home you

-will live among the flowers; Marian, will you

-like that?"</p>

-

-<p>"Oh, goody!" the child exclaimed. "Oh,

-I am so glad! May I pick some flowers?"</p>

-

-<p>"Indeed you may, and we'll go to the

-woods where the wild flowers are. Were you

-ever in the woods?"</p>

-

-<p>Marian shook her head. "I've been in the

-Public Gardens and on the Common, though,

-and I know all about woods."</p>

-

-<p>"Who told you about the woods?"</p>

-

-<p>"Nanna&mdash;Mrs. Moore."</p>

-

-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span></p>

-

-<p>"Was she your nurse?"</p>

-

-<p>"Yes, Uncle George, she was my everybody.

-I love her more than anybody else in the

-world. She is the prettiest, nicest one in the

-Home."</p>

-

-<p>"See here, little girl," interrupted the man,

-"will you promise me something?"</p>

-

-<p>"Why, yes, what is it?"</p>

-

-<p>"I want you to do me this one favor.

-Don't tell any one you were ever in an orphan's

-home."</p>

-

-<p>The child was silent. "What will I talk

-about?" she finally asked.</p>

-

-<p>Uncle George laughed. "Take my advice

-and don't say much about anything," was his

-suggestion. "You'll find it the easiest way to

-get along. But whatever you talk about,

-don't mention that Home."</p>

-

-<p>Later, Aunt Amelia added a word on the

-same subject, but in a manner so harsh Marian

-became convinced that to have lived in an

-orphan asylum was a disgrace equal perhaps

-to a prison record. She determined never to

-mention the Home for Little Pilgrims. Janey

-Clark must have known what she was talking<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span>

-about and even Mrs. Moore, when questioned,

-had admitted that if she had a little girl it

-would make her feel sad to know she lived in

-a Home. Before the journey was ended

-Marian was thankful that relatives had claimed

-her. Perhaps if she tried hard, she might be

-able to win Aunt Amelia's love. She would

-be a good little girl and do her best.</p>

-

-<p>One thing Marian learned before she had

-lived ten days with Aunt Amelia. The part of

-the house where she was welcome was the outside.

-Fortunately it was summer and the new

-home was in a country town where streets

-were wide and the yards were large. Back of

-Aunt Amelia's garden was an orchard, and

-there or in the locust grove near by, Marian

-passed untroubled hours. The front lawn,

-bordered with shrubs and flower beds, was

-pleasing enough, but it wasn't the place for

-Marian who was not allowed to pick a blossom,

-although the pansies begged for more

-chance to bloom. She could look at the pansies

-though, and feel of the roses if Aunt

-Amelia was out of sight. How Marian loved

-the roses&mdash;especially the velvety pink ones.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span>

-She told them how much she loved them, and

-if the roses made no response to the endearing

-terms lavished upon them, at least they never

-turned away, nor said unkind, hard things to

-make her cry and long for Mrs. Moore.</p>

-

-<p>When Marian had been with the St. Claires

-a week, Aunt Amelia told her she could never

-hope to hear from Mrs. Moore, partly because

-Mrs. Moore didn't know where she lived, and

-also because Mrs. Moore would gladly forget

-such a bad tempered, ungrateful little girl.</p>

-

-<p>The pink roses under the blue sky were a

-comfort then. So were the birds. Day after

-day Marian gave them messages to carry to

-Mrs. Moore. She talked to them in the orchard

-and in the locust grove, and many a

-wild bird listened, with its head on one side,

-to the loving words of the little girl and then

-flew straight away over the tree-tops and the

-house-tops, away and away out of sight. Several

-weeks passed before Marian knew that she

-might pick dandelions and clover blossoms,

-Bouncing Bet and all the roadside blooms, to

-her heart's content. That was joy!</p>

-

-<p>Under a wide-spreading apple-tree, Marian<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span>

-made a collection of treasures she found in

-the yard. Curious stones were chief among

-them. Bits of moss, pretty twigs, bright

-leaves, broken china, colored glass&mdash;there was

-no end to the resources of that yard. One

-morning she found a fragile cup of blue. It

-looked like a tiny bit of painted egg shell, but

-how could an egg be so small, and who could

-have painted it? She carried the wonder to

-Uncle George who told her it was part of a

-robin's egg.</p>

-

-<p>"Who ate it?" asked Marian, whereupon

-Uncle George explained to her what the

-merest babies knew in the world outside the

-city. More than that, he went to the orchard,

-found a robin's nest on the low branch of an

-apple-tree, and lifted her on his shoulder so

-that she might see it. There were four blue

-eggs in the nest. Marian wanted to break

-them to see the baby birds inside, but Uncle

-George cautioned her to wait and let the

-mother bird take care of her own round

-cradle.</p>

-

-<p>In the meantime Madam Robin scolded

-Uncle George and Marian until they left the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span>

-tree to watch her from a distance. That

-robin's nest filled Marian's every thought for

-days and days. When the baby birds were

-hatched she was so anxious to see them oftener

-than Uncle George had time to lift her on his

-shoulder, she learned to climb the tree. After

-that Marian was oftener in the apple-trees than

-under them. Had there been no rainy days

-and had the summer lasted all the year, Marian

-would have been a fortunate child. Aunt

-Amelia called her a tomboy and said no one

-would ever catch Ella St. Claire climbing trees

-and running like a wild child across the yard

-and through the locust grove.</p>

-

-<p>The two children admired each other. Had

-it been possible they would have played together

-all the time. Marian, who became a

-sun-browned romp, thought there never was

-such a dainty creature as her delicate, white-skinned

-cousin Ella, whose long black curls

-were never tumbled by the wind or play: and

-Ella never missed a chance to talk with her

-laughing, joyous cousin, who could always

-think of something new.</p>

-

-<p>Aunt Amelia said that Ella wasn't the same<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span>

-child when she was left with Marian for half

-an hour, and she could not allow the children

-to play together for her little daughter's sake.

-It was her duty as a mother to guard that little

-daughter from harmful influences.</p>

-

-<p>This was the talk to which Marian listened

-day after day. It grieved her to the quick.

-Again and again, especially on rainy days, she

-promised Aunt Amelia that she would be

-good, and each time Aunt Amelia sent her to

-her room to think over the bad things she had

-done and what an ungrateful child she was.

-Although Marian became convinced that she

-was a bad child, she couldn't sit down and

-think of her sins long at a time, and her penitent

-spells usually ended in a concert. Uncle

-George took her to one early in the summer,

-and ever after, playing concert was one of

-Marian's favorite games. She had committed

-"Bingen on the Rhine" to memory from

-hearing it often read in school at the Home,

-and on rainy days when sent to her room, she

-chanted it, wailed it and recited it until poor

-Ella was unhappy and discontented because

-she could have no part in the fun.</p>

-

-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span></p>

-

-<p>Ella had a toy piano kept as an ornament.

-Marian's piano was a chair, her stool was a

-box and her sheet music, an almanac: but in

-her soul was joy.</p>

-

-<p>"What can you do with such a child?" demanded

-Aunt Amelia.</p>

-

-<p>"Let her alone," counseled Uncle George.</p>

-

-<hr class="chap" />

-

-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span></p>

-

-

-

-

-<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VI" id="CHAPTER_VI"></a>CHAPTER VI</h2>

-

-<p class="c">THAT YELLOW CUCUMBER</p>

-

-

-<p><span class="smcap">One</span> summer day the St. Claires were the

-guests of a farmer who lived a few miles from

-town. Ella stayed in the house with her

-mother and the farmer's wife, but Marian

-saw the farm; the cows and the sheep and the

-fields of grain. She asked more questions that

-day than the hired man ever answered at one

-time in his life before, and when night came

-he and Marian were tired.</p>

-

-<p>"She knows as much about farming as I

-do," the man said with a laugh as he put the

-sleepy child on the back seat of the carriage

-when the family were ready to go home.</p>

-

-<p>"I've had a lovely time, Mr. Hired Man,"

-Marian roused herself to remark, "and to-morrow

-I'm going to play farm."</p>

-

-<p>"Good haying weather," the man suggested

-with a smile; "better get your barns up quick's

-you can."</p>

-

-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span></p>

-

-<p>"I'm going to," was the response; "it's a

-lovely game."</p>

-

-<p>Whatever Marian saw or heard that pleased

-her fancy, she played. Stories that were read

-to the little Ella were enacted again and again

-in Marian's room if the day was rainy, out in

-the orchard or the locust grove if the day was

-fair. Farming promised to be the most interesting

-game of all.</p>

-

-<p>Early the next morning Marian visited

-what she called the yarrow jungle ever since

-Uncle George read jungle stories to Ella.

-More than one queer looking creature tried to

-keep out of sight when her footsteps were

-heard. The old black beetle scampered away

-as fast as his six legs would carry him, though

-it can't be possible he remembered the time

-when Marian captured him for her museum.

-Crickets gathered up their fiddles, seeking

-safety beyond the fence. Perhaps they

-thought Marian wanted them to play in the

-orchestra at another snail wedding. Even

-the ants hastened to the hills beyond the

-jungle, leaving only the old toad to wink and

-blink at the happy one of whom he had no fear.</p>

-

-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span></p>

-

-<p>"Well, Mr. Toad," said she, "why don't

-you hop along? I've come to make my farm

-out here where the yarrow grows. Why don't

-you live in the garden land? I would if I

-were you. Don't you know about the cool

-tomato groves and the cabbage tents? I've

-got to clear away this jungle so the sun may

-shine upon my farm the way the country

-man said. You really must go, so hop along

-and stop winking and blinking at me." The

-old toad wouldn't stir, so for his sake Marian

-spared the yarrow jungle.</p>

-

-<p>"After all, I'll make my farm here on the

-border-land," said she, while the daisies

-nodded and the buttercups shone brighter

-than before. "Only, I'll tell you one thing,

-Mr. Toad, that maybe you won't like. If you

-will stay there, you'll have to be an elephant

-in the jungle. There, now, I s'pose you are

-sorry. I say&mdash;be an elephant and now you

-are one." The toad didn't mind a bit. He

-was so used to being changed into all sorts of

-animals that he never seemed to notice whether

-he was an elephant or a kangaroo.</p>

-

-<p>Day after day Marian worked upon her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span>

-farm, enclosing fields and meadows with high

-stone walls, clearing roads and planting trees.

-Whatever she touched became what she wished

-it to be. Pasteboard match-boxes became

-houses and barns. Sticks became men working

-upon the farm and spools were wagons

-bearing loads of hay from place to place. At

-a word from her, green apples, standing upon

-four twigs, were instantly changed, becoming

-pigs, cows, sheep and horses. Kernels of

-yellow corn were chickens. It was a wonderful

-farm and for many a sunny hour Marian

-was happy. Even the old toad, winking and

-blinking beneath the shadow of the yarrow

-jungle, must have known it.</p>

-

-<p>At last there came a morning when the

-child went strolling through the garden.

-Suddenly, while singing her usual merry

-song, the joyous look faded from her face.

-She no longer saw the butterflies floating

-about nor cared that the bumble-bee wore his

-best velvet coat. There were tiny green

-cucumbers in that garden, just the right size

-for horses on the little girl's farm. There were

-a great many cucumbers, so many that Marian<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span>

-felt sure no one would ever miss a few. She

-picked a handful and knew that she was

-stealing. The sun went under a cloud. A

-blue jay mocked at her and a wren scolded.

-Though far from happy, Marian hurried

-away to her farm. The old toad saw her

-sticking twigs in the cucumbers. Then she

-placed them in a row.</p>

-

-<p>"Now be animals!" she commanded, but

-the spell was broken&mdash;she was no longer a

-farmer with magic power, but a pink-faced

-little girl who had done what she knew was

-wrong. And the cucumbers refused to be

-anything but cucumbers.</p>

-

-<p>Again the little girl went to the garden, returning

-with one big yellow cucumber that

-had gone to seed. "Now I guess I'll have a

-cucumber animal," she said, in tones so cross

-the daisies seemed to tremble. "You bad old

-cucumber, you're no good anyway, nobody

-could eat you, nor make a pickle of you, so

-you may just turn yourself into a giant cow

-right off this minute! There you are, standing

-on four sticks. Now be a cow, I say."</p>

-

-<p>The old cucumber wouldn't be a cow.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span>

-There it stood, big and yellow, spoiling the

-looks of the farm.</p>

-

-<p>"What's the matter with you, old toad?"

-went on the little girl. "I tell you that's a

-cow, and if you don't believe it you can just

-get off my farm quick's you can hop. You're

-homely anyway, and you turned yourself back

-into a toad when I said be an elephant."</p>

-

-<p>How surprised the toad was when the little

-girl took a stick and poked him along ahead

-of her. The poor old fellow had never been

-treated like that in his life. When he reached

-the garden he hid beneath the nearest cabbage

-plant. The little girl went on but came back

-in a short time with her apron full of cucumbers.</p>

-

-<p>"I guess I'll sit down here and put the

-sticks in them," she said: but instead of

-touching the cucumbers the child sat on the

-ground beside the toad forever so long, looking

-cross, oh, so cross. The toad kept perfectly

-still and by and by he and the little

-girl heard a man whistling. In a few minutes

-there was a long whistle and then no sound in

-the jungle save the buzzing of flies and the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span>

-chirping of birds. The little girl was afraid

-of her uncle who had been her one friend in

-that land of strangers. Soon she heard them

-calling and with her apron full of cucumbers,

-Marian rose to meet him.</p>

-

-<p>It may be that the old toad, as he hopped

-back to the yarrow jungle, thought that he

-should never again see the little girl: but the

-next morning in the midst of brightest sunshine,

-Marian returned, her head drooping.

-With her little feet she destroyed the farm

-and then, throwing herself face downward

-among the ruins, wept bitterly. When she

-raised her head the old toad was staring solemnly

-at her, causing fresh tears to overflow

-upon the round cheeks.</p>

-

-<p>"Don't look at me, toad, nobody does," she

-wailed. "I'm dreadfully bad and it doesn't

-do a bit of good to be sorry. Nobody loves

-me and nobody ever will. Aunt Amelia says

-that Nanna wouldn't love me now. Uncle

-George doesn't love me, he says he's disappointed

-in me! Oh, dear, oh, dear! Nobody

-in this world loves me, toad, and oh,

-dear, I've got to eat all alone in the kitchen<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span>

-for two weeks, and even the housemaid doesn't

-love me and can't talk to me! Oh, dear,

-what made me do it!"</p>

-

-<p>What could an old toad do but hide in the

-yarrow jungle: yet when he turned away

-Marian felt utterly deserted. It was dreadful

-to be so bad that even a toad wouldn't look

-at her.</p>

-

-<hr class="chap" />

-

-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span></p>

-

-

-

-

-<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VII" id="CHAPTER_VII"></a>CHAPTER VII</h2>

-

-<p class="c">AN UNDESERVING CHILD</p>

-

-

-<p><span class="smcap">Try</span> as hard as she would, Marian could

-not fit into Aunt Amelia's home. Everywhere

-within its walls, she was Marian the

-unwanted. Saddest of all, the child annoyed

-Uncle George. Not at first, to be sure; he

-liked his little niece in the beginning, but

-when Aunt Amelia and the little Ella were

-rendered unhappy by her presence, that made

-a difference.</p>

-

-<p>Early in the summer Uncle George insisted

-upon taking Marian wherever Ella and her

-mother went, to picnics, to the circus and

-other places of amusement, but as something

-disagreeable was sure to happen and trouble

-seemed to follow little Marian, she was finally

-left at home where her gay talk and merriment

-could not reach the ears of Aunt Amelia,

-who called her talk "clatter" and her laughter

-"cackle."</p>

-

-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span></p>

-

-<p>"It's cucumbers," sobbed Marian, the first

-time she was left with the sympathetic housemaid.</p>

-

-<p>"What do you mean, you poor little

-thing?" asked the girl.</p>

-

-<p>The child looked up in astonishment.

-"Don't you remember about the cucumbers?"

-she asked reproachfully.</p>

-

-<p>"Cucumbers," sniffed the girl. "Never

-mind, you poor, sweet darling, we'll have a

-tea-party this afternoon, you and I,&mdash;that old

-pelican!"</p>

-

-<p>Marian knew no better than to tell about the

-tea-party, what a jolly time she had and how

-happy she was, closing her story by asking

-Uncle George if a pelican was a chicken.</p>

-

-<p>"Because," she added, "we had a little dish

-of cream chicken and I didn't see any pelican,

-but Annie did say two or three times, 'that

-old pelican!'"</p>

-

-<p>Aunt Amelia was prejudiced against pelicans

-and she objected to tea-parties, so Annie

-packed her trunk and left. Lala took her

-place. Lala was equally kind but far too wise.

-She befriended the little girl every way in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span>

-her power but cautioned her to keep her

-mouth shut. She went so far as to instruct

-the child in the art of lying and had there

-not been deep in Marian's nature a love of

-truth, Lala's influence might have been more

-effective. Marian turned from her without

-knowing why, nor would she accept any

-favors from the girl unless she believed Aunt

-Amelia approved.</p>

-

-<p>Lala called Marian a "Little fool," Aunt

-Amelia called her an undeserving, ungrateful

-child who would steal if she were not watched,

-a saucy, bold "young one" who had disappointed

-her Uncle George, and Uncle George

-plainly didn't love her. What wonder that

-Marian had a small opinion of herself and

-dreaded the first Monday in September, the

-beginning of her school-days among strangers.</p>

-

-<p>The schoolhouse was so far from where

-Aunt Amelia lived, Marian carried her

-luncheon in a tin pail. The child left

-home that Monday, a timid, shrinking

-little mortal, afraid to speak to any one.

-She returned, happy as a lark, swinging her

-dinner pail and singing a new song until<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span>

-within sight of the St. Claire home. Then

-she walked more slowly and entered the gate

-like a weary pilgrim. She expected trouble,

-poor little Marian, but there happened to be

-callers, giving her a chance to escape unnoticed

-to the locust grove where she made a

-jumping rope of a wild grape vine and played

-until the shadows were long and the day was

-done.</p>

-

-<p>That evening Uncle George questioned Marian

-about her teacher and how she liked

-school. "I hope," said he, when he had

-listened to the account so gladly given, "I

-hope you will be a credit to your uncle and

-that you will behave yourself and get to the

-head of your class and stay there. Don't give

-your Uncle George any cause to be ashamed

-of his niece. I want to be proud of you."</p>

-

-<p>"Oh, do you!" exclaimed the child. "Oh,

-I'll try so hard to be good and learn my lessons

-best of anybody. Then will you love

-me?"</p>

-

-<p>"Good children are always loved," put in

-Aunt Amelia. "Doesn't your Uncle George

-love Ella?"</p>

-

-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span></p>

-

-<p>"She's his little girl," ventured Marian,

-longing for a place beside Ella in her uncle's

-lap. He certainly did love Ella.</p>

-

-<p>"Sit down, child," said Uncle George,

-"you're my brother's little girl, aren't you,

-and you are Ella's cousin, aren't you?"</p>

-

-<p>"I am sure she ought to be grateful," interrupted

-Aunt Amelia, "with all she has done

-for her and such a home provided for

-her&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

-

-<p>"Oh, I am, I am," protested Marian earnestly.

-"I'm so glad I've got a home I don't

-know what to do, and I'm gratefuller'n anything&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

-

-<p>"Queer way of showing your gratitude," exclaimed

-Aunt Amelia; "a more undeserving

-child I never saw."</p>

-

-<p>Uncle George bit his lip. "Now don't cry,

-Marian," he cautioned, as the child's eyes

-filled with tears. "I have a story to read

-you and Ella, so sit down and be quiet."</p>

-

-<p>"Don't expect her to be quiet," Aunt

-Amelia persisted. "If she would listen to

-stories as Ella does, I wouldn't send her to

-bed. You know as well as I do that she in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span>terrupts

-and asks questions and gets in a perfect

-fever of excitement. Ella behaves like a

-lady. You never catch her squirming and

-fidgeting about, acting like a perfect jumping-jack&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

-

-<p>"No," remarked Uncle George, opening

-the book in his hand, "she goes to sleep.

-Don't you, pet?"</p>

-

-<p>"Go to bed, Marian," Aunt Amelia commanded.

-"Not a word. I shall not allow you

-to add sauciness to disobedience. Go!"</p>

-

-<p>Uncle George frowned, put away the book

-and reached for his newspaper: then, touched

-by the pathetic figure in the doorway he

-called the child back. "That's right," he

-said, "be a good girl and obey your aunt

-promptly. She has your interest at heart,

-child. Come, kiss Uncle George good-night."</p>

-

-<p>Marian was surprised because her natural

-tendency to kiss every one in the family before

-going to bed had been severely checked

-and she had been obliged to whisper her good-nights

-to the cat. If she sometimes kissed

-its soft fur, what difference did it make, if

-the cat had no objection.</p>

-

-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span></p>

-

-<p>"Now kiss little cousin Ella," suggested

-Uncle George, but Ella covered her face, saying

-her mother had told her never to let Marian

-touch her.</p>

-

-<p>Uncle George looked so angry Marian didn't

-know what was going to happen. He put

-little Ella in her mother's lap and then taking

-Marian in his arms, carried her to her

-room. After the child had said her prayers

-and was in bed, Uncle George sat beside her

-and talked a long, long while. He told her

-to try and be a good child and do her best in

-school.</p>

-

-<p>Marian dreamed that night of Mrs. Moore

-and the little stranger's mother. When she

-awoke in the starlight she was not afraid as

-usual. She thought of Uncle George and

-how she would try to please him in school

-that he might be proud of her and love her as

-she loved him, and so fell peacefully asleep.</p>

-

-<p>When the man was looking over his papers

-the next morning before breakfast he felt a

-touch upon his arm. He smiled when he saw

-Marian. "I want to tell you," she said, "I'm

-awful sorry about the cucumbers."</p>

-

-<hr class="chap" />

-

-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span></p>

-

-

-

-

-<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VIII" id="CHAPTER_VIII"></a>CHAPTER VIII</h2>

-

-<p class="c">IN THE NAME OF SANTA CLAUS</p>

-

-

-<p><span class="smcap">In</span> November Ella and her mother began

-making plans for Christmas. Aunt Amelia

-invited seven little girls to tea one night

-when Uncle George was away, and Marian ate

-in the kitchen with Lala. The seven were

-all older than Ella and one of them, little

-Ruth Higgins, knowing no better, asked for

-Marian. Lala overheard the answer and was

-indignant.</p>

-

-<p>"You poor little lamb," she sputtered, upon

-returning to the kitchen, "I'd run away if I

-were you."</p>

-

-<p>"Where would I run to?" questioned Marian.</p>

-

-<p>"Anywhere'd be better than here," the

-girl replied, "and that woman calls herself a

-Christian!"</p>

-

-<p>"She's a awful cross Christian," Marian admitted

-in a whisper, brushing away the tears<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span>

-that came when she heard the peals of laughter

-from the dining-room.</p>

-

-<p>"I wouldn't cry if I were you," advised the

-girl. "You'll only spoil your pretty eyes and

-it will do them good to see you cry, you poor

-baby. The idea of having a party and making

-you stay out here!"</p>

-

-<p>"It's a Club," corrected Marian, "I've heard

-'em talking about it. Dorothy Avery and Ruth

-Higgins belong. I've tried so hard to be good

-so I could be in it. They are going to sew

-presents for poor children and give them toys

-and everything they don't want their own

-selves, and then when Christmas day comes

-they're going to have a sleigh ride and take

-the things to the poor children. If I was

-good like Ella, I could be in it. I used to be

-good, Lala, truly, I did."</p>

-

-<p>"There, there, don't cry," begged Lala.

-"Look a-here! did you ever see anybody

-dance the lame man's jig?"</p>

-

-<p>Marian shook her head, whereupon Lala

-performed the act to the music of a mournful

-tune she hummed, while Marian laughed

-until the Club was forgotten. There was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span>

-plenty of fun in the kitchen after that. In

-the midst of the hilarity Ella appeared to tell

-Marian it was her bedtime.</p>

-

-<p>"Are you ever afraid, Lala, when you wake

-up all alone in the night?" asked Marian as

-she started up the back stairs.</p>

-

-<p>"I never wake up," said Lala. "Do you,

-Marian?"</p>

-

-<p>"Yes, and I'm lonesome without all the

-little girls. Sometimes I'm so frightened I

-pretty nearly die when I'm all alone and it's

-dark."</p>

-

-<p>"Little girls," echoed Lala, "what little

-girls? Where did you live before you came

-here?"</p>

-

-<p>"When I was good I lived in a big city,

-Lala."</p>

-

-<p>"Tell me about it," the girl insisted.</p>

-

-<p>"If you'll promise you won't ever tell, I

-will," declared Marian. "I'll have to whisper

-it. I lived in a beautiful orphan's home,

-Lala."</p>

-

-<p>"Oh!" exclaimed Lala. "Oh, you poor

-baby."</p>

-

-<p>"Of course it's dreadful," Marian hastened<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span>

-to say, "but I couldn't help it, Lala, truly I

-couldn't; they took me there when I was a

-baby and it was a lovely place, only, it was a

-Home."</p>

-

-<p>"Do you know anything about your father

-and mother?"</p>

-

-<p>"Oh, I guess they're dead&mdash;my mother is

-anyway, and I'm 'fraid about my father."</p>

-

-<p>"What do you mean?"</p>

-

-<p>"Well, Lala, Aunt Amelia always says,

-what can you expect when you think what

-my father was. I guess may be he was a

-stealer because Aunt Amelia won't stop talking

-about the cucumbers and what could you

-expect. Maybe he is in prison."</p>

-

-<p>"No, your father is not in prison, Marion

-Lee!" Lala exclaimed. "Listen. It was your

-father I heard them talking about with some

-callers the other day. I'm sure of it now, because

-they said the man was a great deal

-younger than your uncle&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

-

-<p>"Oh, tell me, do tell me what you know

-about my father?" besought Marian, walking

-back into the kitchen on tiptoes.</p>

-

-<p>"Oh, I don't know much," said the girl,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span>

-"but he isn't in prison, that's one sure thing.

-He went away to South America years ago to

-make his fortune, and they know that all the

-men who went with him were killed, and as

-your father never came back they know he

-must be dead."</p>

-

-<p>"What was there bad about that?" questioned

-the small daughter.</p>

-

-<p>"Nothing," was the reply, "only he and

-your Uncle George had a quarrel. Your

-uncle didn't want him to go because he said

-your father had plenty of money anyway, and

-it all came out as he said it would."</p>

-

-<p>At that moment, Ella returned. Seeing

-Marian, she forgot that she was after a drink

-of water. "Oh, Marian Lee!" she exclaimed.

-"I'm going straight back and tell mamma you

-didn't go to bed when I told you to. You'll

-be sorry."</p>

-

-<p>Marian, the guilty, flew up the back stairs,

-expecting swift punishment. She was sure

-she deserved it, and what would Uncle George

-say? It was so hard to be good. Retribution

-was left to Santa Claus. How could a disobedient,

-ungrateful child expect to be re<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span>membered

-by that friend of good children?

-How could Marian hope for a single gift?

-Aunt Amelia didn't know. Nevertheless the

-little girl pinned her faith to Santa Claus.

-He had never forgotten her nor the two hundred

-waifs at the Home. Teddy Daniels once

-made a face at the superintendent the very

-day before Christmas, yet Santa Claus gave

-him a drum.</p>

-

-<p>Marian wasn't the least surprised Christmas

-morning when she found her stockings hanging

-by the sitting-room grate filled to the

-brim, exactly as Ella's were. She was delighted

-beyond expression.</p>

-

-<p>"Oh, oh, oh!" she cried. "Both my

-stockings are full of things for me. Oh, see

-the packages! Oh, I am so happy! Just

-only look at the presents!" Uncle George

-left the room and Marian sat upon the rug to

-examine her treasures.</p>

-

-<p>"Why don't you look in your stockings,

-Ella?" she suggested. "Let's undo our presents

-together."</p>

-

-<p>"No, I'd rather wait and see what you'll

-say when you know what you've got!" Ella<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span>

-replied. "Mamma and I know something."</p>

-

-<p>"Hush!" cautioned Aunt Amelia. "Let's

-see what Santa Claus has brought Marian.

-She knows whether she's been a deserving,

-grateful child or not."</p>

-

-<p>Why would Aunt Amelia remind one of

-disagreeable things on Christmas morning?

-Marian's chin quivered before she took a

-thing from her stocking, whereupon Aunt

-Amelia smiled. In the meantime, Ella, becoming

-impatient, emptied one of her stockings

-in her mother's lap and began a series

-of squeals as toys, games and dolls tumbled out.</p>

-

-<p>"Oh, what fun!" cried Marian, laughing

-and clapping her hands as she witnessed

-Ella's delight. A pitiful expression stole

-over her face as she turned to her own stockings.

-How she longed for a mother to share

-her joy. How she wished Aunt Amelia would

-smile kindly and be pleased with her gifts.

-The child quickly removed the paper from a

-round package.</p>

-

-<p>"I've got a ball," she ventured. "I'll let

-you play with it, Ella."</p>

-

-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span></p>

-

-<p>"Got one of my own," said Ella, exhibiting

-a big rubber ball.</p>

-

-<p>An exclamation of dismay burst from

-Marian's lips. "Why, why&mdash;it's a potato!"

-she cried.</p>

-

-<p>"What did you expect?" inquired Aunt

-Amelia in chilling tones.</p>

-

-<p>"I guess that was just for a joke." The

-little girl smiled cheerfully as she said it, at the

-same time untying a box wrapped in tissue

-paper. Potatoes again. Marian shut her lips

-tight together and tried another package.

-More potatoes. Still she kept the tears back

-and reached for a long bundle. Removing

-the paper she found switches. Aunt Amelia

-and Ella watched silently as Marian, her eyes

-blazing and her cheeks growing a deeper red

-every second, emptied the stocking in which

-there was nothing but potatoes. Then the

-child rose, straightened her small figure to its

-full height and made this statement:</p>

-

-<p>"That wasn't never Santa Claus that did

-that!"</p>

-

-<p>"Look in the other stocking," Ella advised,

-"there are real presents in that one. I guess<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span>

-you will be a good girl now, won't you,

-Marian? Take the other stocking down,

-quick."</p>

-

-<p>"No," declared Marian, "I don't want any

-more potatoes. Nobody loves me and I don't

-care if they don't." Then she broke down

-and cried so hard, Ella cried too.</p>

-

-<p>"What's all the trouble?" asked Uncle

-George, entering the room at that moment.</p>

-

-<p>"Marian is making a scene and distressing

-both Ella and me," explained Aunt Amelia.

-"She has been highly impertinent and ungrateful.

-Ella, you may have the other

-stocking yourself."</p>

-

-<p>"But I don't want it," sobbed Ella. "I

-want Marian to have it."</p>

-

-<p>"Then we'll take it to the poor children

-this afternoon," said her mother. "They'll

-be glad to get it. Marian, don't drop what's

-in your apron. Now go to your room and

-think over how you've spoiled the peace of a

-family on Christmas morning. I'll bring

-your breakfast to you myself."</p>

-

-<p>"I don't want any breakfast," sobbed Marian,

-walking away with her apron full of potatoes.</p>

-

-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span></p>

-

-<p>"Come back," called Uncle George. "You

-tell your aunt you are sorry you were so

-naughty, and you may come to breakfast with

-us. It's Christmas morning, child, why can't

-you behave?"</p>

-

-<p>"I wasn't naughty," sobbed Marian.

-"I&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

-

-<p>"Not another word," put in Aunt Amelia.

-"Go to your room, stubborn, bad child. I

-can't have such an example continually before

-my little Ella. We'll have to put her in

-a reform school, George, if she doesn't improve."</p>

-

-<p>This remark fell upon unheeding ears so

-far as Marian was concerned. The minute

-the door of her little room closed behind her

-she dropped the potatoes upon the floor and

-throwing herself beside them cried as if her

-heart would break.</p>

-

-<p>"Oh, Nanna, Nanna, I want you," she

-sobbed. "Oh, where are you, oh, my Mrs.

-Moore?"</p>

-

-<hr class="chap" />

-

-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span></p>

-

-

-

-

-<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IX" id="CHAPTER_IX"></a>CHAPTER IX</h2>

-

-<p class="c">AT THE RICH MAN'S TABLE</p>

-

-

-<p><span class="smcap">True</span> to her word, Aunt Amelia carried

-Marian's breakfast to her room. But for the

-interference of Uncle George his little niece

-would have been given bread and water; it

-was all an impertinent child deserved. Uncle

-George, however, insisted that the One who

-was born on Christmas Day was a friend to

-sinners great and small. Out of respect to His

-memory, Marian should have her breakfast.

-Lala offered to take the tray up-stairs when it

-was ready, but Aunt Amelia said it was her

-duty to take it herself: so there was no one to

-speak a word of comfort to the little black

-sheep outside the fold.</p>

-

-<p>It had been a dark, cloudy morning, but

-curiously enough, the moment the door closed

-behind Aunt Amelia, the sun came out bright

-and warm, and shone straight through Marian's

-window. The child raised her head, wiped<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</a></span>

-her eyes and finally sat up. She wouldn't eat

-any breakfast of course, how could she? No

-one loved her and what was the use of eating?

-The tray looked tempting though and the

-breakfast smelled good. The big orange

-seemed rolling toward her and Uncle George

-must have poured the cream on her oatmeal.

-No one else would have given her so much.

-The omelet was steaming, and even Lala never

-made finer looking rolls.</p>

-

-<p>Marian moved a little nearer and a little

-nearer to the tray until the next thing she

-knew she was sitting in a chair, eating breakfast.

-Everything tasted good, and in a little

-while Marian felt better. Out of doors, the

-icy trees sparkled in the sunshine and all the

-world looked clean and new. Oh, how the

-little girl longed for a mother that Christmas

-morning. Some one who would love her and

-say "Dear little Marian," as Nanna once did.</p>

-

-<p>Thinking of Mrs. Moore brought back to

-the child's memory that last day in the Home.

-Mrs. Moore had said, "Be brave, be good and

-never forget the Father in heaven." Marian

-had not been brave nor good; and she had for<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span>gotten

-the Father in heaven. Suddenly the

-child looked around the room, under the bed

-everywhere. She was certainly alone. It

-seemed strange to say one's prayers in the daytime,

-but Marian folded her hands and kneeling

-in the flood of sunshine beneath the window,

-confessed her sins. She felt like a new

-born soul after that. The despairing, rebellious

-little Marian was gone, and in her place was a

-child at peace with herself and the world.

-Without putting it in words, Marian forgave

-Aunt Amelia: more than that, she felt positively

-tender towards her. She would tell her

-she was sorry for her impertinence and promise

-to be a good child. It would be so easy to

-do right. She would set Ella a good example.

-Not for anything would Marian ever again do

-what was wrong. In time Uncle George and

-Aunt Amelia would love her dearly.</p>

-

-<p>Marian smiled thoughtfully as she gazed

-down the straight and perfect path her little

-feet would travel from thenceforth forevermore.

-The child's meditations were interrupted

-by a remembrance of the potatoes.

-There they were, her Christmas presents, try<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span>ing

-to hide under the bed, under the chairs,

-beneath the bureau. She stared at them but

-a moment when a happy smile broke over

-her face.</p>

-

-<p>Marian was a saint no longer; only a little

-girl about to play a new game.</p>

-

-<p>"Why, it's a circus!" she exclaimed, and

-straightway seizing the potatoes and breaking

-the switches into little sticks, she transformed

-the unwelcome gift into a circus parade. The

-elephant came first. His trunk was a trifle

-too stiff as the switches were not limber. The

-camel came next and if his humps were not

-exactly in the right place, he was all the more

-of a curiosity. Then followed the giraffe with

-sloping back and no head worth mentioning

-because there was nothing to stick on the

-piece of switch that formed his long neck.

-Marian did wish she had a bit of gum to use

-for a head. The giraffe would look more

-finished. The lion and the tiger were perfect.

-Marian could almost hear them roar. Nobody

-could have found any fault with the kangaroo

-except that he would fall on his front feet.

-The hippopotamus was a sight worth going to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span>

-see. So was the rhinoceros. The zebras almost

-ran away, they were so natural.</p>

-

-<p>Marian searched eagerly for more potatoes.

-A peck would have been none too many.

-"I'll have to play the rest of the animals are

-in cages," she said with a sigh. "Too bad I

-didn't get more potatoes. Wish I had the

-other stocking."</p>

-

-<p>When Marian was tired of circus, she played

-concert. Bingen on the Rhine came in for

-its share of attention, but school songs were

-just as good and had ready-made tunes.</p>

-

-<p>Lala in the kitchen, heard the operatic

-singing and laughed. Aunt Amelia caught a

-few strains, frowned and closed the hall doors.

-Uncle George smiled behind his newspaper:

-but Ella, tired of her toys, pouted and said

-she wished she could ever have any fun.

-Marian always had a good time. Mrs. St.

-Claire reminded her of the sleigh ride with

-the seven little girls in the afternoon and

-Ella managed to get through the morning

-somehow, even if it was dull and Christmas

-joy was nowhere in the house except in the

-little room off the back hall up-stairs.</p>

-

-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span></p>

-

-<p>At one o'clock Lala was sent to tell Marian

-she might come down to dinner if she would

-apologize to Aunt Amelia for her impertinence.

-Lala was forbidden to say more, but

-nobody thought to caution her not to laugh,

-and what did Lala do when she saw Marian

-playing the piano beside the circus parade, but

-laugh until the tears ran down her cheeks.

-Worst of all she waited on table with a broad

-smile on her face that made Aunt Amelia

-quite as uncomfortable as the mention of a

-pelican. Nor was it possible for Aunt Amelia

-to understand how a child who had been in

-disgrace all the forenoon, could be cheerful

-and ready to laugh on the slightest provocation.

-She thought it poor taste.</p>

-

-<p>After dinner Ella thrust a repentant looking

-stocking in Marian's hand. "Papa says

-the things are yours and you must have

-them," she explained.</p>

-

-<p>"What makes the stocking look so floppy?"

-asked Marian.</p>

-

-<p>"Because," Ella went on, "papa made me

-take all the potatoes out and there wasn't

-much left. You've got a handkerchief in the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span>

-stocking from me and one from mamma,

-and&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

-

-<p>"Please don't tell me," protested Marian.

-"I want to be s'prised."</p>

-

-<p>"Like the selfish child you are," put in

-Aunt Amelia, "unwilling to give your cousin

-a bit of pleasure."</p>

-

-<p>"And a box of dominoes from papa and

-a doll's tea set Lala gave you," finished

-Ella.</p>

-

-<p>"She'll expect a doll next," observed Aunt

-Amelia.</p>

-

-<p>"I did think Santa Claus would give me

-one," admitted the child, "but I had rather

-have the beautiful tea set. Help me set the

-table on this chair, Ella, and we'll play Christmas

-dinner. I'll let you pour the tea

-and&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

-

-<p>"Ella has no time to play," her mother

-interrupted. "Come, little one, help mamma

-finish packing the baskets of presents for the

-poor children."</p>

-

-<p>"But I had rather play with Marian's tea

-set," pouted Ella.</p>

-

-<p>"You have one of your own, dearest."</p>

-

-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span></p>

-

-<p>"It isn't as nice as Marian's, though, and I

-want to stay here and play."</p>

-

-<p>"Now you see, George," and Mrs. St. Claire

-turned to her husband, "now you see why I

-cannot allow these children to play together.

-You can see for yourself what an influence

-Marian has over our little Ella. Come, darling,

-have you forgotten the sleigh ride? It

-is time to get ready."</p>

-

-<p>"Me too?" questioned Marian, springing to

-her feet, "shall I get ready?"</p>

-

-<p>The child knew her mistake in less than a

-minute, but forgetting the uselessness of protest,

-she begged so earnestly to be taken with

-the children Aunt Amelia called her saucy,

-and as a punishment, the Christmas gifts, tea

-set and all, were put on a high shelf out of

-sight.</p>

-

-<p>Marian was allowed to stand in the parlor

-by the window to see the sleigh-load of noisy

-children drive away. When they were gone,

-the parlor seemed bigger than usual and

-strangely quiet. Uncle George, with a frown

-on his face, was reading in the sitting-room.

-He didn't look talkative and the clock ticked<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span>

-loud. Marian turned again to the parlor

-window. Across the street was the rich man's

-house, and in the front window of the rich

-man's house was a poor little girl looking out&mdash;a

-sad little girl with big eyes and a pale

-face. Marian waved her hand and the little

-girl waved hers&mdash;such a tiny, white hand. A

-new idea flashed into Marian's mind. She

-had often seen the little girl across the way

-and wondered why she never played with

-Ella. At last she thought she knew. The

-rich man's wife probably went to a hospital

-after the little girl, and took her home to get

-well just as Janey Clark was taken home,

-only Janey was never thin and delicate and

-Janey never stared quietly at everything as

-the little girl did who lived in the rich man's

-house.</p>

-

-<p>Marian wondered why Aunt Amelia didn't

-leave her some of the presents in the baskets.

-Perhaps nobody loved the little girl: maybe

-her father and mother were dead and Santa

-Claus didn't know where to find her. Marian

-wished she had something to take to the poor

-thing. She would have given away her tea<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span>

-set that minute had it been within reach.

-Just then a long-legged horse went by, a horse

-that looked so queer it reminded Marian of

-her potato menagerie. The child smiled at

-the thought. Perhaps the little girl in the

-rich man's house never saw a potato animal

-and would like to see one. Perhaps she

-would like two or three for a Christmas present.

-Why not? It was all Marian had to

-give and the animals were funny enough to

-make any poor little girl laugh. Up-stairs

-Marian flew, returning with the elephant, the

-rhinoceros, the hippopotamus and two zebras

-packed in a pasteboard box.</p>

-

-<p>"Please, Uncle George," she asked, "may I

-go and visit the poor little girl that lives in

-the rich man's house? I want to say 'Wish

-you a merry Christmas' to her, and&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

-

-<p>"Run along, child," interrupted Uncle

-George, the frown smoothing out as he spoke,

-"go where you will and have a good time if

-it is possible&mdash;bless your sunny face."</p>

-

-<p>Uncle George had heard of the rich man's

-house and he smiled a broad smile of amusement

-as he watched Marian climb the steps<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span>

-and ring the bell. "What next?" he inquired

-as the door closed behind the child.

-In a short time he knew "What next." One

-of the rich man's servants came over with a

-note from the neighbor's wife, begging Uncle

-George to allow Marian to stay and help them

-enjoy their Christmas dinner at six. The permission

-was gladly given and at eight o'clock

-Marian came home hugging an immense wax

-doll and fairly bubbling over with excitement.</p>

-

-<p>"I never had such a good time at the table

-in my life," she began, "as I did at the rich

-man's house. They asked me to talk, just

-think of it&mdash;asked me to, and I did and they

-did and we all laughed. And the poor little

-girl isn't poor, only just sick and she belongs

-to the folks. The rich man is her father and

-her name is Dolly Russel and she was gladder

-to see me than she ever was to see anybody in

-her life and she wants me to come again,

-and&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

-

-<p>"And I suppose you told all you knew,"

-snapped Aunt Amelia.</p>

-

-<p>"Yes, most, 'specially at the table," admitted

-the child.</p>

-

-<hr class="chap" />

-

-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span></p>

-

-

-

-

-<h2><a name="CHAPTER_X" id="CHAPTER_X"></a>CHAPTER X</h2>

-

-<p class="c">A GAME OF SLICED BIRDS</p>

-

-

-<p><span class="smcap">Marian</span> was so happy with her doll and

-teaset the following day she was blind and

-deaf to all that happened in the house outside

-her little room. She didn't know that

-Mrs. Russel made her first call upon Aunt

-Amelia in the afternoon, nor that company

-was expected in the evening. Ella's mysterious

-airs were lost upon her. The child was

-accordingly surprised when she met the company

-at breakfast.</p>

-

-<p>Aunt Hester, Mrs. St. Claire's younger

-sister, was a pleasant surprise because she

-was good-looking and agreeable. She returned

-Marian's smile of greeting with interest.

-Marian hoped she had found a friend

-and hovered near the welcome stranger until

-sent to her room. During the rest of the week

-she and Aunt Hester exchanged smiles when

-they met at the table, and to win a few kind<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span>

-words from her became Marian's dream. New

-Year's Day brought an opportunity. Mrs.

-Russel sent a box of sliced birds to Marian

-and her cousin, and as the gift came while

-the family were at breakfast, Marian knew all

-about it. At last she and Ella owned something

-in common and might perhaps be allowed

-to play together. She could hardly

-wait to finish her breakfast.</p>

-

-<p>"What are sliced birds and how do you

-play with them?" she asked Aunt Hester,

-who carried the box into the sitting-room.</p>

-

-<p>"Well," began Aunt Hester, "can you read,

-Marian?"</p>

-

-<p>"Yes, auntie, I can read pretty near anything

-I try to, but I can't write very good,

-not a bit good. Do you have to write in

-sliced birds?"</p>

-

-<p>"No," was the laughing reply, "if you can

-spell a little that is all that is necessary.

-Here is a paper with a list of birds on it we

-can put together. Now here is the word jay.

-A picture of a jay is cut in three pieces, on

-one piece is 'J,' on another is 'A' and on the

-third is 'Y.' Now hunt for 'J.'"</p>

-

-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span></p>

-

-<p>"Ella knows her letters," Marian suggested.

-"Come, Ella, hunt for 'J,' that piece would

-have a blue jay's head on it, I guess." Marian

-waited until Ella found the letter and together

-they finished the blue jay. Both children

-were delighted with the result.</p>

-

-<p>"Oh, what fun!" cried Marian. "We'll

-make all the birds, Ella. I'll read a name

-and tell you what letters to hunt for."</p>

-

-<p>A shadow fell across the bright scene, caused

-by the entrance of Aunt Amelia. "Go over

-there and sit down," she said to Marian. "I

-came in to help Hester divide the game."</p>

-

-<p>"Divide the game!" echoed both children.</p>

-

-<p>"Oh, don't do it, please don't," besought

-Marian, "we want to play with all the birds

-together."</p>

-

-<p>"It seems a pity," began Aunt Hester, but

-she gathered Ella in her arms and helped

-form all the birds in two straight lines upon

-the floor as her sister desired.</p>

-

-<p>Marian watched with eager interest. She

-hoped when the birds were divided a few of

-the pretty ones might be given to her. If

-she had her choice she couldn't tell whether<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</a></span>

-she would take the peacock or the bird of

-paradise&mdash;they were both gorgeous. The

-scarlet tanager and the red-headed woodpecker

-were beautiful but of course it wasn't

-fair to wish for all the brightest birds. It

-was Aunt Hester who suggested a way to

-divide the game.</p>

-

-<p>"Let them take turns choosing," she said.

-"It seems to me that will be perfectly fair.

-The children might draw cuts for first

-choice."</p>

-

-<p>At that, Marian saw her opportunity.

-"Ella may be the first chooser," she declared,

-and was rewarded by a smile from

-Aunt Hester. Which would Ella take? the

-bird of paradise or the peacock? Either

-would please Marian, so it really made no

-difference which was left. Ella wanted them

-both and said so.</p>

-

-<p>"Hush," whispered her mother, "if you

-keep still Marian won't know which birds

-are the prettiest. Aunt Hester and I will

-help you choose."</p>

-

-<p>"I guess I'll take that," Ella decided, pointing

-towards the bird of paradise.</p>

-

-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</a></span></p>

-

-<p>Marian was about to choose the peacock

-when a whispered word from Aunt Hester

-caught her ear.</p>

-

-<p>"I hope, Ella dear, that she won't take the

-peacock."</p>

-

-<p>Marian hesitated a moment. She wanted

-the peacock with its gay, spreading tail, but

-if Aunt Hester wished Ella to have it perhaps

-she would love whoever helped her get it.

-"I'll take the turkey," said the child, whereupon

-Ella gave a shout.</p>

-

-<p>"She don't know much, she took an old

-brown turkey. I'll have the peacock and I

-want the red bird and the redhead."</p>

-

-<p>Aunt Amelia laughed. "One at a time,

-you dear, impulsive child," said she, but

-Aunt Hester smiled across at Marian. "Your

-turn," she said.</p>

-

-<p>"I'll take the owl," Marian quietly replied.</p>

-

-<p>"Oh, ho! an old owl!" laughed Ella, clapping

-her hands for joy. "Now I'll have the

-redhead! goody! And next time&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

-

-<p>"Hush," warned her mother. "You

-mustn't let Marian know what you want or

-she'll take it."</p>

-

-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</a></span></p>

-

-<p>"I choose the wren," came in low tones

-from Marian.</p>

-

-<p>"My turn," Ella called. "Give me the

-redhead."</p>

-

-<p>"Choose the flicker next," advised her

-mother, so Marian, still hoping to be loved,

-chose the robin.</p>

-

-<p>Aunt Hester smiled again, but the smile

-was for Ella. "Take the parrot next," she

-whispered, so Marian chose the crow.</p>

-

-<p>"Now, Ella, darling," whispered her mother,

-"the oriole, after Marian has her turn," and

-Marian, taking the hint, motioned for the jay.</p>

-

-<p>It was over at last and Marian was told to

-go to her room. As she was leaving, Aunt

-Hester gave Ella a rapturous hug and said,

-"Our baby has all the prettiest birds." Aunt

-Hester didn't know Marian heard the remark

-until she saw the tears that could not be kept

-back, wetting the rosy cheeks. "Oh, you

-poor young one!" she exclaimed, and but for

-the presence of Aunt Amelia, she would have

-taken the sad little mortal in her arms.</p>

-

-<p>"She's crying 'cause her birds are all

-homely," said Ella.</p>

-

-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</a></span></p>

-

-<p>"Of course, she always wants the best,"

-remarked Mrs. St. Claire, but Aunt Hester

-and Ella both gazed after the retreating figure

-of little Marian, with conscience-stricken faces.

-They had been three against one, and that one

-didn't know enough to take the choicest birds

-when she had the chance. They hadn't played

-fair.</p>

-

-<p>Marian, blinded by tears, stumbled over a

-rug at the door of her room and the sliced

-birds slipped almost unheeded from her apron.

-The nearest seat was the box she called her

-piano stool. She dropped upon it and buried

-her face in her arms on the piano. The

-sheet music tumbled forward upon her head,

-perhaps fearing it might be but an old almanac

-forever after. Bitter thoughts filled the little

-soul. Why would no one love her? Why did

-the sound of her voice annoy every one so

-she feared to speak? What was the trouble?

-Was she so bad or so homely that no one

-might love her? She had tried to be good

-and tried to do right, but what difference had

-it made? Aunt Hester thought her stupid

-because she allowed Ella to take what birds<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</a></span>

-she would. Surely Aunt Hester was the stupid

-one.</p>

-

-<p>It was impossible for Marian to feel miserable

-long at a time. In a few minutes she sat

-up and straightened her sheet music, whereupon

-the almanac became a hymn-book. She

-turned the leaves slowly as did the young lady

-who played the organ prayer-meeting nights.

-Then, addressing the wax doll and the bed

-posts she announced in solemn tones, "We'll

-sing nineteen verses of number 'leventy 'leven."</p>

-

-<p>"Number 'leventy 'leven" happened to be

-"Come Ye Disconsolate," a hymn Marian

-was familiar with, as it was Aunt Amelia's

-favorite. The tune began dismally enough,

-but the disconsolate one took courage on the

-third line and sang out triumphantly at last,

-with a great flourish upon the piano, "'Earth

-has no sorrow that Heaven cannot heal.'"

-"Twenty Froggies Went to School" came

-next, and Marian was herself once more,

-which is to say, she became at a moment's

-notice, a famous musician, a school-teacher, a

-princess, a queen or whatever the occasion

-required, while the little room was easily<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</a></span>

-changed into anything from the Desert of

-Sahara to a palace.</p>

-

-<p>The extent of Marian's knowledge was the

-only limit to the games she played. Pictures

-in the family Bible had given her many an

-hour of entertainment in the little room,

-thanks to the fact that Uncle George allowed

-Marian to look at the pictures on an occasional

-Sunday afternoon. The doll almost broke her

-nose the day before playing "Rebecca at the

-Well." The "Marriage at Cana" was a safer

-game for a wax doll that could not stand,

-especially as the doll made a beautiful bride.

-Turning from her piano, Marian saw something

-that made her laugh. The robin's head

-and the duck's feet had fallen one above the

-other.</p>

-

-<p>"Poor robin," she said, "I guess you would

-rather have your own feet. R-o-b-i-n, I know

-how to spell you, and I'll put you on your

-own feet and I'll give the duck his own head

-so he can quack." When the robin was put

-together it looked like an old friend. "You're

-nicer than the bird of paradise, after all," declared

-Marian, "because I know you so well.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</a></span>

-You and I used to be chums because I didn't

-have any little girls to play with."</p>

-

-<p>It was something of a puzzle to put all of

-the birds together, but when the work was

-finished Marian was pleased. "You're all so

-nice and common looking," she said. "I

-never saw the owl bird, but we used to hear

-him in the woods at night, didn't we, blue

-jay? He used to go, 'Who&mdash;who&mdash;whoo&mdash;whoo!'

-We used to see you, old black crow,

-you always said 'Caw&mdash;caw&mdash;caw,' and you

-dear little wren, how I would like to hear you

-sing once more. Where are you all now?

-Somewhere way down South, because our

-teacher says so and when the snow is gone,

-you'll come flying back.</p>

-

-<p>"Oh, now we'll play something. It is

-autumn over here on the rug, the rug's the

-orchard, and the leaves are falling and all the

-flowers are fading and winter is coming. You

-see that sunshiny spot on the floor over there

-under the windows, birdies? Well, that is

-down South where you are going. I don't

-remember who goes first but I guess the little

-wren better fly away now, and we'll have lots<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</a></span>

-of fun." One by one the birds went south,

-owl and all, and one by one they flew back to

-the orchard in the spring-time, where the wax

-doll welcomed them, listened to their songs

-and scattered strings about for them to use in

-building their nests.</p>

-

-<p>It was a pleasant game and Marian was

-called to the dining-room before she thought

-of putting the birds away.</p>

-

-<p>"I wonder if I didn't get the best half of

-the game after all," she suggested to the wax

-doll as she threw it a parting kiss.</p>

-

-<p>Had Marian known that the bird of paradise,

-the peacock and the other bright ones

-were laid upon a shelf as birds of no consequence

-and that Ella had complained all the

-forenoon of having nothing to do, she would

-have understood why Aunt Hester not only

-greeted her with a smile, but said at the same

-time, "You dear, happy child."</p>

-

-<p>It was enough that Aunt Hester said it and

-smiled, without puzzling for a reason. Surely

-Marian had chosen the better half of the game

-when such loving tones were meant for her.

-It was wonderful.</p>

-

-<hr class="chap" />

-

-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</a></span></p>

-

-

-

-

-<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XI" id="CHAPTER_XI"></a>CHAPTER XI</h2>

-

-<p class="c">THE WAY OF THE TRANSGRESSOR</p>

-

-

-<p><span class="smcap">A year</span> passed away, in which time Marian

-was kept more and more outside of the family

-and more and more apart from all ordinary

-pleasures of childhood, but in spite of everything

-she was happy, ever hoping to win the

-approval of her aunt and uncle.</p>

-

-<p>Going to school was a never-failing joy because

-at noon-times and recess there were

-girls and boys to play with, and the long

-walks to and from school were always a delight

-to a child who was interested in everything

-from a blade of grass to the clouds.</p>

-

-<p>Ella attended a private school near home

-and was scarcely allowed to speak to Marian.

-She had many playmates, but all of them put

-together were not half so attractive from her

-point of view as the little cousin who played

-alone. One winter morning Ella told Marian

-behind the dining-room door that her grand<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</a></span>mother

-and Uncle Robert were coming to stay

-all the spring-time and that Uncle Robert was

-a little boy only a few years older than Marian.

-Ella was delighted, but Marian wished Uncle

-Robert was a girl. She had reason for the

-wish before summer.</p>

-

-<p>Marian was prejudiced against boys for as

-much as a year after Ella's uncle went away.

-He believed it was his privilege to tease little

-girls, though in all his life he never had such

-a chance to torment any one as he had that

-spring. It was useless to play tricks on Ella,

-because she ran crying to her mother and that

-made trouble for Robert: but Marian could

-appeal to no one and teasing her was safe and

-interesting. To hold her doll by the hair

-while Marian begged and screamed, was daily

-amusement until the child learned to leave

-the doll in her room. To hide her few books

-was another pleasure and to frighten her on

-every possible occasion until her eyes seemed

-fairly popping out of her head, was a victory.</p>

-

-<p>Marian was glad to have some one to play

-with if that some one was a tyrant and often

-before her tears were dry, she was ready to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</a></span>

-forgive Robert for teasing her and to join in

-any game he proposed. One day he suggested

-something that shocked Marian. He asked

-her to steal sugar. He didn't say steal, he

-said "Hook," and at first Marian didn't understand.

-Robert told her to sneak into the

-pantry after Lala was through work in the

-afternoon, take a lump of sugar from the

-barrel and give it to him. She wouldn't listen

-in the beginning, but by dint of persuasion

-and threats, Robert succeeded in getting his

-lump of sugar: not only one, but many, for

-stealing sugar became easier as the days

-went by and no one caught the small

-culprit.</p>

-

-<p>Robert's ambition was to be a railroad engineer,

-and soon after the sugar stealing began,

-he made an engine of boxes and barrels in the

-locust grove. When it was finished and in

-running order, he allowed Marian to be his

-fireman. At first the child thought it was

-fun, but when she had shoveled air with a

-stick for five minutes without stopping, while

-Robert rang the bell, blew the whistle and

-ran the engine, she threw down her shovel.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</a></span>

-"It's my turn to be engineer now," she declared.</p>

-

-<p>"Girls don't know enough to run engines,"

-was the reply.</p>

-

-<p>"I'm not a girl," protested Marian, "I'm a

-fireman."</p>

-

-<p>"Then tend to your job, why don't you?"

-was the retort. "I wouldn't ring the bell for

-my fireman if I didn't think he was a good

-one. Come, coal up, tend to business."</p>

-

-<p>Somewhat flattered, the fireman smiled,

-shoveled coal until his arms ached, and then

-rebelled. "I say," she declared, "you've got

-to let me be engineer now! I won't be fireman

-another minute!"</p>

-

-<p>"Oh, you won't?" taunted the engineer.

-"We'll see about that! Of course you needn't

-shovel coal for me if you don't want to, but you

-had better make up your mind pretty quick, because

-if you won't be my fireman, I'll go and

-tell my sister Amelia that you steal sugar!"</p>

-

-<p>Marian was too stunned for words until

-Robert laughed. Then her face grew scarlet,

-and her eyes had a look in them the boy had

-never seen before.</p>

-

-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</a></span></p>

-

-<p>"You dare not tell!" she screamed, leaning

-towards Robert, anger and defiance in every

-line of her slight figure. "I say you dare

-not!"</p>

-

-<p>"I wonder why?" sniffed the boy.</p>

-

-<p>"You know why; you told me to take the

-sugar, and I got it for you and I never tasted

-a bit of it. You were such an old pig you

-wouldn't give me back a crumb&mdash;old rhinoceros&mdash;hippopotamus&mdash;I'd

-call you an elephant

-too, only elephants are so much nicer'n

-you."</p>

-

-<p>Again the boy laughed. "You hooked the

-sugar, didn't you?" he demanded.</p>

-

-<p>"What if I did, didn't I do it 'cause you

-told me to, and didn't you eat it, you old

-gorilla?"</p>

-

-<p>"What if I did, Miss Marian Spitfire? I'll

-say it's one of your lies, and no one will believe

-what you say. You know you can't look

-my sister in the face and tell her you didn't

-take the sugar, but I can stand up and cross

-my heart and hope to die if I ever saw any

-sugar, and they'll believe me and they won't

-believe you. Now will you shovel coal?<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</a></span>

-Toot-toot-toot&mdash;chew-chew-chew&mdash;ding-a-ling-a-ling&mdash;engine's

-going to start! Ha, ha, ha!"</p>

-

-<p>"You mean thing, you horrid boy! I hate

-you!" sputtered Marian, but she shoveled

-coal. In fact the child shoveled coal the rest

-of the spring whenever Robert chose to play

-engine, until the day his taunts proved too

-much and she kicked his engine to pieces,

-threatening to "give it to him," if he didn't

-keep out of the way.</p>

-

-<p>"Now tell," she screamed from the midst

-of the wreck, "tell anything you're a mind

-to, I don't care what you do."</p>

-

-<p>Robert walked away whistling "Yankee

-Doodle." "I'm tired of playing engine," he

-called over his shoulder, "and I'm much

-obliged to you for saving me the trouble of

-taking it to pieces. I don't wonder nobody

-likes you. My sister Amelia knows what

-she's talking about when she says you've got

-the worst temper ever was! I bet you'll die

-in prison&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

-

-<p>"You'll die before you get to prison if you

-don't get out of my sight," was the retort.</p>

-

-<p>Robert walked away so fast Marian was cer<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</a></span>tain

-he was going to tell about the sugar and

-she waited, defiantly at first, then tremblingly.

-What would become of her? What would

-they do? For reasons best known to himself,

-Robert didn't mention sugar, and after a few

-days of suspense, Marian breathed easier, although

-she wasn't thoroughly comfortable until

-Robert and his mother were on their way

-home.</p>

-

-<p>A few weeks later Aunt Amelia made a jar

-of cookies for Ella's birthday party. She

-made them herself and put them on a low

-shelf in the pantry. Marian asked for a cookie

-and was refused. She didn't expect to get it.

-The more she thought of the cookies, the more

-she wanted one. She remembered the sugar.

-No one but Robert knew about that sugar, and

-if she helped herself to a cooky that would be

-her own secret. Marian took a cooky and ate

-it back of the orchard. Her old friends, the

-chipping sparrows, flew down for the crumbs

-that fell at her feet. The little birds were surprised

-when Marian frightened them away.

-She had been so kind to them they had lost

-all fear of her.</p>

-

-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</a></span></p>

-

-<p>The second cooky Marian took she ate in

-the locust grove where she was much annoyed

-by the curiosity of a chipmunk. He asked

-her questions with his head on one side and

-his hand on his heart. His chatter made her

-angry. What was it to him if she happened

-to be eating a cooky? She did wish folks

-would mind their own business. From that

-day, Marian grew reckless. She carried away

-cookies two or three at a time and talked back

-to the birds and the squirrels and all the inhabitants

-of the orchard and the locust grove

-who were not polite enough to hide their inquisitiveness.</p>

-

-<p>For once in her life, Marian had all the

-cookies she wished, although they agreed with

-neither her stomach nor her conscience. She

-didn't feel well and she was cross and unhappy.

-At last Marian knew that the day

-of reckoning was near at hand. She could

-almost touch the bottom of the cooky jar

-when she realized that the cookies had been

-made for Ella's party and had not been used

-upon the table. No one had lifted the cover

-of the jar but herself since the day they were<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</a></span>

-baked. It was a frightful thought. There

-was no more peace for Marian. Awake or

-dreaming, the cookies were ever before her.

-In school and at home they haunted her.

-What should she do, what could she do?</p>

-

-<p>Quietly the child went about the house.

-She no longer sang nor laughed. Uncle

-George wondered, Aunt Amelia rejoiced. She

-thought Marian's usual high spirits unbecoming

-a child dependent upon charity, as Marian

-had often heard her remark.</p>

-

-<p>"She may be working too hard in school,"

-suggested Uncle George.</p>

-

-<p>"Whatever is the cause she has behaved so

-well lately, I shall allow her in the sitting-room

-with the children when Ella has her

-party," conceded Aunt Amelia.</p>

-

-<p>Even a shadow of kindness touched Marian's

-heart. Oh, why had she done wrong? From

-the depths of her soul, the child repented.

-Why had she been called bad in the days

-when she tried to be good, and at last when

-she was so bad, why would Aunt Amelia declare

-that there was a great improvement in

-her behavior, and why would Uncle George<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</a></span>

-speak to her almost as pleasantly as he did to

-Ella? If only she had remembered the words

-of Mrs. Moore before it was too late; to "Be

-good and to do right." Mrs. Moore also said,

-"Be brave." It would be brave to go to Aunt

-Amelia and tell her the truth about the cookies.

-Marian had not been good, she had not

-done right and she could not be brave.</p>

-

-<p>Many and many a time the child studied

-the grim face of Aunt Amelia, repeating over

-and over to herself "Be brave." It seemed

-to Marian that if she attempted telling Aunt

-Amelia of her sin, she would die on the spot,

-choke to death, perhaps, trying to get the

-words out. Her throat closed tight together

-at the very thought. It might, under some

-circumstances, be possible to tell Uncle George,

-although to confess was to be forever an outcast.

-Neither Uncle George nor Aunt Amelia

-would ever love her, nor would she ever be

-allowed to play with Ella. All the golden

-texts Marian had ever learned, haunted her

-memory. "The way of the transgressor is

-hard." "Be sure your sin will find you out."

-"Enter not into the path of the wicked."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span>

-"Evil pursueth sinners." There were many

-others, so many, the child was sorry she had

-ever gone to Sunday-school.</p>

-

-<p>The day of the party was bright and beautiful.

-All the little girls came who were invited,

-Ruth Higgins, Dorothy Avery and

-Dolly Russel among the number. Marian

-went into the sitting-room with drooping

-head and misery in her soul, until joining in

-the games and merriment, she forgot the

-cookies and had a good time. Not a thought

-of trouble disturbed her pleasure even though

-she heard Lala setting the table in the dining-room.</p>

-

-<p>Her conscience awoke only when Aunt

-Amelia appeared to summon her into the

-kitchen. Every bit of color left the child's

-face. She could hear nothing clearly because

-of the ringing in her ears. As she followed

-Aunt Amelia through the dining-room the

-floor seemed rising up at every step and the

-candles on the birthday cake danced before her

-eyes. On the table in the kitchen was the

-empty cooky jar, the eloquent witness of her

-guilt. On a rosebud plate beside it were less<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</a></span>

-than a dozen cookies. Marian gazed stupidly

-at the jar and at the plate of cookies.</p>

-

-<p>"What have you to say for yourself, Marian

-Lee?" Aunt Amelia's voice sounded far

-away. There were such lumps in Marian's

-throat she couldn't speak.</p>

-

-<p>"Answer me," commanded Aunt Amelia,

-"what have you to say?"</p>

-

-<p>Marian's tongue felt paralyzed. Perhaps it

-was unwilling to do its owner's bidding. It

-was certainly hard for that truthful little

-tongue to say the one word "Nothing." Aunt

-Amelia's face was terrible. "Do you mean

-to tell me that you haven't touched those

-cookies?"</p>

-

-<p>There was no retreat. Marian nodded her

-head.</p>

-

-<p>"Speak!" continued Aunt Amelia, "say

-yes or no? Do you dare to tell me that you

-didn't take the cookies?"</p>

-

-<p>It was all Marian did dare to do and her

-reply was "Yes."</p>

-

-<p>Aunt Amelia raised a long forefinger as

-she said, "Don't stand there and lie, Marian

-Lee, you took those cookies."</p>

-

-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</a></span></p>

-

-<p>"I did not." Lala grew pale when she

-heard that answer and saw the terrified eyes

-of the child.</p>

-

-<p>"Own up," she whispered as she passed

-the trembling sinner on her way to the dining-room.</p>

-

-<p>Marian looked beseechingly at Aunt Amelia,

-but her face was hard and pitiless. The child

-dared not "Be brave." "I did not touch the

-cookies," she repeated again and again.</p>

-

-<p>"How do you account for the disappearance

-of a whole jar of cookies, Marian, if you

-didn't eat them?" asked Uncle George upon

-his arrival.</p>

-

-<p>Marian had not thought of accounting for

-the loss of the cookies, but she took a deep

-breath and made a suggestion. "I s'pose a

-hungry tramp took 'em."</p>

-

-<p>The reply wasn't satisfactory. Uncle George

-frowned and Aunt Amelia smiled. The smile

-wasn't the kind she was in the habit of bestowing

-upon Ella. It was the sort that

-froze the blood in Marian's veins. She sank

-in a miserable little heap upon the floor and

-cried and cried.</p>

-

-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a></span></p>

-

-<p>"Reform school is the place for children

-who steal and lie," said Aunt Amelia.</p>

-

-<p>Uncle George tried to make the child confess,

-but his efforts were vain. She would

-not. Threats were powerless. The more

-frightened Marian became the more vehemently

-she denied her guilt. Although it

-was Ella's birthday, and shouts of laughter

-could be heard from the sitting-room, Aunt

-Amelia produced a certain strap Marian was

-familiar with through past experience.

-"Spare the rod, spoil the child," was Mrs.

-St. Claire's favorite motto so far as her husband's

-small relative was concerned.</p>

-

-<p>"You can whip me till I die," sobbed

-Marian when she saw the strap, "but I can't

-say I took the cookies, because I didn't. How

-can I say I did, when I didn't?" Nor could

-Aunt Amelia nor Uncle George compel the

-child to say anything different.</p>

-

-<p>"You can whip me till I die," she insisted

-over and over, "but I can't say I took

-those cookies," and they finally believed

-her.</p>

-

-<p>"Go to bed," commanded Aunt Amelia. "I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</a></span>

-don't want to see a child who could die easier

-than she could tell the truth. Go!"</p>

-

-<p>A smothered sob caught Marian's ear.

-Lala was crying; and because Lala cried and

-was soon after found in Marian's room trying

-to quiet her, she was sent away the next day.

-Tilly was her successor. Before she had been

-in the house a week, she openly befriended

-Marian. "Poor little thing," she said, "if

-you had stolen a barrel of cookies from a

-baker you wouldn't have deserved half of the

-punishment you get. There isn't anything

-left they can do to you, is there?"</p>

-

-<p>"Yes, they can send me to the reform

-school," was the reply, "and, oh, dear, I'm

-afraid to go. What will become of me?"</p>

-

-<p>"If I were you," Tilly advised, "and I

-took the cookies, I would own up. They

-can't any more than kill you and I guess

-they'll do that anyway."</p>

-

-<p>Marian shook her head. The time to own

-up was long passed. She stayed in her room

-and ate bread and water a week without protest.

-On Sunday afternoon she listened to

-the story of Ananias and Sapphira with teet<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</a></span>h

-and fists tightly closed. She heard long

-speeches on the fearful consequences of stealing

-and lying, without a word. Only when

-questioned would she say in low spiritless

-tones, "I did not touch the cookies."</p>

-

-<p>When it was all over, and Aunt Amelia

-and Uncle George gave up trying to wring a

-confession from her and the child was simply

-in disgrace, her own conscience began its

-work. It gave her no peace. Marian had

-said her prayers every night as Mrs. Moore

-had taught her when she was a baby; but she

-had repeated them quickly with her back

-turned towards heaven and had made no

-mention of cookies. At last, troubled by her

-conscience, and not knowing where to turn

-for comfort, Marian knelt by her bedside one

-night and tried an experiment.</p>

-

-<p>"O Lord," she began, "I am not going to

-lie to you about the cookies. Thou knowest

-I took them. That is why I haven't said any

-made up prayers for so long. I knew Thou

-knewest how wicked I am and I know what

-the Bible says about lying lips. I am afraid

-of Aunt Amelia or I would own up. She<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</a></span>

-says I won't go to heaven when I die because

-I am too bad to live there. Now, O Lord, I

-know I could be good in heaven, but it has

-been hard work on earth, and after I took the

-cookies I got wickeder and wickeder, but

-honest and truth I'll never do anything wrong

-again and I'll never tell another lie. Thou

-knowest I could be good in heaven. Please,

-O Lord, forgive me and take me straight up

-to heaven when I die. Amen."</p>

-

-<p>That prayer didn't help Marian a bit. She

-could scarcely get off her knees when she had

-said "Amen." Her head seemed bowed down

-beneath a weight of cookies.</p>

-

-<p>"You know what you must do," insisted

-her conscience, "you must go to your Uncle

-George and your Aunt Amelia first, first, I say."</p>

-

-<p>"But I can't do that, and I'm so unhappy,"

-sobbed Marian, but her conscience was pitiless.

-It would allow no compromise. "Oh, if I

-could see Nanna," whispered Marian as she

-crept into bed. No one had ever kissed her

-good-night but once since she had left the

-Home, and now, no one ever would again.

-The Father in heaven had turned away His<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</a></span>

-face. Marian cried herself to sleep as she had

-many a night before.</p>

-

-<p>In the middle of the night she awoke and

-sat up in bed, cold and trembling. Thunder

-was rolling through the sky and an occasional

-flash of lightning made the little room bright

-one minute and inky black the next. Perhaps

-the end of the world was coming when

-the graves would give up their dead and the

-terrible Judge would descend to deal with the

-wicked. A crash of thunder shook the house.

-Marian dived beneath the blankets, but a horrible

-thought caused her to sit bolt upright

-again. Aunt Amelia had told her that sinners,

-on the last day, would call for the rocks

-and mountains to fall upon them. Perhaps

-hiding beneath blankets meant the same thing.

-Another crash came and a blinding flash

-of lightning. Then another and another.

-Springing from her bed, Marian ran down

-the hall to Mrs. St. Claire's room. The

-door was closed but the room was lighted.</p>

-

-<p>"Oh, let me come in," she cried, knocking

-frantically at the door and keeping her eye

-upon the crack of light at the bottom.</p>

-

-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</a></span></p>

-

-<p>The response was immediate. Aunt Amelia

-stepped into the hall and closed the door behind

-her. "Go back to your room," she said,

-"and don't you dare leave it again. I should

-think you would expect the lightning to

-strike you!"</p>

-

-<p>Marian shrank back as a flash of lightning

-illumined the hall. For one moment she

-saw Aunt Amelia, tall and terrible in her

-white night-dress, her voice more fearful than

-the thunder, and her form seeming to stretch

-upward and upward, growing thinner and thinner

-until it vanished in the awful darkness.</p>

-

-<p>Marian fled, closing the door of her little

-room and placing a chair against it. Kneeling

-by the window, she closed her eyes to

-shut out glimpses of the unnatural garden below

-and the angry sky above. The thought

-of sudden death filled her with terror. What

-would become of her soul if she died with her

-sins unconfessed? "Dear Father in heaven,"

-she cried, "if you have to kill me with lightning,

-forgive me and take me to heaven.

-I'll be good there. I'll never steal anything

-there nor ever lie again. I was going to own<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</a></span>

-up to Aunt Amelia, but O Lord, I was so

-afraid of her I didn't dare. If you'll let me

-live through this night, I'll go and tell her in

-the morning and then I'll never do wrong

-again. O Lord, I'm so sorry, and I'm awful

-afraid of lightning. I don't want to die by

-it, but if I have to, please take me up to

-heaven. Amen."</p>

-

-<p>Then Marian went back to bed. Her conscience

-didn't say a word that time and she

-went to sleep before the storm was over, long

-before Ella was quieted or ever Aunt Amelia

-closed her eyes.</p>

-

-<p>Marian's first waking thought when she

-looked out on the fresh brightness of another

-day was one of thankfulness. It was good to

-be alive. Another second and she groaned.

-Perhaps she would have been dead but for

-that midnight promise, the promise she must

-keep. Marian dressed quickly and sought

-Aunt Amelia before she lost courage. She

-wasn't gone long. Back she flew to the little

-room where her prayer was short although

-her sobs were long.</p>

-

-<p>"Oh, Lord, I couldn't, I just couldn't."</p>

-

-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</a></span></p>

-

-<p>There were many thunder-storms that

-summer and for a while every one of

-them frightened Marian. In the night,

-she would resolve to confess, but daylight

-took away her courage. "If I should be

-sick a long time," Marian argued, "perhaps

-then Aunt Amelia would like me some and

-just before I died I could shut my eyes and

-tell her about the cookies. Then God would

-surely forgive me and I would go straight up

-to heaven and it would be all right. But if

-I should die suddenly, before I had any time

-to say any last words, what would become of

-me?" she asked herself. After thinking of it

-some time, Marian hit upon a plan that

-brought her peace of mind. She wrote the

-following confession:</p>

-

-<p>"Nobody knows how much I have suffered

-on account of some cookies. I used to like

-cookies but not now. It began by sugar. I

-took lumps of sugar out of a barrel for a boy.

-I thought if I could take sugar I could take

-cookies, too, and I did, but I said I didn't.

-I did take the cookies. I hope my folks will

-forgive me now I am dead. I suffered awful<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</a></span>

-before I died on account of cookies. Give

-my wax doll and all my things to Ella. The

-doll is good if I wasn't. I tried but it is hard

-for some children on earth. I am awful sorry

-on account of being so much trouble to everybody.

-I took those cookies. Marian Lee."</p>

-

-<p>Having folded this paper, Marian was happier

-than she had been for weeks. She felt

-that she had saved her soul.</p>

-

-<hr class="chap" />

-

-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</a></span></p>

-

-

-

-

-<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XII" id="CHAPTER_XII"></a>CHAPTER XII</h2>

-

-<p class="c">MARIAN'S DIARY</p>

-

-

-<p>"<span class="smcap">June</span> 20.&mdash;It is hard to begin a diary.

-You don't know what to say first. Bernice

-Jones says a diary is a book to put the weather

-in. She ought to know on account of her

-grandmother keeping one. Leonore Whiting,

-the girl that sits behind me and wears the

-prettiest ribbons in school, says a diary is to

-put your feelings in. Leonore thinks she

-ought to know because her sister is a poetry

-writer.</p>

-

-<p>"When I asked Uncle George for an empty

-diary and what you write in it, he laughed

-and said he would give me all the paper I

-wanted to write things in and I had better

-put down everything. He said it would be a

-good thing for me to write more and talk less,

-so I guess I will have the fullest diary of any

-of the Diary Club. That's our name. Maud

-Brown was the one that got up the name.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</a></span>

-She says everybody belongs to a Club. Her

-mother does and her father and her brothers

-too. Maud says she has got to be in a Club

-or she never will be happy. She is only going

-to keep weather because she doesn't like to

-write. Leonore and a lot of the other girls

-are just going to keep a few feelings, but I am

-going to write down weather and feelings and

-everything.</p>

-

-<p>"The weather is all right to-day.</p>

-

-<p>"It is too bad about vacation. It is almost

-here and then I won't have anybody to play

-with. Uncle George says he never saw a little

-girl like to go to school as well as I do. It

-really isn't school I like to go to, it is recesses.

-I guess he had some other boys to play with

-when he was little or he would know. I

-would like to play with Dolly Russel but my

-aunt never will let me go over there and she

-tells Dolly's mother 'No,' about everything

-she wants me to do. She did let Ella go, only

-they don't invite Ella any more. I wonder if

-she talked too much, or broke anything, or

-why? Lala works over there now, but my

-aunt told me not to talk to Lala so I don't dare.</p>

-

-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</a></span></p>

-

-<p>"I found out something to-day at school.

-The children that live in houses don't all go

-to bed in the dark. I cried and cried when I

-first had to go to bed in the dark because

-where I used to live, we didn't have to. I

-wish I could sit up late at night.</p>

-

-<p>"Another thing about a diary is how nice it

-will be for your grandchildren to know what

-you used to think about and what you used

-to do. I can hardly believe that I am the

-grandmother of my own grandchildren, but

-of course it is so.</p>

-

-<p>"June 21.&mdash;We took our diaries to school.

-I had the most written of anybody, but I

-don't think it is nice to read your diary out

-loud because they ask questions. The girls

-wanted to know where I used to live and I

-wanted to tell them but I didn't dare to, and

-now I wonder about things. Louise Fisher

-said that Dolly Russel's mother told her

-mother that my aunt is not good to me, and

-a good many more things, and they are all

-sorry for me and they say it is too bad I can't

-have pretty clothes like Ella. I didn't say

-much because I don't want everybody in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</a></span>

-school to know how bad I am and that nobody

-can love me, and about the cookies. I

-guess I would die if they knew it all. Their

-mothers wouldn't let them play with me at

-recess.</p>

-

-<p>"I wish I had a white dress to wear the

-last day of school when I sing a song alone

-and speak my piece. I don't like to sing and

-speak pieces because I am afraid. I am not

-going to take my diary to school any more.</p>

-

-<p>"June 22.&mdash;I don't know what to think.

-I heard some more things about me at school

-to-day. Folks wonder who I am and where I

-came from, and Louise Fisher says she knows

-Uncle George is not my own uncle and if she

-was me she would run away. I can't run

-away because I don't know where to run to

-and I am afraid. Ella knows things about

-me and if she ever gets a chance I guess she

-will tell me, but her mother won't let her

-speak to me if she can help it. I guess her

-mother doesn't know how hard I try to set

-Ella a good example of being polite and not

-slamming doors and speak when you're spoken

-to, and children should be seen and not heard,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</a></span>

-and if you behave as well as you look you'll

-be all right.</p>

-

-<p>"I know it was bad about the cookies, but

-Ella never can do a cooky sin because her

-mother always says to her, 'Help yourself,

-darling,' and that's different. Besides that,

-Ella thinks a tramp did take the cookies. I

-will tell her some time because she cried and

-was sorry I had so much trouble. Then she

-will never speak to me again, but it is better

-to tell the truth than to do any other way.

-When I think I am going to die, sure, then I

-will tell my aunt if it kills me.</p>

-

-<p>"I wonder if Uncle George is my uncle or

-what?</p>

-

-<p>"June 23.&mdash;It was the last day of school

-to-day. I sung my song and spoke my piece

-and Dolly Russel's mother kissed me. I wish

-she was my mother. I wish I had a mother.

-I am glad she kissed me. Aunt Amelia

-wasn't there. Ella cried because she couldn't

-go. It didn't rain. You don't think about

-weather when it is nice.</p>

-

-<p>"September 5.&mdash;The queerest thing happened.

-I thought I would be the one that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</a></span>

-would write the most in my diary this summer,

-but I wasn't, and good reason why. It

-was just a little after daylight the day after

-the last day of school, that Aunt Amelia came

-and called me and told me to get dressed

-quick, and she gave me all clean clothes to

-put on and I was frightened. I said what had

-I done and she said I had done enough. I

-was scared worse than ever. She told me to

-go down in the kitchen and I would find

-some breakfast ready. I thought I couldn't

-eat, everything was so queer and early, but I

-did, and then I had to put on my hat and

-Uncle George said, 'Are you ready?' I said

-where am I going, is it reform school, and

-Aunt Amelia said it ought to be, and then I

-got in a carriage with Uncle George and the

-driver put a little new trunk on behind and

-we drove to the depot.</p>

-

-<p>"It was awful early and the grass and the

-trees looked queer and the birds were singing

-like everything. Uncle George told me to

-cheer up, I was going to a nice place where I

-would have a good time, and he told me to

-write to him every week and he would write<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</a></span>

-to me. He said I mustn't tell the folks where

-I was going that I was ever bad. He said he

-thought I was a pretty good little girl, and

-when he put me on the train and told the

-conductor where I was going and to take care

-of me, because I was his little girl, I put my

-arms around his neck and kissed him good-bye.

-He is a good man. I hope he is my

-uncle, but I don't know.</p>

-

-<p>"Well, I had a nice time in that village

-where I went and Uncle George came after

-me yesterday. I was glad to see him, but I

-didn't want to come home. I wanted to stay

-and go to the country school, but he said that

-my grandchildren would want their grandmother

-to know something.</p>

-

-<p>"Then he told me he found my diary and

-that he put it away where nobody could see it

-until I got back. He said he thought he had

-better tell me to keep my diary out of sight,

-because that was the style among diary-writing

-folks. So I will hide my diary now.

-I wonder if he read it. Anyway, I know

-Aunt Amelia didn't get a chance, because he

-told me most particular about how he found<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</a></span>

-it first thing and put it where it wouldn't get

-dusty. He says he is my Uncle George. I

-was afraid maybe I was just adopted for a

-niece, and I am not sure yet. He didn't say

-he wasn't my adopted Uncle George, and

-maybe he thought I was his brother's little

-girl when I wasn't. The folks I stayed with

-told Uncle George I am a lovely child. He

-didn't look surprised, only glad.</p>

-

-<p>"September 6.&mdash;All the girls had new

-dresses at school. I am in the fourth grade

-this term. I am in fractions and on the map

-of South America. We played London Bridge

-and King William at recess.</p>

-

-<p>"September 7.&mdash;Too many things to play

-after school. Can't write. Aunt Amelia

-makes me get straight to bed after I come to

-my room at night. It doesn't seem like

-night, though. I don't like to go to bed in

-the afternoon very well, but after all, I am

-glad it doesn't get dark early. I go to sleep

-in the daytime and wake up in the daytime

-and the birds are always singing.</p>

-

-<p>"September 8.&mdash;Nothing happened in school

-to-day. It rains and I can't go out in the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</a></span>

-orchard. I was going to play 'Landing of

-the Pilgrims,' but I guess I will write in my

-diary. Where I was this summer they had a

-library, not a big one like the one down-stairs,

-but the shelves were low so I could

-reach the books, and the folks let me read all

-I wanted to. I was pretty glad of it, rainy

-days and Sundays.</p>

-

-<p>"The book I liked best was full of stories

-about the Norsemen. They gave me the book

-to keep. I take it way up in the top of my

-favorite apple-tree and read and read. Sometimes

-I play I'm Odin and sometimes I am

-Thor. I am not so afraid of thunder since I

-read about Thor. When it thunders and lightens

-I play I am an old Norseman and that I

-really believe Thor is pounding with his big

-hammer and that he is scaring the bad frost

-giants. I am glad Aunt Amelia says she

-never read Norse stories. If she had, she

-would call me Loki, so there's somebody that's

-bad she can't say I am.</p>

-

-<p>"What I like best is to sit in the top of the

-apple-tree and shut the book and think about

-the Rainbow Bridge that stretched from earth<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</a></span>

-to heaven. Every one couldn't cross, but if

-my father and my mother were on the other

-side of the shining bridge, I would look

-straight towards them and I wouldn't look

-down and my mother would hold out her

-arms and I wouldn't be afraid. May be the

-Rainbow Bridge is wide. I am sure it is

-when I stop to think, because the gods used

-to drive over it when they came to visit the

-earth. Perhaps they would let me cross if

-they saw me coming because it was only the

-bad giants they tried to keep out of heaven.

-Oh, dear, I guess I am a bad giant myself,

-even if I am little, because the book says,

-'The giants in old Norse times were not easy

-to conquer: but generally it was when they

-hid themselves behind lies and appeared to be

-what they were not that they succeeded for a

-time.' I hid myself behind lies.</p>

-

-<p>"September 9.&mdash;One sure thing, I will always

-tell the truth as long as I live. I didn't

-come straight home from school to-night. A

-lot of us girls went in the old cemetery and

-read what's on the tombstones, and I didn't

-get home early. I tried to get through the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</a></span>

-gate when my aunt wasn't looking, but that

-would have been what you call good luck.

-She took me in and said, 'Where have you

-been?' I said, 'In the graveyard.' She said,

-'Why didn't you stay there?' I didn't know

-what to answer so I kept still. Then my aunt

-said, 'You can't go out to play,' and that was

-all. So I am always going to tell the truth

-and feel comfortable inside, no matter what

-happens. I was more afraid of how I would

-feel when it was time to say my prayers if I

-told a lie, than I was of my aunt.</p>

-

-<p>"September 10.&mdash;I didn't get home early

-to-night because I walked around the pond

-with Louise Fisher and Maud Brown. I

-owned up when I got home. I am not going

-to write down what happened, but it was

-worse than just being sent to your room. I

-don't want my little grandchildren to read

-about it. I am coming straight home next

-Monday night.</p>

-

-<p>"September 11.&mdash;Aunt Amelia says I act

-worse all the time. I don't know what I did

-that was bad to-day, but I got scolded all the

-time.</p>

-

-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</a></span></p>

-

-<p>"September 12.&mdash;Went to church and Sunday-school

-and the boys made fun of my

-shoes. They couldn't make me cry. I should

-think I would get used to being made fun of

-because I have to wear a sunbonnet to school

-and all the other little girls wear hats. I wear

-my sunbonnet as far as my aunt can see and

-then I take it off and swing it by the strings.

-She would be angry if she knew. I would almost

-rather be baldheaded than wear a sunbonnet

-when all the other girls wear hats. I

-wish I could have pretty shoes for Sundays,

-but I won't let the boys know I care.</p>

-

-<p>"September 13.&mdash;I came straight home to-night.

-I wish school began at daylight and

-didn't let out till dark, there is so much

-trouble at home. Uncle George says it is all

-on account of me.</p>

-

-<p>"September 14.&mdash;I came straight home and

-got scolded.</p>

-

-<p>"September 15.&mdash;Got scolded again.</p>

-

-<p>"September 16.&mdash;Got scolded some more.</p>

-

-<p>"September 17.&mdash;Got put to bed without

-any supper on account of sitting down by the

-side of the pond to watch a frog. It was a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</a></span>

-funny frog and when I had to go to bed, I

-went to sleep thinking about it. When it was

-almost dark Uncle George came and woke me

-up to give me something to eat. He didn't

-scold. I am writing this the next morning

-for yesterday.</p>

-

-<p>"September 18.&mdash;It was a beautiful Saturday.

-My aunt had company and I played out

-in the orchard all day long. Ella and my

-aunt and the company went to drive in the

-afternoon so there wasn't anybody to scold me.

-I saw the mole to-day. He came out and

-walked around a little. I guess he knew my

-aunt was gone. Everything was happy in the

-orchard. I watched a caterpillar a long time.

-He went so fast he made me laugh. I guess

-he was going home from school and wanted to

-get there in time.</p>

-

-<p>"September 19.&mdash;This is Sunday. Uncle

-George called me in the parlor to sing for the

-company and some other folks that came.

-Aunt Amelia played on the piano and when she

-couldn't play any more on account of a cramp

-in her wrist, they told me to sing without any

-music and I did. The company wiped away<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</a></span>

-some tears, and she said I could sing just the

-way my father did when he was a little boy,

-and then she took me in her lap and said she

-thought I looked like my mother. I was going

-to ask some questions, but my aunt said

-not to talk about some things, and then the

-company said it was going to rain, she guessed,

-and would I sing another song. I did and

-then my aunt sent me to my room, cross. I

-mean she was cross. I felt pretty bad at first

-but I got over it.</p>

-

-<p>"September 20.&mdash;Ella says there is a picture

-of my father in the album, and she will show

-it to me first chance she gets.</p>

-

-<p>"September 21.&mdash;My aunt was away when

-I got home from school so Ella said, 'Now's

-your chance,' and we went into the parlor and

-she showed me the picture. I smiled back at

-the face because it smiled at me. My father is

-pleasant and kind.</p>

-

-<p>"September 22.&mdash;I went in the parlor and

-looked at the picture again. I was afraid my

-aunt would come in and find me.</p>

-

-<p>"September 23.&mdash;It happened to-day. I

-was looking at the picture and my aunt came<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</a></span>

-in still and caught me. She said dreadful

-things, and I cried and I don't know what I

-did, but she said I was saucy and she didn't

-know what to do with me. Uncle George

-heard the noise and came in and he scolded,

-too. I never saw him so cross. I almost

-thought he was angry with Aunt Amelia, but

-of course that was not so. At last he took my

-father's picture out of the album and gave it

-to me, and told me to keep it, and he told me

-not to go in my aunt's parlor because she

-didn't want me there. I knew that before, because

-I wanted to take lessons on the piano

-same as Ella, and she wouldn't let me.</p>

-

-<p>"I am so glad I have my father's picture.

-It is like having folks of your own to

-have a picture of somebody that was yours.

-I haven't missed a single question in

-school on the map of South America. I

-guess that is one map I can't forget. I wish

-I knew where my father went in South

-America. I don't dare ask Uncle George.

-He says I am the trial of his life, and he

-doesn't see why I don't behave like other

-children.</p>

-

-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</a></span></p>

-

-<p>"October 1.&mdash;I am getting so I don't care

-what happens to me. I don't come straight

-home from school any more. I always think

-I will until I get started home, and then I

-dread to come because nobody loves me and I

-will get scoldings and things anyway, so I stop

-and look at toads and frogs and have a good

-time before I get home, and sometimes nothing

-happens. My aunt says I tell things, but

-I don't. What would I tell for? I don't

-even write sad things in my diary because I

-don't want to make my grandchildren cry. It

-would make me feel pretty bad if I found out

-that nobody loved my grandmother.</p>

-

-<p>"October 2.&mdash;Had a lovely time playing

-Pocahontas in the grove.</p>

-

-<p>"October 3.&mdash;I tried to count the stars last

-night, but I couldn't. I wonder why we don't

-fall off the earth when China's on top?

-Aunt Amelia says I ought to know better than

-to ask her questions. I do.</p>

-

-<p>"October 20.&mdash;I listened to what the minister

-said to-day. It was about heaven. I've

-got to try to be awful good on earth so I can

-surely go there. Then I guess somebody will<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</a></span>

-love me and when I walk in through one of

-the pearly gates, the angels won't look cross.</p>

-

-<p>"October 21.&mdash;You get tired of keeping

-your diary. I am going to write a book.

-Its name will be 'The Little Daughter of

-Thor.' I guess Thor never had a little girl,

-but I am going to write it in a book that he

-did, and one day when the little girl was a

-baby and she was playing with the golden apples,

-she fell right through the sky on to the

-earth. Then I am going to write about how

-the little girl watched for the Rainbow Bridge.

-She was a little stray child on earth, and even

-the giants were kind to her. Of course Thor's

-little daughter would know enough to know

-that the only way home was over the blue and

-golden Rainbow Bridge that she couldn't see

-only sometimes.</p>

-

-<p>"At the end of the story, Thor himself will

-find the little girl and will take her in his

-chariot across the Rainbow Bridge to the

-shining bright city in the clouds where her

-mother will hug her pretty near to pieces.

-Maybe when I get the book done, I will

-write another about what Thor's little daugh<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</a></span>ter

-did when she got home. About the songs

-she used to sing with her mother, and the

-flowers they used to pick and about everything

-that is happiness. It will be nicer to

-do than keeping an old diary about real

-things.</p>

-

-<p>"The nicest looking man's picture I ever

-saw is my father, so I am going to have him

-for Thor. My father looks kind and smiling,

-but he looks, too, as if he would know how to

-use Thor's big hammer if the bad giants tried

-to cross the Rainbow Bridge. I think it is

-queer that I like the god of thunder so well

-that I will let him have my father's face in my

-book.</p>

-

-<p>"October 22.&mdash;I am going to put some last

-words in my diary, just to say that it is a

-good thing to write a book. Something

-dreadful happened after school to-night. I

-felt dreadful, nobody knows. I got over it

-though, and then because I had to stay in

-my room and have dry bread and water for

-my supper, I started my book and it was lots

-of fun. It is the best thing there is to do

-when you want to forget you are a little girl<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</a></span>

-that nobody loves. If I live here until I am

-an old lady I presume I will turn into an

-author.</p>

-

-<p>"If it wasn't for the orchard and the locust

-grove and the way home from school, and

-recesses and my doll and my books, and the

-birds and the wild flowers and the lovely

-blue sky I can see from my window this

-minute, and a good many other things, I

-would wish I had died when I was a baby.

-That makes me laugh. It is a nice world to

-live in after all. A beautiful world."</p>

-

-<hr class="chap" />

-

-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</a></span></p>

-

-

-

-

-<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIII" id="CHAPTER_XIII"></a>CHAPTER XIII</h2>

-

-<p class="c">DIPHTHERIA</p>

-

-

-<p><span class="smcap">Early</span> in the winter, diphtheria broke out

-in the schools. Marian said little about it at

-home, fearing she might not be allowed to go,

-though the daily paper told the whole story.

-Why the schools were not closed was a question

-even in the long ago days when Marian

-was a child. Uncle George was indignant,

-but influenced by his wife's arguments, he

-allowed Marian to have her way. Mrs. St.

-Claire said Marian was better off in school

-than at home, and in no more danger of

-catching diphtheria than she would be hanging

-over the fence talking to passing children.

-Marian didn't tell her Uncle George that she

-was never allowed to speak to passing children.

-He might have kept her home.</p>

-

-<p>Weeks passed and many little ones died.

-The schoolroom became a solemn place to

-Marian. It seemed strange to look at empty<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</a></span>

-seats and know that the ones who used to sit

-in them would never come to school again.

-Even the boys were quieter than ever before.

-There were no longer paper wads flying the

-minute the teacher's back was turned, perhaps

-because the chief mischief maker's curly

-head was missing. He was Tommy Jewel,

-and he made things lively at the beginning

-of the term.</p>

-

-<p>Marian felt that it was something to have

-known so many girls and boys who died. At

-recess in the basement she used to ask children

-from the other rooms how many of

-their number were missing. Marian felt so

-well and full of life it never entered her head

-that she might be taken ill herself, and the

-thought of death was impossible, although

-she often closed her eyes and folded her

-hands, trying to imagine her school-days

-were over.</p>

-

-<p>At home the children met but seldom after

-the outbreak of diphtheria. Marian ate her

-breakfast alone and Ella had hers when the

-little cousin had gone to school. It was

-easily possible for Mrs. St. Claire to keep the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</a></span>

-children entirely separate. To guard Ella

-from all danger of contagion was her daily

-care and the smell of burning sulphur was

-ever present in the house.</p>

-

-<p>One morning Marian's throat was sore and

-she felt ill. The child dressed quickly and

-went down to tell Uncle George. Tilly the

-maid was at her home on a short visit, and

-Uncle George was building the kitchen

-fire.</p>

-

-<p>"I've got the diphtheria," announced

-Marian, and there was terror in her face.</p>

-

-<p>"Let me look in your throat," said Uncle

-George. "Why it looks all right, Marian,

-just a little red."</p>

-

-<p>"I don't care, I feel sick all over," insisted

-the child, "and I tell you now and then, I

-know I've got it."</p>

-

-<p>When Aunt Amelia was called she said

-Marian imagined that her throat was sore and

-as Marian ate breakfast, she was sent to

-school. The child went away crying. She

-didn't swing her little dinner pail around

-and around that morning just to show that

-she could do it and keep the cover on. Uncle<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</a></span>

-George was inclined to call her back, but

-Aunt Amelia laughed at him.</p>

-

-<p>"Any child," argued Mrs. St. Claire, "that

-could eat the breakfast she did, isn't at death's

-door, now you mark my words. She has let

-her imagination run away with her. Our

-darling Ella is far more apt to have diphtheria

-than that child. She would be willing to

-have the disease to get a little sympathy."</p>

-

-<p>Marian felt better out in the fresh air and

-as she met Ellen Day soon after leaving home,

-the way to school seemed short. The chief

-ambition of Marian's school life was to sit on

-a back seat, yet from the beginning, it had

-been her lot to belong to the front row. The

-teachers had a way of putting her there and

-Marian knew the reason. It wasn't because

-she was the smallest child in the room, although

-that was the truth. Tommy Jewel

-used to sit on a front seat, too, and once

-Marian had to share the platform with him.

-The teacher said they were a good pair and

-the other children laughed. Possibly the

-memory of Tommy's mischievous face caused

-the teacher to notice how quiet Marian was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</a></span>

-the morning her throat was sore. The child

-sat with her elbows on her desk, her face in

-her hands, staring solemnly into space.</p>

-

-<p>"Are you ill, Marian?" asked the teacher.</p>

-

-<p>"No, Miss Beck," the child answered, recalling

-her aunt's remarks.</p>

-

-<p>At last, conscious of pathetic eyes following

-her about the room and having heard of Aunt

-Amelia, the teacher again questioned Marian.

-"What is the trouble, little girl? Is there

-anything you would like to do? Would you

-like to write on the blackboard?"</p>

-

-<p>Marian's face lighted. "I wish I could sit

-in that empty back seat all day," she eagerly

-suggested.</p>

-

-<p>The teacher smiled. "You may pack your

-books, Marian, and sit there until I miss you

-so much I shall need you down here again."</p>

-

-<p>Marian knew what that meant. "I'll be

-awful good," she promised. "I mean, I'll be

-ever so good."</p>

-

-<p>So Marian sat in a back seat that last day

-and in spite of her sore throat and headache,

-she was happy. It was triumph to sit in a

-back seat. She was glad the children looked<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</a></span>

-around and smiled. They might get bad marks

-for turning their heads, to be sure, but what

-of it? At recess Marian walked across the

-schoolroom once or twice, then returned

-to her seat. At noon she refused to go to

-the basement with the children to eat her

-luncheon. In fact, she couldn't eat. Marian

-wondered why time seemed so long.</p>

-

-<p>When the history class was called to the

-recitation seat early in the afternoon, one

-little girl was motionless when the signals

-were given.</p>

-

-<p>"Marian Lee's asleep," volunteered the

-child who sat in front of her.</p>

-

-<p>At that, Marian raised her head and stumbled

-to her class.</p>

-

-<p>"Don't you feel well?" asked the teacher.</p>

-

-<p>Marian shook her head. Her cheeks were

-crimson. She had never felt so wretched.</p>

-

-<p>"Don't you think you had better go

-home?" continued Miss Beck.</p>

-

-<p>"Oh, no," answered the child in tones of

-alarm. "Oh, she wouldn't let me come home

-before school is out."</p>

-

-<p>"There, there, don't cry," begged the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</a></span>

-teacher. "You may go back to your seat if

-you wish."</p>

-

-<p>Marian did so and was soon asleep again.

-At recess she awoke to find herself alone in

-the room with Miss Beck.</p>

-

-<p>"You had better go home, dear," the teacher

-urged. "I am sure you are ill. Let me help

-you put on your coat and hood."</p>

-

-<p>"I can't go home until school is out," and

-Marian began to cry.</p>

-

-<p>"Why not?"</p>

-

-<p>"Because on account of my aunt. She

-wouldn't let me come home."</p>

-

-<p>"But you are ill, Marian."</p>

-

-<p>"She won't let me be sick," was the sobbing

-reply, "and I don't dare go home. You don't

-know my aunt. I guess I feel better. I want

-to go where it isn't so hot."</p>

-

-<p>The teacher was young and hopeful. "Perhaps

-you will feel better if you go out to

-play," was her reply.</p>

-

-<p>Instead of going out of doors, Marian went

-into the basement and joined in a game of

-blind man's buff. Only a few minutes and

-she fell upon the floor in a dead faint. When<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</a></span>

-the child opened her eyes she found herself

-the centre of attraction. The basement was

-quiet as though the command had been given

-to "Form lines." A strange teacher was

-holding Marian and Miss Beck was bathing

-her face with a damp handkerchief. Her

-playmates stood about in little groups, whispering

-the dread word "Diphtheria." Miss

-Beck came to her senses and ordered the children

-into the fresh air. How to send Marian

-home was the next question. The child listened

-to the various suggestions and then,

-struggling to her feet declared that she would

-walk home alone. She couldn't imagine what

-her aunt might say if she did anything else.</p>

-

-<p>The child had her way. Through the gate

-and down the road she went alone. The journey

-was long and the wind was cold. The

-little feet were never so weary as that December

-day. It seemed to Marian that she

-could never reach home. Finally she passed

-the church. Seven more houses after that,

-then a turn to the right and two more houses.

-If she dared sit down on the edge of the sidewalk

-and rest by the way, but that wouldn't<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</a></span>

-do. "I could never stir again," she thought

-and plodded on.</p>

-

-<p>At last she reached her own gate and saw

-Ella at the window. Would Aunt Amelia

-scold? It would be good to get in where it

-was warm, anyway. Oh, if Aunt Amelia

-would open the front door and say, "Come in

-this way, Marian," but she didn't and the

-child stumbled along a few more steps to the

-back entrance. She was feeling her way

-through the house when Aunt Amelia stopped

-her in the dining-room.</p>

-

-<p>"Don't come any further," said she. "I

-have callers in the parlor. What are you

-home in the middle of the afternoon for?"</p>

-

-<p>"I've got the diphtheria," the child replied,

-and her voice was thick.</p>

-

-<p>Aunt Amelia made no reply but returned

-immediately through the sitting-room to the

-parlor.</p>

-

-<p>"I guess she knows I'm sick now," Marian

-whispered as she sank into a chair by the

-table and pushed her dinner pail back to make

-room for her aching head. The callers left.

-Marian heard the front door open and close.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</a></span>

-Then Aunt Amelia hastily entered the dining-room,

-threw a quantity of sulphur upon

-the stove and went back, closing the door behind

-her. Another door closed and Marian

-knew that her aunt was in the parlor with

-Ella.</p>

-

-<p>The child choked and strangled and called

-to her aunt. She tried to walk and couldn't

-stand. The fumes of burning sulphur grew

-stronger and stronger. The air was blue.

-Marian became terrified as no one replied to

-her calls, but in time a merciful feeling of rest

-and quiet stole over her and her head fell forward

-upon the table.</p>

-

-<p>For a long time she knew nothing. Then

-came dreams and visions. Part of the time

-Marian recalled that she was home from school

-early and that she had not taken off her hood

-and coat. Again she wondered where she was

-and why it was so still. Then came an awful

-dread of death. Where was everybody and

-what would become of her? The thought of

-death aroused Marian as nothing else had

-done. Would she be left to die alone? She

-remembered that some of her schoolmates<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</a></span>

-were ill with diphtheria but a few hours before

-the end came. Where was Aunt Amelia?

-Had she gone away from the house? Marian

-could not lift her head and when she tried to

-call her aunt her voice was a smothered whisper.

-What she suffered before her uncle came

-was a story long untold. Things happened

-when Uncle George walked into the house.

-He aired the room and there was wrath in his

-voice as he demanded explanations.</p>

-

-<p>"Have patience a minute more, little girl,

-and it will be all right," he said to Marian, as

-he brought a cot into the room and quickly

-made a bed. Then he undressed her, put her

-in bed and grabbed his hat.</p>

-

-<p>"Oh, don't leave me," begged Marian,

-"please don't, Uncle George, I'm awful sick

-and I'm afraid when I'm alone."</p>

-

-<p>"I'm going for the doctor," was the reply;

-"lie still and trust Uncle George."</p>

-

-<p>The man was gone but a moment and soon

-after he returned, the doctor came. It was

-no easy matter to look in Marian's throat. It

-needed more than the handle of a spoon to

-hold down the poor little tongue.</p>

-

-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</a></span></p>

-

-<p>"Am I going to die right off?" demanded

-the child. "Oh, if I can only live I'll be so

-good. I'll never do anything bad again. Tell

-me quick, have I got to die to-night?"</p>

-

-<p>For a time it seemed useless to try to quiet

-the little girl. "Oh, I'm afraid to die," she

-moaned, "I don't dare to die. Aunt Amelia

-says I won't go to heaven and I'm afraid. I

-don't want to tell what she does say. Oh,

-Uncle George, don't let me die. Tell the doctor

-you want me to get well. Tell him I'll

-be good."</p>

-

-<p>Uncle George sat down and covered his

-face with his hands when Marian told him

-she couldn't hear what he said, that it was

-dark and she wanted more light so she could

-see his face that she might know if he was

-angry. Then she called for Aunt Amelia,

-and Aunt Amelia would not come; she was

-afraid of the diphtheria.</p>

-

-<p>"But if I'm going to die, I've got to tell

-her," cried the child, clutching at the air, and

-it was some time before Uncle George understood.</p>

-

-<p>"Child, child, don't speak of cookies," he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</a></span>

-begged, "that was all right long ago;" but

-the assurance fell upon unheeding ears.</p>

-

-<p>The nurse came and went up-stairs to prepare

-a room for Marian. The woman's appearance

-convinced the child that there was

-no hope&mdash;she was surely going to die. Uncle

-George groaned as he listened to her ravings.</p>

-

-<p>At last the doctor put down his medicine

-case and drew a chair close beside the cot.

-He was a big man with a face that little children

-trusted. He took both of Marian's small,

-burning hands in one of his and told her she

-must look at him and listen to what he had

-to tell her. Uncle George moved uneasily.

-He thought the doctor was about to explain

-to Marian that unless she kept more quiet,

-nothing would save her, she would have to

-die. The man was surprised when he heard

-what the kind physician said. He talked to

-Marian of the friend of little children and of

-the beautiful home beyond the skies. Nor

-would he allow her to interrupt, but patiently

-and quietly told her over and over that the

-One who took little children up in His arms

-and blessed them, didn't ask whether they<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</a></span>

-were good or bad. He loved them all. The

-sins of little children were surely forgiven.</p>

-

-<p>The troubled brain of the child grasped the

-meaning at last. There was nothing to fear.

-She closed her eyes and was quiet for a few

-moments. When she began to talk again, it

-was of summer mornings and apple-blossoms,

-of the wild birds and the chipmunk that lived

-in the locust grove. Many days passed before

-Marian realized anything more: then she

-knew that Uncle George took care of her

-nights and the nurse came every morning.</p>

-

-<p>"Where is my aunt?" asked the child.

-"Doesn't she come up here?"</p>

-

-<p>"Your aunt and little cousin," replied the

-nurse, "stay by themselves in the front part

-of the house down-stairs. They are afraid of

-the diphtheria."</p>

-

-<p>Marian stared at the wall. She was glad to

-know there was no danger that Aunt Amelia

-might walk in, but somehow it seemed better

-not to tell the nurse.</p>

-

-<p>"Am I going to die?" she asked.</p>

-

-<p>The question came so suddenly the nurse<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</a></span>

-was taken by surprise. "Why&mdash;why we hope

-not," was the reply.</p>

-

-<p>Something in the tones of the woman's

-voice impressed the truth upon Marian's mind.

-She was far more likely to die than to live.

-"I only wanted to know," she remarked,

-"I'm not afraid any more. I only hope I

-won't be a grown up angel the first thing. I

-should like to be a little girl with a mother

-and live in one of the many mansions for a

-while, like other children. I'd pick flowers in

-the front yard."</p>

-

-<p>Soon after, the child fell asleep. When she

-awoke she was delirious, talking continually

-about the Rainbow Bridge. The doctor came,

-but it was hours before the Rainbow Bridge

-faded away and Marian was quiet. That was

-the day the little pilgrim seemed near the

-journey's end. Until sunset, Uncle George

-watched each fluttering breath. In the silent

-room below, Ella wept bitterly and Aunt

-Amelia waited to hear that the little soul was

-gone. She waited calmly, declaring that she

-had done her duty by the child up-stairs.</p>

-

-<p>Marian lived. A few weeks more and Aunt<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</a></span>

-Amelia heard her ringing laugh and knew

-that she was happy. At last Marian was well

-enough to leave her room but it was days and

-days after the house was fumigated before she

-was allowed to see Ella or sit at the table with

-the family. Everything seemed changed.

-The rooms were brighter and more cheerful.

-The pictures on the walls had a different

-meaning. The very chairs looked new.

-Nothing appeared just as Marian left it.

-Even Aunt Amelia was better looking and

-spoke more kindly to the child. Nothing was

-ever the same after Marian had diphtheria.

-She never returned to the little back room

-where she was away from all the family at

-night, nor did she ever again doubt that Uncle

-George was her own uncle.</p>

-

-<p>Many bright days crowded one upon another

-during the remaining weeks of winter.

-The neighbors invited Marian to their homes

-and took her driving with them. Dolly

-Russel's mother gave a house party for her, inviting

-little girls from the country for a week

-in town. That was the time Marian was so

-happy she almost believed herself a princess<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</a></span>

-in a fairy tale. When she was home again,

-the child added a line to her diary.</p>

-

-<p>"February 29.&mdash;I had diphtheria this

-winter and it was a good thing. I got well

-and now I am having the best time that ever

-was written down in a diary. I have changed

-my mind about being an author. I won't

-have time to write books. There is too much

-fun in the world."</p>

-

-<hr class="chap" />

-

-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</a></span></p>

-

-

-

-

-<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIV" id="CHAPTER_XIV"></a>CHAPTER XIV</h2>

-

-<p class="c">MUSICAL CONVERSATIONS</p>

-

-

-<p><span class="smcap">Once</span> in a great while Marian and Ella had

-a chance to play together. These rare occasions

-were times of joy.</p>

-

-<p>Mrs. St. Claire usually took Ella with her

-wherever she went, but sometimes she was

-compelled to leave the child at home with her

-father or Tilly, and there was merriment in

-the house. The little cousins had gay times

-and their only regret was that such hours of

-happiness were few. At last Marian thought

-of a plan. Her new room was opposite Ella's.

-As Aunt Amelia insisted upon sending Marian

-to bed at seven, Uncle George declared that

-early hours were necessary for Ella's welfare.

-Accordingly, both children went to their

-rooms at the same time with instructions not

-to talk. No one cautioned them not to sing

-and singing was one of Marian's habits. After

-listening to the solos a few nights, Ella tried<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</a></span>

-a song of her own and that gave Marian an

-idea. She listened until Ella stopped for

-breath and then expressed a few thoughts to

-the tune of "Home, Sweet Home."</p>

-

-<div class="poem-container">

-<div class="poem">

-<div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">"O-oh, I know what will be great fun</span><br />

-<span class="i0">And I'll tell you what it is,</span><br />

-<span class="i0">We will play go to gay old concerts,</span><br />

-<span class="i0">And take our children too.</span><br />

-</div>

-

-<div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">"First the other lady</span><br />

-<span class="i0">Can sing a good long song,</span><br />

-<span class="i0">And then it will be my turn next,</span><br />

-<span class="i0">And I'll sing a song myself.</span><br />

-</div>

-

-<div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">"Fun fu-un-fun, fun-fun,</span><br />

-<span class="i0">I guess it will be fun-fun,</span><br />

-<span class="i0">I guess it will be fun."</span><br />

-</div>

-</div>

-</div>

-

-<p>It was fun. The other lady took the hint

-quickly. She and her children went to

-the concert without waiting to get ready.

-Furthermore she left herself sitting beside her

-children in the best seat in the hall and at the

-same time took her place on the stage. She

-even went so far as to become a colored man

-while she sang</p>

-

-<div class="poem-container">

-<div class="poem">

-<div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">"Way down upon the Suwanee River."</span><br />

-</div>

-</div>

-</div>

-

-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</a></span></p>

-

-<p>Ella's mother came up-stairs for something

-as the gentleman was rendering this selection

-with deep feeling, but she had no idea that

-her little daughter was singing on the stage,

-nor did she know that the greatest soprano in

-America was the next performer, although she

-did hear Marian begin in tragic tones,

-"'There is a happy land, far, far away.'"

-"Far, far away" was tremulous with emotion.</p>

-

-<p>From that hour dated many a concert, and

-after the concerts, the ladies continued to sing

-everything they had wished to talk over during

-the day. Often the musical conversations

-were cut short by an admonition from the

-hall below, but even Tilly never learned the

-nature of those evening songs. As the children

-disturbed nobody and were put to bed

-long before they were sleepy, Uncle George

-said, "Let them sing." In this way Marian

-and Ella became well acquainted.</p>

-

-<p>One night Marian asked Ella if she knew

-anything about how she happened to be taken

-to the Little Pilgrim's Home when she was a

-baby.</p>

-

-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</a></span></p>

-

-<div class="poem-container">

-<div class="poem">

-<div class="stanza">

-

-<span class="i0">"No-o-o," replied Ella in shrill soprano,</span><br />

-<span class="i0">"They won't tell-ell me-e a thing now-ow days</span><br />

-<span class="i0">But a long time ago-go</span><br />

-<span class="i0">They used to talk about everything</span><br />

-<span class="i0">Right before me-e, only the trouble is-s,</span><br />

-<span class="i0">I was such a little goo-oose</span><br />

-<span class="i0">I didn't think much about it."</span><br />

-</div>

-

-<div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">"Do you know anything about my mother-other-other?"</span><br />

-<span class="i0">Chanted the musician across the hall.</span><br />

-</div>

-<div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">"No-o-o," was the response,</span><br />

-<span class="i0">"I only know-o that my mother-other</span><br />

-<span class="i0">Didn't know your mother-other, ever in her li-ife,</span><br />

-<span class="i0">But I do-oo remember-ember that the folks at that Ho-o-me</span><br />

-<span class="i0">Had some things that used to belong-long</span><br />

-<span class="i0">To your mother-other.</span><br />

-<span class="i0">And they are packed away-way somewhere in the house.</span><br />

-<span class="i0">I guess they are in the attic-attic,</span><br />

-<span class="i0">But of course I don't know-o.</span><br />

-</div>

-<div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">"Once I saw-aw a picture of your mother-other</span><br />

-<span class="i0">But I don't remember-ember</span><br />

-<span class="i0">What she looked like, looked like-looked like.</span><br />

-<span class="i0">Don't you wi-ish your mother wasn't dead?</span><br />

-<span class="i0">If you had a mother-other</span><br />

-<span class="i0">I could go to your hou-ouse</span><br />

-<span class="i0">And your mother-other</span><br />

-<span class="i0">Would let us play together-ether."</span><br />

-</div>

-<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</a></span><br />

-<div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">"Yes, yes, she would," Marian's voice chimed in,</span><br />

-<span class="i0">"She would let us play-ay</span><br />

-<span class="i0">All the day-ay.</span><br />

-<span class="i0">And sometimes I thi-ink my mother is ali-ive,</span><br />

-<span class="i0">And if she is, won't I be gla-ad.</span><br />

-<span class="i0">If I do find my mother-other</span><br />

-<span class="i0">And I go to live with her-er,</span><br />

-<span class="i0">Why, may be your mother-other will die-i</span><br />

-<span class="i0">And then you can come and live with u-us</span><br />

-<span class="i0">And won't that be gay-ay.</span><br />

-<span class="i0">You never know what's going to happen in this world."</span><br />

-</div>

-</div>

-</div>

-

-<p>"What kind of a song are you singing?"

-called Aunt Amelia.</p>

-

-<p>"Opera house music," replied Marian, who

-feared that concerts were over for the season

-when she heard the question.</p>

-

-<p>"I thought," responded Aunt Amelia,

-"that a lunatic asylum was turned loose.

-Don't let me hear another sound to-night."</p>

-

-<p>The musicians laughed softly, and there

-were no more solos that evening.</p>

-

-<p>The following day Ella and Aunt Amelia

-went visiting and in the middle of the forenoon,

-when Tilly was busily working in the

-kitchen, Marian climbed the attic stairs with

-determination in her eye. An old portrait of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</a></span>

-George Washington on the wall at the landing

-seemed to question her motives. "Don't

-worry, Mr. Washington," remarked the child,

-"I'm not going to tell a lie, but sir, I'm looking

-for my mother and I'm going to find her

-if she's here." Marian gazed steadily at the

-face in the old oaken frame, and meeting with

-no disapproval there, passed on, leaving the

-Father of her Country to guard the stairway.</p>

-

-<p>There were numerous trunks, boxes, barrels

-and an old sea-chest in the attic. Marian

-hesitated a moment before deciding to try the

-yellow chest. Her knees shook as she lifted

-the cover. At first she was disappointed;

-there seemed to be nothing but blankets in

-the chest. Then a bit of blue silk peeping

-from beneath the blankets caught her eye and

-Marian knew she was searching in the right

-place. From the depths of the chest she drew

-forth a bundle, unfolded it and beheld a beautiful

-gown of pale blue silk, trimmed with

-exquisite lace. Tears filled her eyes as she

-touched the shimmering wonder. She had

-never seen anything like it.</p>

-

-<p>"This was my mother's," she whispered, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</a></span>

-kissed the round neck as she held the waist

-close in her arms. "She wore it once, my

-mother." Marian would gladly have looked

-at the dress longer but time was precious and

-there was much to see. Embroidered gowns

-of purest white, bright sashes and ribbons

-were there, and many another dainty belonging

-of the woman whose name was never

-mentioned in the presence of her child. In a

-carved ivory box, were jewels. Marian closed

-it quickly, attracted by a bundle at the bottom

-of the chest. She had found it at last. The

-picture of her mother. It was in an oval

-frame, wrapped in a shawl of white wool.</p>

-

-<p>"Oh, if I had her, if she could only come

-to me," cried Marian, as the lovely face became

-her own. Though the child might

-never again see the picture, yet would it be

-ever before her.</p>

-

-<p>When she dared stay in the attic no longer,

-Marian kissed the picture, wrapped it in the

-white shawl and laid it tenderly away. As

-she did so she noticed for the first time a

-folded newspaper on the bottom of the chest.

-Inside the paper was a small photograph.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</a></span>

-Marian tiptoed to the attic stairs and listened

-a moment before she looked at the photograph.

-Then she uttered a low exclamation

-of delight. There was no doubt that the face

-in the oval frame was her mother's, for the

-small picture was a photograph of Marian's

-father and a beautiful woman. "It's the same

-head," whispered the child, "and oh, how

-pretty she is. I am so glad she is my mother!</p>

-

-<p>"I wonder what they saved an old newspaper

-so carefully for?" continued Marian.

-"Maybe I had better look at it. What does

-this mean? 'Claimed by Relatives,' who was

-claimed, I wonder? Oh! I was! Now I'll

-find out all I want to know because, only see

-how much it tells!"</p>

-

-<p>Marian laid the photograph down and read

-the article from beginning to end. She didn't

-see George Washington when she passed him

-on the landing on the way down-stairs and

-for the rest of the day the child was so quiet

-every one in the house marveled. There were

-no concerts that evening. The leading soprano

-had too much on her mind. The following

-morning Marian sharpened her lead<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</a></span>

-pencil and opened her diary. After looking

-for a moment at the white page she closed the

-book.</p>

-

-<p>"No use writing down what you are sure to

-remember," she remarked, "and besides that,

-it is all too sad and finished. I am going outdoors

-and have some fun." Marian was in the

-back yard watching a cricket, when Ella sauntered

-down the path singing, "Good-morning,

-Merry Sunshine."</p>

-

-<p>"Where are you going, sweetheart?" called

-her mother from the kitchen window.</p>

-

-<p>"Just down here by the fence to get some

-myrtle leaves," Ella replied and went on singing.</p>

-

-<p>Marian bent over the cricket nor did she

-look up although Ella gave her surprising information

-as she passed.</p>

-

-<div class="poem-container">

-<div class="poem">

-<div class="stanza">

-

-<span class="i0">"If I were you, Miss Marian Lee,</span><br />

-<span class="i0">I'll tell you what I'd do,</span><br />

-<span class="i0">I'd pack my doll and everything I wanted to take with me,</span><br />

-<span class="i0">Because in the very early morning,</span><br />

-<span class="i0">You're surely going away</span><br />

-<span class="i0">To a country town where you will stay</span><br />

-<span class="i0">Until school begins again.</span><br />

-</div>

-<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</a></span><br />

-<div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">"I knew they were going to send you somewhere,</span><br />

-<span class="i0">But I didn't know just when,</span><br />

-<span class="i0">Until I just now heard my father and mother</span><br />

-<span class="i0">Both talking all about it.</span><br />

-<span class="i0">I know you'll have a pretty good time,</span><br />

-<span class="i0">I wish I were going too,</span><br />

-<span class="i0">But maybe you'll find some girls to play with,</span><br />

-<span class="i0">I'm sure I hope you do."</span><br />

-</div>

-</div>

-</div>

-

-<p>Marian smiled but dared not reply, especially

-as the singer broke down and laughed

-and Aunt Amelia knew there were no funny

-lines in "Good-morning, Merry Sunshine."</p>

-

-<p>The hint was enough. Marian straightened

-her affairs for a journey and a long absence

-from home.</p>

-

-<hr class="chap" />

-

-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</a></span></p>

-

-

-

-

-<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XV" id="CHAPTER_XV"></a>CHAPTER XV</h2>

-

-<p class="c">LITTLE SISTER TO THE DANDELION</p>

-

-

-<p><span class="smcap">Marian</span> asked no questions the following

-morning until she was on her way to the station

-with Uncle George. "Where am I going?"

-she finally ventured.</p>

-

-<p>"Where you passed the summer last

-year," was the reply. "How does that suit

-you?"</p>

-

-<p>"Suit me," repeated Marian, "nothing ever

-suited me better. I'm pretty glad I'm going

-there. Why didn't you send me back to

-school, Uncle George? School won't be out

-for two months. I'm glad you didn't, but

-why?"</p>

-

-<p>"Well, sis, you told me you wanted to go

-to the country school."</p>

-

-<p>"Yes, but&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

-

-<p>"Now's your chance," interrupted the man,

-"learn all you can and try to do some one<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</a></span>

-thing better than any one else in school, will

-you?"</p>

-

-<p>"Well, but Uncle George, big boys and big

-girls go to country schools."</p>

-

-<p>"What of it, Marian? You do some one

-thing better than any one else in school, and

-when you come home this fall you may

-choose any book you wish at the book store,

-and I will buy it for you."</p>

-

-<p>"But, Uncle George, how will you know

-whether I really do something better than

-any one else or not?"</p>

-

-<p>"I'll take your word for it, Marian."</p>

-

-<p>"My word is true," the child remarked

-with dignity.</p>

-

-<p>"No doubt about it," added Uncle George,

-turning away to hide a smile.</p>

-

-<p>Just as the train pulled into the station,

-Marian caught a glimpse of a small blue butter-fly.

-It fluttered away out of sight as Uncle

-George said "good-bye." "Oh, I hate to

-leave that butter-fly," exclaimed Marian, and

-those were the last words Uncle George heard

-as he left her. The passengers smiled, but

-Uncle George looked thoughtful. There was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</a></span>

-so much to be seen from the car windows and

-so many folks to wonder about within the

-car, the journey seemed short.</p>

-

-<p>Two young ladies welcomed Marian at the

-train, hugging and kissing her the minute

-the small feet touched the platform. "I

-guess folks will think you're some relation to

-me," laughed the child.</p>

-

-<p>"So we are," replied Miss Ruth Golding.

-"We are your cousins."</p>

-

-<p>"Certainly," agreed Miss Kate, "your

-Uncle George knew us when we were little

-girls, so of course we are your cousins."</p>

-

-<p>"Of course!" echoed Marian, "and I

-know my summer of happiness has begun

-this day in April."</p>

-

-<p>"Your troubles have begun, you mean,"

-warned Miss Ruth; "the school-teacher

-boards with us and you'll have to toe the

-mark."</p>

-

-<p>"Oh, goody!" exclaimed Marian. "I can

-walk to school with her."</p>

-

-<p>"You won't say 'goody' when you see the

-lady," predicted Miss Kate. "She's as sober

-as a judge, very quiet, and keeps to herself."</p>

-

-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</a></span></p>

-

-<p>"What's the matter with her?" asked

-Marian.</p>

-

-<p>"She's lived in the city all her life and

-eaten books," explained Ruth. "She eats

-them, Marian, covers, binding, pictures and

-everything. Too bad, but maybe you'll get

-used to it. Here is mother coming to meet

-you, and here comes Carlo."</p>

-

-<p>Marian ran ahead to throw her arms

-around Mrs. Golding's neck. "I am so glad

-they sent me back to you," she cried. "I

-didn't say anything about it to my aunt

-because she would have sent me somewhere

-else. It doesn't do to let her know when

-you're too happy. She isn't a bit like you,

-not a bit."</p>

-

-<p>"No, I think not," was the response.

-"You see, dear, your neighbor, Mrs. Russel,

-is one of my old friends, and she has told

-me so much about your aunt I feel as if I

-know her. I am sure we are not alike."</p>

-

-<p>"Why, I should say not!" laughed Marian.

-"Why she's as thin as&mdash;as knitting

-needles, and you're as plump as new pin

-cushions. Won't we have fun this summer,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</a></span>

-though? Well, Carlo, old fellow. Didn't

-forget Marian, did he? Nice old doggie."</p>

-

-<p>"Down, sir!" Mrs. Golding commanded.

-"He is so glad to see you, Marian, he can't

-express his feelings without trying to knock

-you over."</p>

-

-<p>"I wish Uncle George owned a dog," commented

-Marian; "there'd always be some one

-glad to see you when you got home. I like

-dogs. Does the teacher come home at noon,

-Mrs. Golding?"</p>

-

-<p>"No, sometimes we don't see her until

-supper time. She won't be such jolly company

-for you as my girls. She's too quiet."</p>

-

-<p>"Is she cross, Mrs. Golding?"</p>

-

-<p>"No, oh, no indeed."</p>

-

-<p>"Then I shall like her," was the quick

-reply.</p>

-

-<p>There were callers in the late afternoon, so

-Marian wandered out alone. She had gone

-but a short distance down the lane when she

-saw dandelions ahead. She gathered a handful

-of the short-stemmed blooms and walked

-on. In the distance she heard a bluebird

-singing. Marian ran to find it and was re<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</a></span>warded

-by a flash of glorious blue as the bird

-sought a tree across the river. Marian followed

-it as far as she could, being obliged to

-stop at the river's bank. As she stood gazing

-after the bird, she was startled by a woman's

-voice.</p>

-

-<p>"What have you in your hand, little girl?"</p>

-

-<p>Turning, Marian saw a young lady sitting

-on a log near by. "Just dandelions," the

-child replied, and would have hidden the

-bunch behind her if the young lady had not

-forbidden it.</p>

-

-<p>"We all love dandelions, little girl," she

-said; "come and show them to me."</p>

-

-<p>Marian wonderingly obeyed.</p>

-

-<p>"Did you ever look at a dandelion through

-a microscope?" continued the young lady.</p>

-

-<p>"No, I never did."</p>

-

-<p>The stranger passed Marian a microscope

-and asked her to tell what she saw.</p>

-

-<p>"Oh, I never knew a dandelion was like

-this," said Marian; "why there are a thousand

-little blossoms in it all crowded together,

-and they are the goldenest golden ever was!

-Oh, oh, oh! Wasn't it lucky you were here<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</a></span>

-so I could see through your microscope?

-What if I had never seen that dandelion!"</p>

-

-<p>"Would you like to borrow the microscope

-often?" asked the young lady, smiling so

-pleasantly Marian straightway decided that

-she was pretty.</p>

-

-<p>"Well, I should say yes, Miss&mdash;Miss&mdash;you

-see I don't know what your name is?"</p>

-

-<p>"Oh, that's so, I am Miss Smith, Miss Virginia

-Smith. Who are you?"</p>

-

-<p>"My name," was the reply, "is Marian Lee,

-but who I am I don't really know."</p>

-

-<p>Miss Smith repressed her curiosity, believing

-that Marian was the little girl the Goldings

-were to meet that day.</p>

-

-<p>"It's everything to have a name," said she.</p>

-

-<p>"Yes, but I'd like some relatives," Marian

-explained, "some real sisters and cousins and

-aunts of my own."</p>

-

-<p>"Why don't you do as Hiawatha did?"

-Miss Smith suggested.</p>

-

-<p>"You mean play all the birds and squirrels

-are my brothers and sisters? I think I will.

-I'll be little sister to the dandelion."</p>

-

-<p>Miss Smith laughed with Marian. "I'll do<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</a></span>

-the same thing," said she, "and if we are sisters

-to the dandelion, you must be my little

-sister and I'm your big sister and all the wild

-flowers belong to our family."</p>

-

-<p>"It's a game," agreed Marian. "I suppose

-little Indian children picked dandelions in

-the spring-time before Columbus discovered

-America."</p>

-

-<p>"There were no dandelions then to pick,"

-Miss Smith remonstrated. "The plant was

-brought here by white men. Its name is

-from the French, meaning lion's tooth."</p>

-

-<p>"I don't see anything about a dandelion

-to mean lion's tooth," objected Marian; "do

-you?"</p>

-

-<p>"No, I don't, Marian, nor does any one

-know exactly how it came by its name. Some

-believe it was given to the plant because its

-root is so white; then again, in the old days

-lions were pictured with teeth yellow as dandelion

-blossoms. The explanation I like best is

-that the dandelion was named after the lion

-because the lion is the animal that used to

-represent the sun, and all flowers named after

-him are flowers of the sun."</p>

-

-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</a></span></p>

-

-<p>"Do you know anything more about dandelions?"

-questioned Marian.</p>

-

-<p>"If I don't," said Miss Virginia Smith,

-smiling as she spoke, "it isn't because there

-is nothing more to learn. Did you ever hear

-the dandelion called the shepherd's clock?"</p>

-

-<p>"No, Miss Smith, never. Why should they

-call it that?"</p>

-

-<p>"Because the dandelion is said to open at

-five and close at eight."</p>

-

-<p>"Well!" exclaimed Marian, "I guess you

-could write a composition about dandelions."</p>

-

-<p>"Possibly," was the laughing response.

-"As far as that goes, Marian, there isn't a

-thing that grows that hasn't a history if you

-take the time and trouble to hunt it up."</p>

-

-<p>"Skunk cabbages?" suggested Marian.</p>

-

-<p>"Yes, 'skunk cabbages,'" was the reply.

-"What flowers do you suppose are related

-to it?"</p>

-

-<p>"I don't know, unless Jack-in-the-pulpit,

-maybe, is it?"</p>

-

-<p>"That's right, guess again."</p>

-

-<p>"I'll have to give up, Miss Smith. I never<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</a></span>

-saw anything except Jack-in-the-pulpit that

-looks a bit like old skunk cabbage."</p>

-

-<p>"The calla lily, Marian, what do you think

-of that?"</p>

-

-<p>"I don't know, Miss Smith, but such things

-happen, of course, because Winnie Raymond

-has a horrible looking old Uncle Pete, and

-Winnie's awful pretty herself. But how do

-you know so much about plants?"</p>

-

-<p>"By reading and observation, Marian."</p>

-

-<p>"Are there many books about wild flowers,

-Miss Smith?"</p>

-

-<p>"More than we can ever read, little girl.

-Better than that the country around this

-village is a garden of wild flowers. Down by

-the old mill and on the hills, in the fields and

-woods and along the river bank, we shall

-find treasures from now on every time we

-take the shortest walk."</p>

-

-<p>"Oh, dear," grumbled Marian, "isn't it too

-bad I've got to go to school?"</p>

-

-<p>"Why don't you like to go to school,

-child?"</p>

-

-<p>"At home I do, on account of recesses. I

-don't like the school part of it much, but<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</a></span>

-here it would be recess all the time if I could

-go in the woods with you, besides having a

-good time with the Golding girls and playing

-all day long where I don't get scolded. Dear!

-I wish I didn't have to go to school, or else I

-wish they'd have lessons about birds and

-flowers and butterflies and little animals, instead

-of old arithmetic. I hate arithmetic."</p>

-

-<p>"Do you?" sympathized Miss Smith.

-"That's too bad, because we all need to understand

-arithmetic."</p>

-

-<p>"I don't," protested Marian. "I don't even

-think arithmetic thoughts."</p>

-

-<p>"Some day, Marian, you will wish you

-understood arithmetic," said Miss Smith.

-"Now if you and I went for a walk and we

-saw ten crows, three song sparrows, five bluebirds,

-seven chipping sparrows and twenty-seven

-robins, and Mrs. Golding asked us

-when we got home how many birds we saw,

-I wonder how you would feel if you couldn't

-add?"</p>

-

-<p>"Well, but don't you see," interrupted

-Marian, "I could add birds, yes and subtract

-and multiply and divide them. That's dif<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</a></span>ferent.

-What I don't like is just figures and

-silly arithmetic things."</p>

-

-<p>"Well, Marian, I may as well tell you now

-that I'm the school-teacher and we'll have

-arithmetic stories about birds and flowers and

-little animals."</p>

-

-<p>"Oh, are you the teacher?" exclaimed

-Marian. "I thought she was&mdash;was&mdash;different,

-you know."</p>

-

-<p>"Different, how?"</p>

-

-<p>"Well, they told me the teacher was&mdash;was

-quiet."</p>

-

-<p>"So she is, usually," agreed Miss Smith,

-"but this afternoon she met one of her own

-folks. This little sister to the dandelion."</p>

-

-<p>"Won't we have fun!" was Marian's comment.</p>

-

-<hr class="chap" />

-

-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</a></span></p>

-

-

-

-

-<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVI" id="CHAPTER_XVI"></a>CHAPTER XVI</h2>

-

-<p class="c">PROFESSOR LEE, BOTANIST</p>

-

-

-<p><span class="smcap">Miss Virginia Smith</span> knew how to teach

-arithmetic. Fractions lost their terror for

-Marian, even the mysteries of cube root were

-eagerly anticipated. History became more

-than ever a living story to the child, and geography

-was a never failing joy. On rainy

-days every stream and puddle between Mrs.

-Golding's home and the schoolhouse was

-named, and if several Mississippi Rivers

-emptied into Gulfs of Mexico, and if half a

-dozen Niles overflowed their banks over the

-country road, what difference did it make?

-When the sun shone bright and only dew-drops

-glistened in the shade, Marian saw

-deserts and plains, mountains and volcanoes

-along the dusty way.</p>

-

-<p>For a time the game of geography became

-so absorbing Marian played it at the table,

-forming snowy peaks of mashed potatoes and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</a></span>

-sprinkling salt upon the summits until the

-drifts were so deep, only the valleys below

-were fit to be eaten. Brown gravy was always

-the Missouri River winding its way

-across Marian's plate between banks of vegetables.

-Ice cream meant Mammoth Cave. A

-piece of pie was South Africa from which the

-Cape of Good Hope quickly disappeared.

-However hungry Marian might be, there was

-a time when she ate nothing but continents

-and islands.</p>

-

-<p>Whatever Miss Virginia Smith tried to teach

-the country children, Marian Lee appropriated

-for herself. She listened to all recitations

-whether of the chart class or the big

-boys and girls. Perhaps if Marian had

-attended more strictly to her own lessons, she

-might have made the kind of a record she

-thought would please Uncle George. As it

-was, Jimmie Black "Left off head" in the

-spelling class more times than she did, the first

-month. Belle Newman had higher standings

-in arithmetic and geography, and some one

-carried off all the other honors.</p>

-

-<p>Marian, however, knew something about<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</a></span>

-botany before the end of May, and she

-gloried in the fact that she could name all

-the bones in her body. Mr. Golding was

-proud of her accomplishment and once when

-she went with him to see old Bess newly shod,

-he asked her to name the bones for the blacksmith:

-and the blacksmith thought it wonderful

-that a little girl knew so much. "Yes,

-but that's nothing," remarked the child, "all

-the big boys and girls in the fifth reader class

-know their bones."</p>

-

-<p>"Ain't you in the fifth reader?" asked the

-blacksmith.</p>

-

-<p>"No," was the reply, "I can read the whole

-reader through, but I'm not in that reader

-class. That's the highest class in the country.

-I suppose being in the fifth reader here is like

-being in the high school at home just before

-you graduate. I won't have to learn bones

-when I get up to the high school."</p>

-

-<p>"And still you say that ain't nothing,"

-protested the blacksmith.</p>

-

-<p>Marian shook her head. "I haven't done

-one thing in school better'n anybody else,"

-she said, "and to do something better'n any<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</a></span>body

-else is all that counts. Don't you try to

-be the best blacksmither in the country?"</p>

-

-<p>Old Bess flourished her tail in the blacksmith's

-face and the man spoke to her next instead

-of to Marian. He wasn't the best blacksmith

-and he knew it. Some years afterwards

-when he had won an enviable reputation, he

-told Mr. Golding that the first time he thought

-of trying to do unusually good work was when

-the little Lee girl asked him if he tried to be

-the best blacksmith in the country.</p>

-

-<p>Concerning botany, Miss Smith knew that

-Marian was interested in the wild flowers and

-had told her many a legend of wayside blooms

-when walking with her through the fields and

-across the hills: but she had no idea how much

-the child had learned from listening to the recitations

-of the botany class, until the Saturday

-morning when the wax doll went to school.

-Miss Smith happened to pass the corn-crib unnoticed

-by teacher or pupil.</p>

-

-<p>The doll was propped in an attitude of attention

-among the ears of corn.</p>

-

-<p>"Now, little girl," the instructor was saying,

-"if you ever expect to amount to anything in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</a></span>

-this world, you've got to use your eyes and

-ears. I'm the Professor of Botany your

-mother was reading about last night, who

-knew nothing about botany until she began

-to study it. Next winter when we can't get

-outdoors, I am going to give you lessons on

-seeds and roots and things and stems and leaves.

-The Professor of Botany has got to learn the

-names of the shapes of leaves and how to

-spell them. She really ought to own a book

-but she doesn't, and that can't be helped.

-You're sure to get what you want some time

-though, if you only try hard enough, and the

-Botany Professor will get a book. You just

-wait.</p>

-

-<p>"Don't think, little girl, because we are

-skipping straight over to flowers this morning

-that you are going to get out of learning beginnings.

-We're taking flowers because it is

-summer. Of course you know this is a strawberry

-blossom I hold in my hand. Well, if it

-wasn't for strawberry blossoms you couldn't

-have strawberry shortcake, remember that.

-That's the principal thing about strawberries.

-This little circle of white leaves is called the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</a></span>

-corolla. Now don't get the calyx mixed with

-the corolla as some children do. I tell you it

-makes me feel squirmy to hear some big girls

-recite. You ought to see this flower under a

-microscope. I guess I'll go and ask Professor

-Smith for hers."</p>

-

-<p>Marian turned around so quickly Professor

-Smith was unable to get out of sight. The

-doll's instructor felt pretty foolish for a

-moment, but only for a moment.</p>

-

-<p>"Marian Lee," said Miss Smith, "you shall

-join the botany class next Monday morning

-and I'll give you a book of mine to study."</p>

-

-<p>"What will the big girls say?" gasped

-Marian.</p>

-

-<p>"About as much as your doll in there,"

-laughed Miss Smith, adding seriously, "I

-won't expect too much of you, Marian, but

-you may as well be in the class and learn all

-you can."</p>

-

-<p>On Monday morning, although the big

-girls smiled and the little girls stared, Professor

-Lee became a member of the botany

-class and learned to press the wild flowers.</p>

-

-<p>"I won't have the most perfect lessons of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</a></span>

-anybody in the class," Marian confided to her

-doll, "because the big girls know so much;

-but I'll try and have the best specimens in my

-herbarium. I can do that, I am sure. I have

-just got to do something better than any one

-else in school before I go home."</p>

-

-<p>The following Saturday the doll listened

-with unchanging face to a confession. "Every

-one of the big girls can press specimens better

-than I can. Their violet plants look like

-pictures but mine look like hay. I guess

-Uncle George will be discouraged. I don't do

-anything best. A robin is building a nest

-just outside the window where my seat is in

-school and I forgot to study my spelling lesson.

-Of course I missed half the words. It

-was the robin's fault. She ought to keep

-away from school children."</p>

-

-<hr class="chap" />

-

-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</a></span></p>

-

-

-

-

-<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVII" id="CHAPTER_XVII"></a>CHAPTER XVII</h2>

-

-<p class="c">THE COMPOSITION ON WILD FLOWERS</p>

-

-

-<p><span class="smcap">All</span> the children in Marian's class were

-writing in their copy-books "Knowledge is

-Power." The pens squeaked and scratched

-and labored across pages lighted by June sunshine.

-The little girls' fingers were sticky and

-boy hands were cramped. It was monotonous

-work. The "K" was hard to make and the

-capital "P" was all flourishes.</p>

-

-<p>Marian sighed, then raised her hand.</p>

-

-<p>"What is it?" asked Miss Smith.</p>

-

-<p>"Will you tell which one of us has the best

-looking page when we get through with

-'Knowledge is Power'?"</p>

-

-<p>Miss Smith consented and Marian, determined

-to conquer, grasped her pen firmly and

-bent to the task. Two days later the page

-was finished and seven copy-books were piled

-upon Miss Smith's desk for inspection. At

-first Miss Smith smiled as she examined the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</a></span>

-various assertions that "Knowledge is Power,"

-then she grew serious.</p>

-

-<p>"Did you try your best, children?" she

-asked, whereupon five girls and two boys

-looked surprised and hurt.</p>

-

-<p>"Well, then, I wonder what is the

-trouble?" continued Miss Smith. "I am

-ashamed of your work, children, it seems as

-if you could do better."</p>

-

-<p>"Which is best?" demanded Marian. It

-made no difference how poor her copy was if

-only it was better than the others. The child

-was sorry she had asked the question when

-she knew the truth. "I think it is pretty

-discouraging," she said, "when you try your

-best and do the worst."</p>

-

-<p>"We will begin something new," Miss

-Smith suggested. "Next week we will write

-compositions on wild flowers and to the one

-who does the neatest looking work, I will give

-the little copy of 'Evangeline' I have been

-reading to you. It will make no difference

-whether the compositions are long or short,

-but the penmanship must be good. Every

-one of you knows the spring flowers for we<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[Pg 194]</a></span>

-have had them here in school and have talked

-about them every day."</p>

-

-<p>"Will we have to write in our copy-books

-just the same?" asked Tommy Perkins.</p>

-

-<p>"No," was the reply; "you may work on

-your compositions all the time we usually

-write in the copy-books, and remember, it

-doesn't make a bit of difference how short

-your compositions are."</p>

-

-<p>That was exactly what Marian did not remember.

-At first she wrote:</p>

-

-<p>"No flower is so pretty as the anemone that

-blooms on the windy hill."</p>

-

-<p>At recess she consulted Miss Smith. "Is

-that long enough?" she asked.</p>

-

-<p>"Yes, that will do," was the reply.</p>

-

-<p>"Is it fair if I copy off her composition?"

-asked Tommy Perkins, "and practice writing

-it? I can't make up one."</p>

-

-<p>"That sentence will do as well as any

-other," agreed Miss Smith. "I simply wish

-you to write something you choose to do."</p>

-

-<p>Marian beamed upon Tommy. "I'll copy

-it for you," she said. "I don't really think

-anemones are the prettiest flowers, Tommy,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[Pg 195]</a></span>

-but they are easy to write; no ups or downs

-in the word if the flowers themselves do dance

-like fairies all the day long."</p>

-

-<p>"I wish't you'd write me a composition,"

-put in Frankie Bean.</p>

-

-<p>"I will," assented Marian, "after school

-calls, but now, come on out and play."</p>

-

-<p>After recess, Marian passed Frankie a piece

-of paper upon which was written this:</p>

-

-<p>"Clover loves a sunny home."</p>

-

-<p>"That's easy, Frankie, because 'y' is the

-only letter below the line. You can say sun-kissed

-if you would rather keep it all above

-the line. If I don't get the book, may be you

-will. I hope you won't be disappointed,

-though. I would try if I were you. Something

-may happen to me before next week,

-you never can tell."</p>

-

-<p>Monday and Tuesday Marian wrote compositions

-for the four girls to copy. They were

-more particular than the boys had been and

-their compositions were longer.</p>

-

-<p>By the time Marian was ready to settle

-down to her sentence on the anemone, she was

-tired of it and determined to write something<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[Pg 196]</a></span>

-new. Soon she forgot all about penmanship

-and Friday afternoon found her with a long

-composition to copy in an hour. Even then,

-after the first moment of dismay, she forgot

-that neatness of work alone, would count.</p>

-

-<p>Miss Virginia Smith read the composition

-aloud.</p>

-

-

-<p class="c">"<i>Wild Flowers, by Marian Lee.</i></p>

-

-<p>"When you shut your eyes and think of

-wild flowers, you always want to open them

-and fly to the hills and the woods. You wish

-you had wings like the birds.</p>

-

-<p>"In an old flower legend book that tells

-about things most folks don't know, I found

-out what you were always sure of before you

-knew it. The anemones are fairy blossoms.

-The pink on the petals was painted by the

-fairies and on rainy nights elves hide in the

-dainty blooms.</p>

-

-<p>"Tulips are not wild, but how can I leave

-them out when the fairies used them for

-cradles to rock their babies in.</p>

-

-<p>"Some folks laugh at you when you hunt

-for four-leaved clover, but you can never see<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</a></span>

-the fairies without one nor go to the fairy

-kingdom.</p>

-

-<p>"The old book says, too, that the bluebells

-ring at midnight to call the fairies together.

-I believe it because I have seen bluebells and

-have almost heard the music. I don't believe

-they ever were witches' thimbles.</p>

-

-<p>"You most always get your feet wet when

-you go after marsh marigolds, but it can't be

-helped. They are yellow flowers and live

-where they can hear the frogs all the time.

-I wonder if they ever get tired of frog concerts.

-I never do, only I think it is mournful

-music after the sun goes down. It makes you

-glad you are safe in the house.</p>

-

-<p>"There is one lovely thing about another

-yellow flower. It is the cinquefoil and you

-find it before the violets come if you know

-where to look. On rainy days and in damp

-weather, the green leaves bend over and cover

-the little yellow blossom. The cinquefoil

-plant must be afraid its little darling will

-catch cold.</p>

-

-<p>"If you ever feel cross, the best thing you

-can do is to go out where the wild flowers<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</a></span>

-grow. You will be sure to hear birds sing

-and you may see a rabbit or a squirrel. Anyway,

-you will think thoughts that are not

-cross."</p>

-

-<p>"Evangeline" was given to Tommy Perkins.

-He had practiced writing the anemone

-sentence until his perfectly written words

-astonished Miss Virginia Smith.</p>

-

-<p>"I know my writing isn't good," admitted

-a little girl named Marian. "Only see how

-it goes up-hill and down-hill and how funny

-the letters are."</p>

-

-<hr class="chap" />

-

-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</a></span></p>

-

-

-

-

-<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVIII" id="CHAPTER_XVIII"></a>CHAPTER XVIII</h2>

-

-<p class="c">MARIAN'S LETTER HOME</p>

-

-

-<p><span class="smcap">Marian's</span> letters to her Uncle George were

-written on Sunday afternoons. She wrote

-pages and pages about Miss Smith and the

-country school and begged him not to come

-for her in August.</p>

-

-<p>"I haven't done anything better than any

-one else in school yet," she wrote, "but I am

-learning all kinds of things and having the

-best time ever was. I want to go to the country

-school until I graduate. I'll be ready for

-college before you know it if you will only

-let me stay.</p>

-

-<p>"I am good all the time because Mrs. Golding

-says so and Miss Ruth and Miss Kate

-take me almost everywhere they go&mdash;when

-they drive to town, circuses and things and I

-have lovely times every day.</p>

-

-<p>"I would tell you who I play with only

-you would forget the names of so many chil<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[Pg 200]</a></span>dren.

-When I can't find any one else I go

-to the mill to see the miller's boy. That isn't

-much fun because the miller's boy is half foolish.

-His clothes are always covered with

-flour and he looks like a little old miller

-himself. He jumps out at you when you

-don't know where he is and says 'Boo!' and

-scares you almost out of your wits, and that

-makes his father laugh. I tried to teach him

-to read but I didn't have good luck. He read

-'I see the cat' out of almanacs and everything.</p>

-

-<p>"The old miser died last night, Uncle

-George, and I saw him in the afternoon.

-Only think of it, I saw a man that died.

-After dinner I went to see the miller's boy

-and he wasn't there. His father said he was

-wandering along the river bank somewhere,

-so I stayed and talked to the miller. Pretty

-soon the boy came back making crazy motions

-with his arms and telling his father the

-old miser wanted to see him quick.</p>

-

-<p>"I went outside and watched the big wheel

-of the mill when the boy and his father went

-away, but it wasn't any time before the boy<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</a></span>

-came back and said the old miser wanted to

-see me. Of course I went as fast as I could

-go, and when I got to the hut, the miller

-asked me if I could say any Bible verses, and

-if I could to say them quick because the old

-miser wanted somebody to read the Bible

-quick&mdash;quick. I thought it was queer, Uncle

-George, but I was glad I had learned so much

-out of the Bible.</p>

-

-<p>"The old miser was all in rags and I guess

-he didn't feel well then, because he was lying

-down on a queer old couch and he didn't

-stir, but I tell you he watched me. I didn't

-want to go in the hut, so I stood in the doorway

-where I could feel the sunshine all

-around me. Some way I thought that wasn't

-any time to ask questions, so I began the

-Twenty-third Psalm right straight off. When

-I got to the end of that I was going to say the

-first fourteen verses of John, but the old miser

-raised one hand and said, 'Again&mdash;again,' but

-before I got any further than 'The valley of

-the shadow,' he went to sleep looking at me

-and I never saw his face so happy. It

-smoothed all out and looked different. Poor<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[Pg 202]</a></span>

-old miser, the boys used to plague him. The

-miller motioned to his boy and me to go away.

-I guess he was afraid Jakey would wake the old

-miser. Of course I knew enough to keep still

-when a tired looking old man dropped to

-sleep.</p>

-

-<p>"I don't know just when the old miser

-died, Uncle George, nobody talks about it

-where I can hear a word. Mrs. Golding says

-when I grow up I will be glad that I could

-repeat the Twenty-third Psalm to a poor old

-man who hadn't any friends. She says it

-isn't true that he was a miser, he was just an

-unfortunate old man. I wonder if he was

-anybody's grandfather? You never can tell.</p>

-

-<p>"I am well acquainted with all the folks in

-the village, Uncle George, and lots of times I

-go calling. There are some old folks here

-who never step outside of their houses and

-they are glad to have callers. One old blind

-woman knits all the time. She likes to be

-read to, real well. And there is one woman,

-the shoemaker's wife, that has six children

-that bother her so when she tries to work; she

-says it does her good to see me coming.</p>

-

-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[Pg 203]</a></span></p>

-

-<p>"Only think, Uncle George, how lonesome

-I will be when I get home where I am not

-acquainted. The only sad thing that has

-happened here all summer is that the miser

-died, and of course you know that might be

-worse.</p>

-

-<p>"I would like to be with Miss Smith more

-than I am but she studies almost all the time.

-I don't see what for because she knows everything,

-even about the stars. She likes me a

-great deal but I guess nobody knows it. You

-mustn't have favorites when you are a school-teacher,

-she told me so.</p>

-

-<p>"You don't know how hard it is, Uncle

-George, to do something better than anybody

-else. You might think it would be easy, but

-somebody always gets ahead of you in everything,

-you can't even keep your desk the

-cleanest. Some girls never bring in anything

-from the woods, so of course they can keep

-dusted.</p>

-

-<p>"I'm afraid you'll be disappointed in</p>

-

-<p class="sig">

-"Your loving niece,<br />

-"<span class="smcap">Marian Lee</span>."

-</p>

-

-<hr class="chap" />

-

-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[Pg 204]</a></span></p>

-

-

-

-

-<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIX" id="CHAPTER_XIX"></a>CHAPTER XIX</h2>

-

-<p class="c">THE MOST TRUTHFUL CHILD IN SCHOOL</p>

-

-

-<p><span class="smcap">In</span> the early morning the schoolhouse was

-a quiet place, and there Miss Virginia Smith

-went to study. No one knew why she

-worked so hard, though Marian often wondered.

-It was her delight to please Miss

-Smith, and when the teacher waited several

-mornings until a certain mail train passed

-and the letters were distributed, Marian

-offered to stop at the post-office and get the

-mail.</p>

-

-<p>"Are you sure you won't lose anything?"

-asked Miss Smith.</p>

-

-<p>"Sure," promised Marian. "You go to

-school early as you used to do and I'll bring

-your letters when I come."</p>

-

-<p>Usually the postmaster gave Marian something

-to carry to Miss Smith, and all went

-well until a few days before school closed.

-Elizabeth Gray called for Marian that morn<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[Pg 205]</a></span>ing

-and together they went to the post-office

-where they waited on tiptoe for the postmaster

-to distribute the mail. There was one

-letter for Miss Smith, a thin, insignificant

-looking letter.</p>

-

-<p>"That's nothing but an old advertisement,"

-declared Elizabeth; "it wasn't worth waiting

-for."</p>

-

-<p>"I guess you're right," agreed Marian,

-"see what it says in the corner. What's a

-seminary, anyway? Do you know?&mdash;'Young

-Ladies' Seminary.' Some kind of a new

-fashioned place to buy hats, may be, come

-on."</p>

-

-<p>"Yes, let's get started before the Prior kids

-and the Perkinses catch up with us. I can't

-bear that Tommy Perkins."</p>

-

-<p>"We could play De Soto if we had a

-crowd," suggested Marian. "You and I

-could be the head leaders and the Priors and

-the Perkins could be common soldiers."</p>

-

-<p>"How do you play De Soto?" asked Elizabeth.

-"I never heard of it."</p>

-

-<p>"You've heard of De Soto, the man that

-discovered the Mississippi River, I hope."</p>

-

-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[Pg 206]</a></span></p>

-

-<p>"Of course, he's in the history."</p>

-

-<p>"Well, Elizabeth, I've been reading about

-him in one of Mr. Golding's books about

-early explorations and I knew in a minute

-that it would be fun to play De Soto on our

-way to school. Now, I'm De Soto."</p>

-

-<p>"No, I'm going to be De Soto," insisted

-Elizabeth.</p>

-

-<p>"You don't know how, Elizabeth Jane

-Gray, and you didn't think of it first. All

-right, though, you be De Soto if you want to.

-What are you going to do? Begin."</p>

-

-<p>"You always want to be the head one in

-everything, Marian Lee. You needn't think

-I'm Tommy Perkins!"</p>

-

-<p>"I don't, Elizabeth, I think you're that

-brave Spaniard Moscoso who was leader of

-the soldiers after De Soto died and was buried

-in the Mississippi River where the Indians

-couldn't find him. But if you want to be

-De Soto, go on, only I don't believe you

-know a thing about him except what the history

-says. Well, you're De Soto."</p>

-

-<p>"You'll have to tell me what to do,

-Marian."</p>

-

-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[Pg 207]</a></span></p>

-

-<p>"I guess not, Miss Elizabeth, if you're

-De Soto you ought to know."</p>

-

-<p>Elizabeth walked on in silence for a few

-moments until seized by an inspiration. "I'll

-be De Soto to-morrow morning," she remarked;

-"it's your turn first, of course, because you

-thought of the game. I'm&mdash;who did you say

-I am, Marian?"</p>

-

-<p>"You're Moscoso, one of my officers, Elizabeth.

-Well, I'm De Soto and I have had

-wonderful adventures in my life. I was with

-Pizarro in the conquest of Peru and I went

-back to Spain rich, rich, rich. Now I am the

-Governor of Cuba and Florida and not long

-ago I had orders from Spain to explore

-Florida. Of course, Moscoso, you remember

-all about it, how we left Cuba with nine ships

-and landed at Tampa?"</p>

-

-<p>"I remember it, Soty, just as well as if it

-was yesterday," and Moscoso, laughing merrily,

-swung his dinner pail in a perfect circle.</p>

-

-<p>"Don't laugh, Moscoso, at serious things,"

-continued De Soto; "and I think you really

-should call me Governor and I'll call you

-General. Well, General, we sent most of our<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[Pg 208]</a></span>

-ships back to Cuba, and now we're searching

-for gold in Florida, not in our little State of

-Florida, but the big, wide, long Florida that

-used to be. Now, Elizabeth, we'll play wander

-around for three years, living in Indian villages

-winters and camping out summers and

-having fights and discovering new birds to

-write to Spain about and having all kinds of

-adventures, until we get to that big ditch at

-the four corners and that will have to be the

-Mississippi River, and we'll cross it. We can

-tie our handkerchiefs to sticks for banners.</p>

-

-<p>"Let's play all the trees are Indians and all

-the little low bushes are wild beasts. The

-fences will do for mountains and I guess we'll

-think of other things to play as we go along.

-We'll have trouble with our soldiers, of course,

-they always do when they are hunting for

-gold. All these fields and woods, no, not

-woods, forests, I mean, are what you call the

-interior. Dandelions and buttercups will be

-gold that we steal from the Indians. We'll

-be awfully disappointed because this isn't a

-gold country like Peru, but we will take all

-there is, and I think we had better talk some<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[Pg 209]</a></span>

-about going home to Spain. Of course I don't

-know I'm going to die of fever beyond the

-Mississippi and you don't know you'll have

-to go back to the coast without me. I wish

-we could talk a little bit of real Spanish, don't

-you, Elizabeth?"</p>

-

-<p>"Hush," warned the General from Spain.

-"I hear Indians. Let's play the wind in the

-trees is Indian talk, Marian."</p>

-

-<p>"Sure enough, Elizabeth, we must advance

-cautiously, General Moscoso, they always 'advance

-cautiously' in the books, or else 'beat a

-hasty retreat.' We won't dare play retreat or

-we'll never get to school. Oh, they're friendly

-Indians, General, how fortunate."</p>

-

-<p>De Soto had crossed the Mississippi when

-he grew pale as death and suddenly deserted

-his followers. The banners of Spain trailed

-in the dust. "Elizabeth Jane Gray, where's

-that letter?"</p>

-

-<p>Two little girls gazed at each other in

-dismay.</p>

-

-<p>"Have you lost it?" gasped Elizabeth.</p>

-

-<p>"If I haven't, where is it?" asked Marian.</p>

-

-<p>"Can't you remember anything about it?"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[Pg 210]</a></span>

-Elizabeth went on, "when you had it last, or

-anything?"</p>

-

-<p>"No, I can't. Let's go straight back over

-the road and hunt. I must have dropped it

-and perhaps we may find it if we look. I

-can't believe it is really lost. Oh, Elizabeth,

-what shall I do if it is? I adore Miss Smith

-and what will she think?"</p>

-

-<p>"She won't think anything if you keep

-still, Marian; the letter was only an old advertisement,

-anyway."</p>

-

-<p>"Oh, dear, dear, dear!" wailed Marian.

-"This is dreadful. I don't see a thing that

-looks like a letter anywhere. I am going to

-climb a tree and look way off over the

-fields." Although the children searched

-faithfully, they could not find the letter.</p>

-

-<p>"We'll hunt at noon," suggested Elizabeth,

-deeply touched by Marian's distress, "and

-if I were you I wouldn't say a word about it."</p>

-

-<p>"But Elizabeth, what if she asks me if

-there was a letter?"</p>

-

-<p>"Fib," was the response.</p>

-

-<p>"It's enough to make anybody, Elizabeth."</p>

-

-<p>"You'll be a goose, Marian, if you own up.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[Pg 211]</a></span>

-I won't tell on you and the letter didn't

-amount to anything, anyway. Let's run for

-all we're worth and get there before school

-calls if we can. Sure's we're late she'll ask

-questions."</p>

-

-<p>Just as the bell was ringing, two breathless

-little girls joined their schoolmates. Their

-faces were flushed and their hair was tumbled.

-Miss Smith smiled when she saw them, but

-asked no questions. Noticing Marian's empty

-hands, she said evidently to herself, "No letter

-yet!"</p>

-

-<p>"You're going to get out of this as easy's

-pie, just keep your mouth shut," whispered

-Elizabeth.</p>

-

-<p>"I shall have to tell," groaned Marian.</p>

-

-<p>"Don't be silly," Elizabeth advised.</p>

-

-<p>During the morning exercises Marian determined

-to confess no matter what happened.

-When the chart class was called to the recitation

-seat she raised her hand and was given

-permission to speak to Miss Smith. Marian

-didn't glance towards Elizabeth Gray as she

-walked to the desk. Elizabeth had never

-stolen cookies. "Miss Smith," said Marian,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[Pg 212]</a></span>

-"you had a letter this morning and I lost

-it."</p>

-

-<p>"You dear child, I am so glad you told

-me," and Miss Smith who had so often insisted

-that a school-teacher must never have

-favorites, put her arms around the little girl

-and kissed the soft, brown hair. "Now tell

-me what was printed on the envelope if you

-can remember."</p>

-

-<p>Word for word Marian described the letter.</p>

-

-<p>"It is the one I was expecting," said Miss

-Smith, and while the chart class waited,

-their teacher wrote a letter, stamped it and

-sent it to the post-office by Tommy Perkins.</p>

-

-<p>Two days later, Marian carried Miss Smith

-a letter exactly like the one she had lost.

-Miss Smith read it, smiled and asked Marian

-to stay after school.</p>

-

-<p>"You're going to get your scolding at last,"

-predicted Elizabeth. "I told you not to

-tell."</p>

-

-<p>At four o'clock the children trooped out and

-flew down the road like wild birds escaped

-from a cage, leaving Marian uneasily twisting

-her handkerchief while she waited for Miss<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[Pg 213]</a></span>

-Smith to speak. Nothing was said until the

-sound of childish voices came from a distance.

-Then Miss Smith looked up and laughed.

-"Can you keep a secret for a few days,

-Marian?" she asked. "Come here, dear, and

-read the letter you brought me this morning."</p>

-

-<p>Marian read the short letter three times before

-she asked, "Are you going?"</p>

-

-<p>"Going," echoed Miss Smith; "that is the

-position I have long wished for, Marian. Only

-think how I shall enjoy teaching botany and

-English in a boarding-school. You see what

-they say, Marian, they want an immediate

-reply or it will be too late. If you hadn't

-told me about the letter you received the

-other day, I should have lost the position. I

-imagined what the letter was and sent for a

-copy. If you hadn't told me the truth,

-Marian, only think what a difference it would

-have made!"</p>

-

-<p>"I just have to tell the truth," said the little

-girl.</p>

-

-<p>"I believe you, dear, I never saw a more

-truthful child in my life."</p>

-

-<p>"Would you dare say I am the most honest<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[Pg 214]</a></span>

-child in school?" asked Marian, a sudden

-light making her face beautiful. "Will you

-write it down and sign your name?"</p>

-

-<p>"Well, you are the queerest mortal," exclaimed

-Miss Smith, but reaching for a piece

-of paper and a pen, she wrote this:</p>

-

-<p>"Marian Lee is the most truthful pupil in

-my school.</p>

-

-<p class="sig">"<span class="smcap">Virginia Smith</span>, Teacher."</p>

-

-<p>"It's for Uncle George," Marian explained.

-"He told me to try to do something better

-than anybody else and I haven't done it.

-He's coming for me Saturday and please do

-ask him to send me to your boarding-school.

-He has often talked about sending me away

-to school, but I used to be afraid to go and

-made a dreadful fuss, and then I had diphtheria."</p>

-

-<p>Uncle George arrived on Friday in time to

-have a long talk with Miss Smith before she

-left on the evening train. Had Marian

-known the nature of their conversation, she

-might not have cried so bitterly when the

-hour of parting came.</p>

-

-<hr class="chap" />

-

-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[Pg 215]</a></span></p>

-

-

-

-

-<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XX" id="CHAPTER_XX"></a>CHAPTER XX</h2>

-

-<p class="c">MORE CHANGES</p>

-

-

-<p><span class="smcap">Marian</span> had been home a month when

-Uncle George decided to send her to boarding-school.</p>

-

-<p>"It is a curious thing," he remarked to the

-child, "that other people find it so easy to get

-along with you, and here at home there is no

-peace in the house while you are in it."</p>

-

-<p>The man's tones were savage and Marian

-cried. Tears always angered Uncle George,

-and when Uncle George was angry with

-Marian, Aunt Amelia generally sighed and

-straightway did her duty: and Aunt Amelia's

-duty towards Marian consisted in giving a detailed

-account of the child's faults and a history

-of her sins. She never failed to mention

-cookies. When Marian was wise, she kept

-still. If she ventured a remonstrance serious

-trouble was sure to follow. Out in the fresh

-air and sunshine, the child managed to be<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[Pg 216]</a></span>

-happy in spite of everything: but within the

-four walls of Aunt Amelia's home it took

-courage to face life. She didn't know that

-her uncle had written to Miss Virginia Smith.</p>

-

-<p>"They're going to do something with you,

-I don't know what," confided Ella. "I'll let

-you know as soon's I find out." Ella was as

-good as her word. "They're going to send

-you to boarding-school," was her next secret

-announcement, "but when or where, I don't

-know."</p>

-

-<p>One morning Marian went to her room after

-breakfast and sat long by the open window,

-wondering what would become of her and why

-she had been taken from the Little Pilgrim's

-Home by an aunt who didn't want her.

-Tears splashed upon the window sill. Marian

-wiped her eyes quickly. Young as she was,

-the child realized how dangerous it is to be

-sorry for oneself. Without a backward

-glance, Marian walked from the room and

-closed the door she was never to open again.

-When she came home from school that night,

-the child played in the orchard until supper-time.

-Then she wondered why Aunt Amelia<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[Pg 217]</a></span>

-didn't send her to her room. An hour passed

-before the woman looked at the clock and

-spoke. Instead of the words Marian expected

-to hear, Aunt Amelia said calmly:</p>

-

-<p>"Your trunk is packed and the carriage is

-waiting to take you to the station. Get your

-coat and hat."</p>

-

-<p>"Where am I going and who is going with

-me?" demanded the child, beginning to

-tremble so she could scarcely stand.</p>

-

-<p>"I shall accompany you," replied Aunt

-Amelia, "and it makes no difference where

-you are going. You will know soon

-enough."</p>

-

-<p>Marian shot a grateful look towards Ella,

-who was sobbing in a corner. But for the little

-cousin's assurance, Marian would have believed

-she was about to start for the long

-dreaded reform school. Nevertheless it was a

-shocking thing to be suddenly torn from every

-familiar sight and to be going so blindly into

-the unknown. Marian looked appealingly at

-Aunt Amelia and Uncle George before she

-broke down and cried. Aunt Amelia's face

-was stony, Uncle George looked cross and an<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[Pg 218]</a></span>noyed.

-Marian's grief became wild and despairing.</p>

-

-<p>"I wish I could have my mother's picture

-to take with me," she sobbed, "I wish I

-could."</p>

-

-<p>"That's a reasonable request and you shall

-have it," said Uncle George.</p>

-

-<p>"It will be time enough when she is older,"

-Aunt Amelia put in, while Marian held her

-breath. Would she get the picture or not?

-A word might ruin her chances, so she kept

-still, trying hard to smother her sobs.</p>

-

-<p>"Are you going for the picture or shall I?"

-demanded Uncle George. Aunt Amelia went.</p>

-

-<p>Marian was disappointed when she saw the

-small photograph of her father and mother.

-She wished for the face in the oval frame.

-She would have been more disappointed had

-she never seen the photograph, because instead

-of giving it to the child or allowing her

-to look at the picture, Aunt Amelia wrapped

-it in a piece of paper and put it in her own

-satchel.</p>

-

-<p>Outside in the cool, silent night, Marian

-stopped crying. There was comfort in the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[Pg 219]</a></span>

-steadily shining stars. During the first long

-hours on the sleeping car, Marian tossed,

-tumbled and wondered where she was going.

-Asleep she dreamed of reform school: awake

-she feared dreams might come true. When

-trains rushed by in the darkness the child was

-frightened and shivered at the thought of

-wrecks. At last she raised her curtain and

-watched the stars. Repeating over and over

-one verse of the poem she had recited the last

-day of school in the country, she fell peacefully

-asleep. There were no more troubled

-dreams nor startled awakenings. When

-Marian opened her eyes in the morning, the

-verse still haunted her memory.</p>

-

-<div class="poem-container">

-<div class="poem">

-<div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">"I know not where His islands</span><br />

-<span class="i2">Lift their fronded palms in air,</span><br />

-<span class="i0">I only know I cannot drift</span><br />

-<span class="i2">Beyond His love and care."</span><br />

-</div>

-</div>

-</div>

-

-<hr class="chap" />

-

-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[Pg 220]</a></span></p>

-

-

-

-

-<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXI" id="CHAPTER_XXI"></a>CHAPTER XXI</h2>

-

-<p class="c">MARIAN REMEMBERS HER DIARY</p>

-

-

-<p><span class="smcap">"October</span> 15.&mdash;You might as well keep a

-diary, especially in a school where they have

-a silent hour. It is the queerest thing I ever

-heard of but every night between seven and

-eight it is so still in this building you don't

-dare sneeze. It isn't so bad when you have a

-roommate because then you have to divide the

-hour with her. You stay alone half and then

-you go to the reading-room or the library and

-read something and try not to whisper to any

-of the girls, while your roommate stays alone

-her half of the hour.</p>

-

-<p>"Perhaps the reason I don't like silent hour

-is because I used to have so many of them at

-home and now because I haven't any roommate

-I have to stay alone the whole hour. I

-don't know what to do with myself and that

-is why I am going to keep a diary again.</p>

-

-<p>"There is a good reason why I haven't any

-roommate. When my aunt brought me here<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[Pg 221]</a></span>

-the principal said they were expecting a little

-girl just my age and they were going to put

-her in this room with me. It isn't much fun

-to be a new girl in this kind of a school, especially

-when most everybody is older than you

-are. When the girls saw my aunt they stared,

-and they stared at me, too. It wasn't very

-nice and I felt uncomfortable. As long as my

-aunt stayed I didn't get acquainted. I didn't

-even dare say much to Miss Smith. I just

-moped around and wished I was out in the

-country with the happy Goldings. They said

-here, 'Poor little thing, she's homesick,' but I

-am sure I wasn't if that means I wanted to go

-back home. My aunt stayed two days and one

-night. She said she was waiting to see my

-roommate but at last she gave up and went

-home and then I felt different. I began to

-wonder what kind of a girl my roommate

-would be and when she came I was so happy

-I could scarcely breathe because she was Dolly

-Russel. We thought we were going to have

-such a good time, and we did for a few days

-until I was a big goose. I wrote home and

-told my aunt who my roommate was and that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[Pg 222]</a></span>

-ended it. Aunt Amelia wrote to the principal

-and she wrote to me, and then Dolly went to

-room with an old girl eighteen years old, from

-Kansas.</p>

-

-<p>"Dolly says her new roommate is nice, but

-she's too old and besides that she's engaged.

-Dolly told me all about it.</p>

-

-<p>"My aunt wouldn't let me room with Dolly

-because she said we would play all the time

-instead of studying our lessons. I guess she

-was afraid we would have a little fun. She

-told me in a letter that if she had known

-Dolly Russel was coming to this school she

-would have sent me somewhere else or kept

-me at home, no matter what Uncle George

-and Miss Smith said. I know why. Dolly

-has told the Kansas girl and some others

-about my aunt already, how cross she is and

-such things. I don't mind now what anybody

-says about Aunt Amelia since I have

-found out that she isn't any relation to me.

-She is just my aunt by marriage and you

-can't expect aunts by marriage to love you,

-and if your aunt doesn't love you, what's the

-use of loving your aunt.</p>

-

-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[Pg 223]</a></span></p>

-

-<p>"If I hadn't passed the entrance examinations

-here I couldn't have stayed. Dolly and

-a girl whose name is Janey somebody and I

-are the only little girls here. Janey is tall

-and wears her hair in a long, black braid.

-Mine's Dutch cut. Dolly Russel's is Dutch

-cut too. Janey calls us little kids and she

-tags around after the big girls. We don't

-care.</p>

-

-<p>"October 16.&mdash;There's another girl coming

-from way out west. Her folks are going to

-be in Chicago this winter and they want her

-in this school. The Kansas girl told Dolly

-and me.</p>

-

-<p>"October 17.&mdash;The new girl has come and

-they have put her with me. She's homesick.

-Her father brought her and then went right

-away. I didn't see him. I think I shall

-like the new girl. Her name is Florence

-Weston and she has more clothes than the

-Queen of Sheba. Miss Smith helped her unpack

-and I felt as if I would sink through

-to China when the new girl looked in our

-closet. It is a big closet and the hooks were

-nearly all empty because I haven't anything<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[Pg 224]</a></span>

-much to hang up. I'll never forget how I

-felt when the new girl said to me, 'Where are

-your dresses?' Before I could think of anything

-to say, Miss Smith sent me for the

-tack hammer and I didn't have to answer.</p>

-

-<p>"My room looked pretty lonesome after

-Dolly moved out, but now it is the nicest

-room in school because Florence Weston has

-so many beautiful things. She says this is

-horrid and I just ought to see her room at

-home. She can't talk about her home without

-crying. I know I'd cry if I had to go

-back to mine.</p>

-

-<p>"October 20.&mdash;That Janey is a queer girl.

-She won't look at me and I really think it is

-because I haven't any pretty dresses. She is

-in our room half the time, too, visiting with

-Florence. They are great chums and they

-lock arms and tell secrets and laugh and talk

-about what they are going to do next summer

-and where they are going Christmas and

-everything. I wish more than ever that I

-had Dolly for my roommate. I wouldn't be

-surprised if her father is richer'n Florence

-Weston's father.</p>

-

-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[Pg 225]</a></span></p>

-

-<p>"That Janey puts on airs. Her last name

-is Hopkins. She signs her name 'Janey C.

-Hopkins.' She never leaves out the 'C,' I

-wonder why.</p>

-

-<p>"October 21.&mdash;I like Florence Weston.

-She is not a bit like that proud Janey.</p>

-

-<p>"November 1.&mdash;Sometimes I wish I had

-never come here to school. Once in a while

-I feel more lonesome, almost&mdash;than I ever

-did at home. It is on account of that

-Janey C. Hopkins. She wants to room with

-Florence and she tried to get me to say I

-would move in with Laura Jones, the girl she

-rooms with. Janey says she's going to the

-principal. Let her go. Miss Smith told me

-not to worry, they won't let chums like

-Florence and Janey room together because

-they won't study.</p>

-

-<p>"November 2.&mdash;What did I tell you? I

-knew she'd be sorry. They won't let Janey

-room with Florence. Florence says she's

-glad of it. I suppose it is on account of

-hooks. Janey couldn't let her have more

-than half the hooks in the closet.</p>

-

-<p>"November 3.&mdash;It wasn't on account of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[Pg 226]</a></span>

-hooks. Florence told me one of Janey's

-secrets and I know now what the 'C' means

-in Janey's name and I know who Janey C.

-Hopkins is, and I should think she would remember

-me, but she doesn't. Janey told

-Florence that she is adopted and that her

-new mother took her from the Little Pilgrims'

-home before they moved out to Minnesota.

-I was so surprised I almost told

-Florence I came from that same home, but I

-am glad I didn't.</p>

-

-<p>"The only reason Florence doesn't want to

-room with Janey is because she lived in an

-orphan's home. She says you never can tell

-about adopted children and that maybe

-Janey's folks weren't nice, and anyway, that

-if she ever lived in an orphan's home she

-would keep still about it.</p>

-

-<p>"I think I shall keep still, but I could tell

-Miss Florence Weston one thing, my folks

-were nice if they did die. I could tell her

-what I read in that newspaper in the sea-chest,

-how my father just would go to South

-America with some men to make his fortune

-and how after a while my mother thought he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[Pg 227]</a></span>

-was dead and then she died suddenly and all

-about how I happened to be taken to the

-Little Pilgrims' Home in the strange city

-where my mother and I didn't know anybody

-and nobody knew us.</p>

-

-<p>"I could tell Florence Weston I guess that

-my father left my mother plenty of money

-and she wasn't poor, and after she died the

-folks she boarded with stole it all and pretty

-near everything she had and then packed up

-and went away and left me crying in the

-flat, and it just happened that some folks

-on the next floor knew what my name was

-and a few little things my mother told

-them.</p>

-

-<p>"I won't speak of the Little Pilgrims'

-Home, though, because I can't forget how Uncle

-George acted about it. It was a pleasant,

-happy home just the same, and when I grow

-up and can do what I want to I am going

-back and hunt for Mrs. Moore and I won't

-stop until I find her. I have missed her all

-my life. You can't help wondering why some

-mothers live and some mothers die, and why

-some children grow up in their own homes<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[Pg 228]</a></span>

-and other children don't have anybody to

-love them.</p>

-

-<p>"November 4.&mdash;Sunday. The queer things

-don't all happen in books. I am glad I have

-a diary to put things in that I don't want to

-tell Miss Smith nor Dolly. Just before dark

-I was in the back parlor with a lot of girls

-singing. When we were tired of singing we

-told stories about our first troubles. I kept

-still for once, I really couldn't think what my

-first one was anyway. Two or three girls said

-that when their mothers died, that was their

-first sorrow, but Florence Weston said that

-her first one was funny. She couldn't remember

-when her own father died so she

-can't count that. The father she has now is

-a step one.</p>

-

-<p>"Florence says she was a little bit of a girl

-when her mother took her one day to visit an

-orphan's home and she cried because she

-couldn't stay and have dinner with the little

-orphans. She says she remembers that one

-of the little girls wanted to go home with her

-and her mother and when she cried that little

-orphan girl cried too. They all laughed when<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[Pg 229]</a></span>

-Florence told her story, all but me. I knew

-then what my first sorrow was. What would

-Florence think if she knew I was that little

-orphan? I must never tell her though or she

-wouldn't room with me. I should think

-Florence would be the happiest girl in the

-world. I should be if I had her mother. I

-can see her now if I shut my eyes. Her

-hair was shining gold and her eyes were like

-the sky when the orchard is full of apple

-blossoms.</p>

-

-<p>"November 25.&mdash;Florence has gone to

-Chicago to stay until Monday morning because

-to-morrow is Thanksgiving day and her

-folks wanted to see her. Florence has two

-baby brothers and one little sister.</p>

-

-<p>"Dolly Russel's father and mother have

-come here to be with Dolly to-morrow and

-they have invited me to have dinner with

-them down town. I wonder what Aunt

-Amelia would say if she knew I am going to

-be with the Russels all day to-morrow. Miss

-Smith got permission for me to go, she knew

-what to say to the principal, and she kissed

-me too, right before Mrs. Russel. I am<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[Pg 230]</a></span>

-already beginning to dread going home next

-June.</p>

-

-<p>"Janey C. Hopkins is going home this

-afternoon and the Kansas girl is going with

-her. There will be ten girls all alone in the

-big dining-room here to-morrow. I guess

-they will feel queer. I know one thing, I

-would rather stay here with nobody but the

-matron Christmas, than to go home, and I am

-glad Aunt Amelia says it would be foolish for

-any one to take such a long journey so I could

-be home for the holidays.</p>

-

-<p>"Mrs. Russel is going to dress me all up to-morrow

-in one of Dolly's prettiest dresses. I

-do have some streaks of luck."</p>

-

-<hr class="chap" />

-

-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[Pg 231]</a></span></p>

-

-

-

-

-<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXII" id="CHAPTER_XXII"></a>CHAPTER XXII</h2>

-

-<p class="c">FLORENCE WESTON'S MOTHER</p>

-

-

-<p><span class="smcap">Marian</span> was studying Monday morning

-when Florence returned from Chicago. She

-burst into the room like a wind blown rose,

-even forgetting to close the door until she had

-hugged Marian and hugged her again.</p>

-

-<p>"Now shut your eyes tight," she commanded,

-"and don't you open them until I

-tell you to. You remember when you asked

-me if I had a picture of my mother and I said I

-hadn't anything only common photographs?

-well, you just wait."</p>

-

-<p>Marian closed her eyes while Florence

-dived into her satchel for a small package.</p>

-

-<p>"I have something in a little red leather

-case that will make you stare, Marian dear,

-you just wait."</p>

-

-<p>"Well, I am waiting," was the retort,

-"with my eyes shut so tight I can see purple

-and crimson spots by the million. Hurry up,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[Pg 232]</a></span>

-why don't you? Is it a watch with your

-mother's picture in it?"</p>

-

-<p>"No, guess again."</p>

-

-<p>"A locket?"</p>

-

-<p>"Dear me, no. It is something&mdash;three

-somethings that cost forty times as much as a

-watch or locket. Now open your eyes and

-look on the bureau."</p>

-

-<p>"Why don't you say something?" questioned

-Florence, as Marian stood speechless

-before three miniatures in gold frames.

-"That's my mother and our baby in the

-middle frame, and the girl on this side is my

-little sister and the boy in the other frame we

-call brother, just brother, since the baby

-came. Why Marian Lee! I never thought

-of it before, but you look like brother just as

-sure as the world!</p>

-

-<p>"Why, Marian! what's the matter, what

-makes you cry when you look at mamma's

-picture?"</p>

-

-<p>"Nothing, Florence, only I want a mother

-myself, I always wanted one."</p>

-

-<p>"You poor young one!" exclaimed Flor<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[Pg 233]</a></span>ence,

-"it must be dreadful not to have a

-mother."</p>

-

-<p>"It's like the Desert of Sahara!" Marian

-declared, dashing the tears from her eyes and

-making an attempt to smile. "You will see

-your mother again soon."</p>

-

-<p>"I know it, Marian, only think, three

-weeks more and then the holidays. Are you

-going home Wednesday night or Thursday

-morning?"</p>

-

-<p>"I am not going home until June," was the

-reply.</p>

-

-<p>"Can you stand it as long as that, Marian?"</p>

-

-<p>The mere thought of feeling badly about

-not being home for the holidays made the

-child laugh.</p>

-

-<p>"You are the queerest girl," exclaimed

-Florence, "you cry when I don't see anything

-to cry about and you laugh when I should

-think you would cry."</p>

-

-<p>Marian checked an impulse to explain.

-How could Florence understand? Florence,

-whose beautiful mother smiled from the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[Pg 234]</a></span>

-round, gold frame, the girl whose sister

-and brothers waited to welcome her

-home.</p>

-

-<p>"If they were mine," said Marian, gazing

-wistfully at the miniatures, "I would never

-leave them. I would rather be a dunce than

-go away to school."</p>

-

-<p>"Then my father wouldn't own you," said

-Florence, laughing. "Mamma says she's

-afraid he wouldn't have any patience if I disgraced

-him in school. You ought to belong

-to him, Marian, he would be proud of you.

-You know your lessons almost without studying

-and you have higher standings than the

-big girls. You've been highest in all your

-classes so far, haven't you?"</p>

-

-<p>"Yes," was the reply, "except in geometry,

-but what of it? Nobody cares."</p>

-

-<p>"Don't your folks at home? Aren't they

-proud of you?"</p>

-

-<p>"I used to hope they would be, Florence;

-but I tell you, nobody cares."</p>

-

-<p>"Well, haven't you any grandfathers or

-grandmothers or other aunts or uncles?"</p>

-

-<p>"I am not acquainted with them," said<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[Pg 235]</a></span>

-Marian. "My uncle hasn't any folks, only

-distant cousins."</p>

-

-<p>"That's just like my father," Florence interrupted.

-"His folks are all dead, though I

-have heard him mention one half brother with

-whom he wasn't friends. Mamma won't let

-me ask any questions about him. But,

-Marian, where are your mother's folks?"</p>

-

-<p>Where were they, indeed? Marian had

-never thought of them. "Well, you see," the

-child hastily suggested, "they don't live near

-us."</p>

-

-<p>The next time Florence saw Dolly Russel,

-she asked some questions that were gladly

-answered. "Go home!" exclaimed Dolly,

-"I shouldn't think she would want to go

-home! You see the St. Claires live right

-across the street from us and I have seen

-things with my own eyes that would astonish

-you. Besides that, a girl that used to work

-for the St. Claires, her name is Lala, works for

-us now, and if she didn't tell things that

-would make your eyes pop out of your head!

-Shall I tell you how they used to treat that

-poor little Marian? She's the dearest young<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[Pg 236]</a></span>

-one, too&mdash;Lala says so&mdash;only mamma has always

-told me that it's wretched taste to listen

-to folks like Lala."</p>

-

-<p>"Yes, do tell me," insisted Florence, and by

-the time Dolly Russel had told all she knew,

-Florence Weston was in a high state of indignation.</p>

-

-<p>"Oh, her uncle and her little cousin are all

-right," remonstrated Dolly; "they are not

-like the aunt."</p>

-

-<p>"I know what I shall do," cried Florence.

-"Oh, I know! I shall tell mamma all about

-Marian and ask if I may invite her to Chicago

-for the holidays. She would have one good

-time, I tell you. I like Marian anyway, she

-is just as sweet as she can be. I should be

-miserable if I were in her place, but she sings

-all the day long. My little sister would love

-her and so would brother and the baby. I

-am going straight to my room and write the

-letter this minute."</p>

-

-<p>"Mrs. St. Claire won't let Marian go,"

-warned Dolly; "you just wait and see. She

-doesn't want Marian to have one speck of

-fun."</p>

-

-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[Pg 237]</a></span></p>

-

-<p>Nevertheless Florence Weston wrote the

-letter to her mother and in due time came

-the expected invitation. At first Marian was

-too overjoyed for words: then she thought of

-Aunt Amelia and hope left her countenance.

-"I know what I will do," she said at last,

-"I will ask Miss Smith to write to Uncle

-George. Maybe then he will let me go. Nobody

-knows how much I want to see your

-mother."</p>

-

-<p>Florence laughed. "I think I do," she said.

-"I have told my mother how you worship

-her miniature. I shouldn't be surprised to

-come in some day and find you on your

-knees before it. My mother is pretty and

-she is lovely and kind, but I don't see how

-anybody could care so much for her picture.

-Most of the girls just rave over brother, but

-you don't look at him. Just wait until you

-see him, Marian. I'll teach him to call you

-sister. He says 'Ta' for sister."</p>

-

-<p>"Oh, I wish you would," said Marian, "I

-love babies and I never was anybody's sister

-of course. He is just as cunning as he can

-be. I am going now to ask Miss Smith to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[Pg 238]</a></span>

-write to Uncle George. She can get him to

-say yes if anybody can."</p>

-

-<p>Miss Smith wrote and rewrote the letter,

-then waited for an answer with even less patience

-than Marian. At last it came, in Aunt

-Amelia's handwriting. Marian's heart sank

-when she saw the envelope. Her fears were

-well founded. Aunt Amelia was surprised

-to find that Marian knew no better than to

-trouble Miss Smith as she had. She might

-have known that Uncle George would not

-approve of her going to a city the size of

-Chicago to pass the holidays with strangers.

-Miss Smith, Dolly and Florence were indignant.

-Even Janey did some unselfish sputtering.</p>

-

-<p>"Anything's better than going home," Marian

-reasoned at last, "and what's the use of

-crying about what you can't help. I ought

-to be glad it isn't June."</p>

-

-<p>As a matter of fact, the holidays passed

-pleasantly for Marian in the big deserted

-house. The matron and the teachers who

-were left did everything in their power to

-please the child, and on Christmas Day the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[Pg 239]</a></span>

-postman left her more gifts than she had ever

-received before. There were no potatoes in

-her stocking that year. During the holidays,

-Marian kept the photograph of her own mother

-beside the miniatures, and as the days went

-by she became convinced that her mother

-and Florence Weston's mother looked much

-alike.</p>

-

-<p>"My mother is prettier," she said aloud the

-last day of the old year, "but she is dead and

-as long as I live I never can see her. Perhaps

-I may see this other mother and perhaps

-she may love me. I shall have to put my

-picture away because it will get faded and

-spoiled, and I think I will pretend that

-Florence Weston's mother is my mother.

-Then I won't feel so lonesome. I never

-thought of pretending to have a mother before."</p>

-

-<p>When Florence returned after the holidays,

-she was unable to account for the change in

-Marian. The child was radiantly happy.

-Tears no longer filled her eyes when she

-gazed too intently upon the miniatures. Instead,

-she smiled back at the faces and some<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[Pg 240]</a></span>times

-waved her hand to them when she left

-the room. How could Florence dream that

-Marian had taken the little brothers, the sister

-and the mother for her own.</p>

-

-<hr class="chap" />

-

-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[Pg 241]</a></span></p>

-

-

-

-

-<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXIII" id="CHAPTER_XXIII"></a>CHAPTER XXIII</h2>

-

-<p class="c">HOW MARIAN CROSSED THE RAINBOW BRIDGE</p>

-

-

-<p><span class="smcap">June</span> sent her messengers early. Every

-blade of grass that pushed its way through

-the brown earth, every bursting lilac bud or

-ambitious maple, spoke to Marian of June.

-Returning birds warbled the story and the

-world rejoiced. Teachers and pupils alike

-talked of June until it seemed to Marian that

-all nature and educational institutions had

-but one object, and that was to welcome June.

-She dreaded it. June meant Aunt Amelia

-and the end of all happiness. Yet Marian

-was only one. Ninety-nine other girls were

-looking eagerly forward to the close of school.

-They talked of it everywhere and at all

-hours.</p>

-

-<p>It was the one subject of conversation in

-which Marian had no share, one joy beyond

-her grasp. Try hard as she would, Marian

-couldn't pretend to be glad she was going<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[Pg 242]</a></span>

-home. That was a game for which she felt

-no enthusiasm. The mother, the little sister

-and the baby brothers in the golden frames

-would soon be gone, and gone forever. "We're

-all going back West just as soon as school

-closes," Florence had told her. "Next winter

-we will be home."</p>

-

-<p>Nor was that all that Florence told Marian.

-She pictured the beautiful home in the West

-in the midst of her father's broad lands. She

-described her room, all sunshine and comfort,

-and the great house echoing with music and

-laughter. She told Marian of the gardens and

-the stables, of the horses, ponies and many

-pets. She described the river and the hills

-and the mountain peaks beyond. Florence

-almost forgot the presence of her wide eyed

-roommate in telling of the holiday celebrations

-at home and of the wondrous glory of

-the annual Christmas tree. Best of all, Florence

-spoke tenderly of her mother and her

-voice grew tender in speaking of the woman

-who never scolded but was always gentle and

-kind; the beautiful mother with the bright,

-gold hair. Florence had so much to say about<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[Pg 243]</a></span>

-the little sister, brother and the baby, that

-Marian felt as if she knew them all.</p>

-

-<p>Thus it was that Florence Weston was going

-home and Marian Lee was returning to

-Aunt Amelia. Miss Smith understood all

-about it and it grieved her. She had seen

-Aunt Amelia and that was enough. She

-didn't wonder that Marian's eyes grew sad and

-wistful as the days lengthened. At last Miss

-Virginia Smith thought of a way to win smiles

-from Marian. The botany class had been offered

-a prize. A railroad president, interested

-in the school had promised ten dollars in gold

-to the member of the botany class who made

-the best herbarium. Marian might not win

-the prize, but it would give her pleasure to

-try. She would have something more agreeable

-to think of than Aunt Amelia.</p>

-

-<p>It was with some difficulty that Miss Smith

-obtained permission from the principal for

-Marian to enter the class, and but for the experience

-in the country school, the objection

-that Marian was too young would have barred

-her out. Miss Smith was right. Marian was

-delighted and for hours at a time Aunt Amelia<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[Pg 244]</a></span>

-vanished from her thoughts. The members

-of the botany class were surprised that such a

-little girl learned hard lessons so easily, but

-Miss Smith only laughed.</p>

-

-<p>In the beginning when the spring flowers

-came and every wayside bloom suggested a

-specimen, fully half the class intended to win

-the prize, Marian among the number. One

-by one the contestants dropped out as the

-weeks passed, leaving Marian with perhaps

-half a dozen rivals. At that early day, Miss

-Virginia Smith, who had no favorites, rejoiced

-secretly in the belief that Marian would win

-the prize. The commonest weed became

-beautiful beneath her hands and the number

-of specimens she found on the school grounds

-alone, exceeded all previous records. There

-was never so much as a leaf carelessly pressed

-among Marian's specimens. At last the child

-began to believe the prize would be hers and

-for the first time, going home lost its terrors.</p>

-

-<p>If she won the prize, Uncle George would

-be proud of her and she would be happy.

-Finally Marian wrote to her uncle, telling

-him of the glories of commencement week.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[Pg 245]</a></span>

-She was to recite "The Witch's Daughter" at

-the entertainment, to take part in the operetta

-and to sing commencement morning with

-three other little girls. More than that, she

-was sure to win the prize, even her rivals admitted

-it. "Now Uncle George," the letter

-proceeded, "please be sure and come because

-I want somebody that is my relation to be

-here. Florence Weston says her father would

-come from Honolulu to see her win a prize, so

-please come, Uncle George, or maybe Florence

-will think nobody cares for me."</p>

-

-<p>Marian was scarcely prepared to receive the

-answer that came to her letter from Aunt

-Amelia. Uncle George was too busy a man

-to take so long a journey for nothing. Aunt

-Amelia would come the day after commencement

-and pack Marian's trunk. So far as

-winning the prize was concerned, Uncle George

-expected Marian to win a prize if one were

-offered. That was a small way to show her

-gratitude for all that had been done for her.

-The child lost the letter. Janey C. Hopkins

-found and read it. Before sunset every one

-of the ninety-nine knew the contents. When<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[Pg 246]</a></span>

-night settled down upon the school, one hundred

-girls were thinking of Aunt Amelia, one

-in tears, the ninety-nine with indignation.</p>

-

-<p>The following morning Marian replied to

-her aunt's letter, begging to be allowed to go

-home with Dolly Russel and her mother, and

-assuring Aunt Amelia that she could pack her

-own trunk. Even that request was denied.

-Aunt Amelia would call for Marian the day

-after commencement and she wished to hear

-nothing further on the subject. She might

-have heard more had she not been beyond

-sound of the ninety-nine voices. Marian was

-too crushed for words. That is, she was

-crushed for a day. Her spirits revived as

-commencement week drew near and Miss

-Smith and the ninety-nine did so much to

-make her forget everything unpleasant. Marian

-couldn't understand why the girls were

-so kind nor why Janey C. Hopkins took a

-sudden interest in her happiness. The Sunday

-before commencement Marian wore

-Janey's prettiest gown to church. It was

-rather large for Marian but neither she nor

-Janey found that an objection. Miss Smith<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[Pg 247]</a></span>

-approved and Sunday was a bright day for

-Aunt Amelia's little niece.</p>

-

-<p>Monday, Dolly Russel's mother came and

-thanks to her, Marian appeared in no more

-garments that had disgraced the hooks in her

-closet. She danced through the halls in the

-daintiest of Dolly's belongings, and was happy

-as Mrs. Russel wished her to be.</p>

-

-<p>Every hour brought new guests and in

-the excitement of meeting nearly all the

-friends of the ninety-nine and being kissed

-and petted by ever so many mothers, Marian

-forgot Aunt Amelia. Tuesday evening at the

-entertainment she did her part well and was

-so enthusiastically applauded, her cheeks grew

-red as the sash she wore, and that is saying a

-great deal, as Dolly's sash was a bright scarlet,

-the envy of the ninety-nine.</p>

-

-<p>Florence Weston's father and mother were

-present at the entertainment, but Marian

-looked for them in vain. "They saw you

-just the same," Florence insisted when she

-and Marian were undressing that night, "and

-mamma said if it hadn't been so late she

-would have come up to our room to-night,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[Pg 248]</a></span>

-but she thought they had better get back to

-the hotel and you and I must settle down as

-quickly as we can. I can hardly keep my eyes

-open." Florence fell asleep with a smile

-upon her face. Marian's pillow was wet with

-tears before she drifted into troubled dreams

-of Aunt Amelia.</p>

-

-<p>"Isn't it too bad!" exclaimed Florence the

-next morning. "They are going to present

-the prize in the dining-room at breakfast and

-my father and mother won't be up here until

-time for the exercises in the chapel. I wanted

-them to see you get the prize. I'm so disappointed.

-Never mind, though, you will see

-mamma all the afternoon, because she is going

-to pack my things. We leave to-morrow. I

-am going down-town with papa and mamma

-when we get through packing and stay all

-night. You will have the room all to yourself.

-What? are you crying, Marian? Why,

-I'll come back in the morning and see you

-before I go. I wouldn't cry if I were you!"</p>

-

-<p>It was easy enough for a girl who had every

-earthly blessing to talk cheerfully to a weary

-little pilgrim.</p>

-

-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[Pg 249]</a></span></p>

-

-<p>Marian experienced the bitterest moment

-of her life when the prize was presented in

-the dining-room. There were many fathers

-and mothers there, and other relatives of the

-ninety-nine who joined in cheering the little

-victor. Yet Marian wept and would not be

-comforted. Even Miss Smith had no influence.

-In spite of the sympathetic arms that

-gathered her in, Marian felt utterly forsaken.

-She had won the prize, but what could it

-mean to a motherless, fatherless, almost

-homeless child? After breakfast, Marian, slipping

-away from Miss Smith and the friendly

-strangers, sought a deserted music room on

-the fourth floor where she cried until her courage

-returned: until hope banished tears. Perhaps

-Uncle George would be pleased after all.</p>

-

-<p>"Where have you been?" demanded Florence

-when Marian returned to her room. "I

-have hunted for you everywhere. What a

-little goose you were to cry in the dining-room.

-Why, your eyes are red yet."</p>

-

-<p>The only answer was a laugh as Marian

-bathed her tear-stained face.</p>

-

-<p>"I want you to look pretty when mamma<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[Pg 250]</a></span>

-sees you," continued Florence, "so don't you

-dare be silly again."</p>

-

-<p>In spite of the warning, Marian was obliged

-to seek the obscurity of the fourth floor music

-room later in the day, before she thought of

-another refuge&mdash;Miss Smith's room. The

-sight of so many happy girls with their mothers

-was more than she could endure and Miss

-Smith understood. Even the thought of

-seeing Florence Weston's mother was a

-troubled one, for alas! she couldn't beg to go

-with the woman as she once did in the Little

-Pilgrims' Home.</p>

-

-<p>When the child was sure that Florence and

-her mother were gone and while Miss Smith

-was busy in the office, she returned to her

-room. "The trunks are here yet," observed

-Marian, "but may be they won't send for

-them until morning," and utterly worn out

-by the day's excitement, the child threw herself

-upon the bed and sobbed in an abandonment

-of grief.</p>

-

-<p>Half an hour later the door was opened by

-a woman who closed it softly when she saw

-Marian. "Poor little dear," she whispered,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[Pg 251]</a></span>

-and bending over the sleeping child, kissed

-her. Marian was dreaming of her mother.</p>

-

-<p>"Poor little dear," repeated the woman, and

-kissed her again. That kiss roused the child.

-Opening her eyes, she threw her arms around

-the woman's neck, exclaiming wildly,</p>

-

-<p>"My mother, oh, my mother!"</p>

-

-<p>"But I am not your mother, dear," remonstrated

-the woman, trying to release herself

-from the clinging arms. "I am Florence

-Weston's mother. I have come for her little

-satchel that we forgot. Cuddle down, dear,

-and go to sleep again."</p>

-

-<p>At that, Marian seemed to realize her mistake

-and cried so pitifully, Florence Weston's

-mother took her in her arms and sitting in a

-low rocker held Marian and tried to quiet her.</p>

-

-<p>The door opened and Florence entered.

-"Why mamma, what is the matter?" she began,

-but without waiting for a reply, she was

-gone, returning in a moment with her father.

-"Now what is the matter with poor Marian?"

-she repeated.</p>

-

-<p>"Nothing," explained Marian, "only everything."</p>

-

-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[Pg 252]</a></span></p>

-

-<p>"She thought I was her mother, Florence,

-the poor little girl; there, there, dear, don't

-cry. She was only half awake and she says I

-look like her mother's picture."</p>

-

-<p>"You do, you look just like the picture,"

-sobbed Marian.</p>

-

-<p>"What picture?" asked the man; "this

-child is the image of brother. What picture,

-I say?"</p>

-

-<p>"Oh, she means mamma's miniature," said

-Florence.</p>

-

-<p>"I don't mean the miniature," Marian interrupted,

-"I mean my own mother's picture,"

-and the child, kneeling before her small trunk

-quickly found the photograph of her father

-and mother. "There! doesn't she look like

-my mother?"</p>

-

-<p>There was a moment of breathless silence

-as Florence Weston's father and mother gazed

-at the small card. The woman was the first

-to speak.</p>

-

-<p>"Why, Richard Lee!" she exclaimed.

-"That must be a photograph of you!"</p>

-

-<p>"It is," was the reply, "it is a picture of

-me and of my dead wife, but the baby died too."</p>

-

-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[Pg 253]</a></span></p>

-

-<p>"Well, I didn't die," cried Marian. "I was

-two months old when my father went away,

-and when my mother died, the folks wrote to

-the place where my father was the last time

-they knew anything about him, and I s'pose

-they told him I was dead, but I wasn't, and

-that's my mother. Uncle George knows

-it&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

-

-<p>"Uncle George, my brother George," for a

-moment it was the man who seemed to be

-dreaming. Then a light broke over his face

-as he snatched Marian and said, "Why, little

-girl, you are my child."</p>

-

-<p>"And my mother will be your mother,"

-Florence put in, "so what are you and mamma

-crying about now?"</p>

-

-<p>"Didn't you ever hear," said Marian, smiling

-through her tears, "that sometimes folks

-cry for joy?"</p>

-

-<p>It was unnecessary for Aunt Amelia to take

-the long journey. Marian's father telegraphed

-for Uncle George who arrived the next day

-with papers Marian knew nothing about,

-proving beyond question the identity of the

-child.</p>

-

-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[Pg 254]</a></span></p>

-

-<p>The little girl couldn't understand the silent

-greeting between the brothers, nor why Uncle

-George was so deeply affected when she talked

-of his kindness to her and the many happy

-days she thanked him for since he found her

-in the Little Pilgrims' Home. Neither could

-she understand what her father meant when

-he spoke of a debt of gratitude too deep for

-words.</p>

-

-<p>Marian only knew that unpleasant memories

-slipped away like a dream when Uncle George

-left her with her father and mother: when he

-smiled and told her he was glad she was going

-home.</p>

-

-<hr class="r5" />

-

-<div class="transnote">

-<p class="ph2">Transcriber Notes</p>

-<p>Retained anachronistic and non-standard spellings as printed.<br />

-Free use of quotes, typical of the time, is retained.</p>

-</div>

-

-

-

-

-

-

-

-

-<pre>

-

-

-

-

-

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-Frances Margaret Fox and Frank T. Merrill

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-</pre>

-

-</body>

-</html>

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+    "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd">
+<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en">
+  <head>
+    <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=UTF-8" />
+    <meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" />
+    <title>
+      The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Rainbow Bridge, by FRANCES MARGARET FOX.
+    </title>
+<link rel="coverpage" href="images/cover.jpg" />
+    <style type="text/css">
+
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+hr.chap {width: 65%; margin-left: 17.5%; margin-right: 17.5%;}
+
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+.poem span.i2  {display: block; margin-left:   1em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;}
+
+/* Transcriber's notes */
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+    color: black;
+     font-size:smaller;
+     padding:0.5em;
+     margin-bottom:5em;
+     font-family:sans-serif, serif; }
+    </style>
+  </head>
+<body>
+<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 55837 ***</div>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+    <img src="images/cover.jpg"
+         alt="Book front cover" />
+  </div>
+
+<p class="ph1"><span class="gesperrt">The Rainbow Bridge</span></p>
+
+
+<div class='box'>
+
+<p class="ph3">BOOKS BY<br />
+FRANCES MARGARET FOX</p>
+
+<hr class="r5" />
+
+<p class="ht"><b>WHAT GLADYS SAW.</b> <span class="smcap">A Nature Story of<br />
+Farm and Forest.</span> With full page illustration.<br />
+Containing 318 pages. Cloth bound. Price, $1.25.</p>
+
+<p class="ht"><b>THE RAINBOW BRIDGE.</b> <span class="smcap">A Story.</span> With<br />
+full page colored frontispiece. Containing 254<br />
+pages. Cloth bound. Price, $1.25.</p>
+
+</div>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+<img src="images/fig1.jpg" alt="" />
+<p class="caption center">MRS. MOORE ROCKED A BABY BEFORE THE NURSERY FIRE.
+</p>
+</div>
+
+<div class="newpage"></div>
+
+<h1>The Rainbow Bridge</h1>
+
+<p class="c">
+
+A Story<br />
+<br />
+By<br />
+FRANCES MARGARET FOX<br />
+<br />
+<i>Author of "What Gladys Saw," "Farmer<br />
+Brown and the Birds," etc.</i><br />
+<br />
+<span class="smcap">Illustrated by</span><br />
+FRANK T. MERRILL
+</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+<img src="images/fig2.jpg" alt="" />
+</div>
+
+<p class="c">
+W. A. WILDE COMPANY<br />
+BOSTON&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;  CHICAGO
+</p>
+
+<div class="newpage"></div>
+
+<p class="c">
+<i>Copyright, 1905</i><br />
+<span class="smcap">By W. A. Wilde Company</span><br />
+<br />
+<i>All rights reserved</i><br />
+<br />
+</p>
+
+<hr class="r5" />
+
+<div class="newpage"></div>
+
+<p class="c">
+
+<i>To<br />
+the dear friend of my childhood<br />
+and later years<br />
+Mrs. William W. Crouch</i><br />
+</p>
+
+<div class="newpage"></div>
+
+<h2>Contents</h2>
+
+
+
+
+
+<div class="center">
+<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" summary="Contents">
+<tr><td class="tdr">I.</td><td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_I"><span class="smcap">A Little Pilgrim Begins a Journey</span></a></td><td class="tdr">11</td></tr>
+<tr><td class="tdr">II.</td><td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_II"><span class="smcap">Marian's First Day in School</span></a></td><td class="tdr">19</td></tr>
+<tr><td class="tdr">III.</td><td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_III"><span class="smcap">She Goes to Church</span></a></td><td class="tdr">27</td></tr>
+<tr><td class="tdr">IV.</td><td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_IV"><span class="smcap">Aunt Amelia</span></a></td><td class="tdr">40</td></tr>
+<tr><td class="tdr">V.</td><td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_V"><span class="smcap">Marian's New Home</span></a></td><td class="tdr">48</td></tr>
+<tr><td class="tdr">VI.</td><td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_VI"><span class="smcap">That Yellow Cucumber</span></a></td><td class="tdr">58</td></tr>
+<tr><td class="tdr">VII.</td><td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_VII"><span class="smcap">An Undeserving Child</span></a></td><td class="tdr">66</td></tr>
+<tr><td class="tdr">VIII.</td><td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_VIII"><span class="smcap">In the Name of Santa Claus</span></a></td><td class="tdr">73</td></tr>
+<tr><td class="tdr">IX.</td><td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_IX"><span class="smcap">At the Rich Man's Table</span></a></td><td class="tdr">83</td></tr>
+<tr><td class="tdr">X.</td><td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_X"><span class="smcap">A Game of Sliced Birds</span></a></td><td class="tdr">94</td></tr>
+<tr><td class="tdr">XI.</td><td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XI"><span class="smcap">The Way of the Transgressor</span></a></td><td class="tdr">105</td></tr>
+<tr><td class="tdr">XII.</td><td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XII"><span class="smcap">Marian's Diary</span></a></td><td class="tdr">127</td></tr>
+<tr><td class="tdr">XIII.</td><td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIII"><span class="smcap">Diphtheria</span></a></td><td class="tdr">146</td></tr>
+<tr><td class="tdr">XIV.</td><td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIV"><span class="smcap">Musical Conversations</span></a></td><td class="tdr">163</td></tr>
+<tr><td class="tdr">XV.</td><td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XV"><span class="smcap">Little Sister to the Dandelion</span></a></td><td class="tdr">173</td></tr>
+<tr><td class="tdr">XVI.</td><td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVI"><span class="smcap">Professor Lee, Botanist</span></a></td><td class="tdr">185</td></tr>
+<tr><td class="tdr">XVII.</td><td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVII"><span class="smcap">The Composition on Wild Flowers</span></a></td><td class="tdr">192</td></tr>
+<tr><td class="tdr">XVIII.</td><td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVIII"><span class="smcap">Marian's Letter Home</span></a></td><td class="tdr">199</td></tr>
+<tr><td class="tdr">XIX.</td><td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIX"><span class="smcap">The Most Truthful Child in School</span></a></td><td class="tdr">204</td></tr>
+<tr><td class="tdr">XX.</td><td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XX"><span class="smcap">More Changes</span></a></td><td class="tdr">215</td></tr>
+<tr><td class="tdr">XXI.</td><td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXI"><span class="smcap">Marian Remembers Her Diary</span></a></td><td class="tdr">220</td></tr>
+<tr><td class="tdr">XXII.</td><td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXII"><span class="smcap">Florence Weston's Mother</span></a></td><td class="tdr">231</td></tr>
+<tr><td class="tdr">XXIII.</td><td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXIII"><span class="smcap">How Marian Crossed the Rainbow Bridge</span></a></td><td class="tdr">241</td></tr>
+</table></div>
+
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_I" id="CHAPTER_I"></a>CHAPTER I</h2>
+
+<p class="c">A LITTLE PILGRIM BEGINS A JOURNEY</p>
+
+
+<p><span class="smcap">There</span> was always room for one more in
+the Home for Little Pilgrims. Especially was
+this true of the nursery; not because the nursery
+was so large, nor because there was the
+least danger that the calico cats might be
+lonesome, but Mrs. Moore loved babies. It
+made no difference to her whether the wee
+strangers were white or black, bright or stupid,
+she treated them all alike. They were dressed,
+undressed, bathed, fed and put to sleep at exactly
+the same hours every day, that is, they
+were laid in their cribs whenever it was time
+for them to go to sleep. Little Pilgrims were
+never rocked and Mrs. Moore had no time for
+lullaby songs, whatever may have been her
+inclination.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Yet there came a night when Mrs. Moore
+rocked a baby before the nursery fire and sung
+to it all the songs she knew. That was the
+night Marian Lee entered the Home with
+bright eyes wide open. She not only had
+her eyes open when she was placed in Mrs.
+Moore's arms, but she kept them open and
+somehow compelled Mrs. Moore to break her
+own rules and do as she had never done with
+a new baby.</p>
+
+<p>To be sure, Marian Lee couldn't talk, having
+started on her pilgrimage only six months before,
+but in a way of her own, she declared
+herself well pleased with the Home and with
+the nursery in particular. She enjoyed her
+bath and said so. The warm fire in the grate
+pleased her and Mrs. Moore's face was lovely,
+if a baby's ideas were of any account. The
+trouble began when Marian was carried into
+the still room where the sleeping Pilgrims
+were, and placed in a crib. The minute her
+head touched the pillow she began to cry.
+When Mrs. Moore left her, she cried louder.
+That awakened tiny Joe in the nearest crib
+and when he began to wail, Bennie and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span>
+Johnnie, Sam and Katie, as well as half a
+dozen others joined in the chorus. Not to
+be outdone by these older Pilgrims, Marian
+screamed louder than any of them until Mrs.
+Moore took her back to the fire and quiet was
+restored.</p>
+
+<p>Now it was strictly against Mrs. Moore's
+rules to humor a baby in that fashion, and
+Mrs. Moore told Marian so, although she added
+in the next breath, "Poor little dear." The
+"poor little dear" was cooing once more and
+there really seemed nothing to do but kiss,
+and cuddle and rock the baby as her own
+mother might have done. She was so unlike
+the others in the Home; so soft, round and
+beautiful.</p>
+
+<p>"You are no ordinary baby, precious one,"
+said Mrs. Moore, whereupon Marian laughed,
+flourished her hands and seemed much pleased.
+"I think," continued Mrs. Moore, as she kissed
+the pink fists, "I think some one has talked
+to you a great deal. My babies are different,
+poor little things, they don't talk back as you
+do."</p>
+
+<p>Before long, the rows of white cribs in the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span>
+other room were forgotten and Mrs. Moore began
+singing to Marian as though she were the
+only baby in the big Home. Lullaby after
+lullaby she sang while the fire burned low,
+yet the baby would not sleep. Softly at last,
+Mrs. Moore began a lullaby long unsung:</p>
+
+<div class="poem-container">
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"All the little birdies have gone to sleep,</span><br />
+<span class="i2">Why does my pet so wide awake keep?</span><br />
+<span class="i0">Peep, peep, go to sleep, peep, peep, go to sleep.</span><br />
+</div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"All the little babies their prayers have said,</span><br />
+<span class="i2">Their mothers have tucked them up snugly in bed.</span><br />
+<span class="i0">Peep, peep, go to sleep, peep, peep, go to sleep."</span><br />
+</div>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p>When the blue eyes closed, Mrs. Moore suddenly
+realized it was but another Little Pilgrim
+that she held and not her own baby so
+often hushed to sleep by that old lullaby
+many years ago. For the sake of that baby,
+Mrs. Moore had loved all the motherless little
+ones in the Home&mdash;all the unfortunate, neglected
+waifs brought to its doors. She had
+loved them impartially until that night. She
+had never before asked who a baby was, nor
+what its surroundings had been. Its future<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span>
+was her only concern. To care for each baby
+while it was in the nursery and to be sure it
+was placed in a good home when taken away,
+was all she wished to know. No baby had
+ever crept into Mrs. Moore's innermost heart
+as Marian did that night. An hour later the
+superintendent was surprised when Mrs. Moore
+asked for the history of that latest Little Pilgrim.</p>
+
+<p>"She's a fine child," mused the superintendent,
+adding cheerfully, "we'll have no
+trouble finding a home for her; I doubt if
+she's here a month."</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Moore said nothing but she was sure
+Marian would stay more than a month.
+After she heard the superintendent's story,
+she was more sure of it. Thus it happened
+that tiny Joe, who was not a bit attractive, and
+Bennie and Johnnie, who were disagreeable
+babies if such a thing may be, and Sam and
+Katie whose fathers and mothers were drunkards,
+as well as a dozen other little waifs,
+were given away long before Marian learned
+to talk: Marian, the beautiful baby, was
+somehow always kept behind Mrs. Moore's<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span>
+skirts. As the child grew older, she was still
+kept in the background. The plainest dresses
+ever sent in to Little Pilgrims, were given to
+Marian. Her hair was kept short and when
+special visitors were expected, she was taken
+to the playground by an older girl. All this
+time a happier baby never lived than Marian.
+No one in the Home knew how tenderly Mrs.
+Moore loved her. No one knew of the caresses
+lavished upon her when the infant
+Pilgrims were busy with their blocks or
+asleep in their cribs.</p>
+
+<p>At last the superintendent questioned Mrs.
+Moore. He said it seemed strange that no
+one wished to adopt so lovely a child. Mrs.
+Moore explained. She told the superintendent
+she hoped Marian would be claimed by
+folks of her own, but if not&mdash;Mrs. Moore
+hesitated at that and the superintendent
+understood.</p>
+
+<p>"We won't give her away," he promised,
+"until we find the right kind of a mother
+for her. That child shall have a good
+home."</p>
+
+<p>Too soon to please Mrs. Moore, Marian out<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span>grew
+her crib and went to sleep in the dormitory.
+The child was pleased with the
+change, especially as Mrs. Moore tucked her
+in bed and kissed her every night just as she
+had done in the nursery. Marian was glad
+to be no longer a baby. The dormitory with
+its rows and rows of little white beds, delighted
+the child, and to be allowed to sit up
+hours after the babies were asleep was pure
+joy.</p>
+
+<p>The dining-room was another pleasure. To
+sit down to dinner with two hundred little
+girls and boys and to be given one of the two
+hundred bright bibs, filled her heart with
+pride. The bibs certainly were an attraction.
+Marian was glad hers was pink. She
+buttoned it to her chair after dinner just as
+she saw the others do.</p>
+
+<p>One thing troubled Marian. She wished
+Mrs. Moore to sit at the table beside her and
+drink milk from a big, white mug. "Do
+childrens always have dinner all alone?"
+she asked.</p>
+
+<p>Instead of answering the child, Mrs. Moore
+told her to run away and play. Then she<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span>
+looked out of the window for a long, long time.
+Perhaps she had done wrong after all in keeping
+the baby so long in a "Home with a
+capital H."</p>
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_II" id="CHAPTER_II"></a>CHAPTER II</h2>
+
+<p class="c">MARIAN'S FIRST DAY IN SCHOOL</p>
+
+
+<p><span class="smcap">There</span> was no kindergarten in the Home
+for Little Pilgrims when Marian was a baby.
+The child was scarcely five when she marched
+into the schoolroom to join the changing ranks
+of little folks who were such a puzzle to their
+teacher. Every day one or more new faces
+appeared in that schoolroom and every day
+familiar faces were gone. For that reason
+alone it was a hard school to manage.</p>
+
+<p>The teacher, who had been many years in
+the Home, smiled as she found a seat for
+Marian in the front row. Marian at least
+might be depended upon to come regularly to
+school: then, too, she would learn easily and
+be a credit to her instructor. Plain dresses
+and short hair might do their worst, the face
+of the child attracted attention. The teacher
+smiled again as Marian sat in the front seat
+before her, with hands folded, waiting to see
+what might happen next.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Roll call interested the child. She wondered
+why the little girls and boys said
+"Present" when the teacher read their
+names from a big book. Once in a while
+when a name was called, nobody answered.
+Finally the teacher, smiling once more, said,
+"Marian Lee." The little girl sat perfectly
+still with lips tightly closed.</p>
+
+<p>"You must say 'present' when your name
+is called," suggested the teacher.</p>
+
+<p>No response.</p>
+
+<p>"Say present," the teacher repeated.</p>
+
+<p>"But I don't like this kind of play,"
+Marian protested, and then wondered why
+all the children laughed and the teacher
+looked annoyed.</p>
+
+<p>"But you must say present," the young
+lady insisted and Marian obeyed, though she
+thought it a silly game.</p>
+
+<p>The things that happened in the schoolroom
+that morning were many and queer. A
+little boy had to stand on the floor in front
+of the teacher's desk because he threw a
+paper wad. Then when the teacher wasn't
+looking he aimed another at Marian and hit<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span>
+her on the nose and when Marian laughed
+aloud, the teacher, who didn't know what
+happened, shook her head and looked cross.
+It distressed Marian so to have the teacher
+look cross that she felt miserable and wondered
+what folks went to school for anyway.
+A few moments later, she knew. The primer
+class was called and Marian, being told to do
+so, followed a dozen Little Pilgrims to the
+recitation seat where she was told that children
+go to school to learn their letters.
+Marian knew her letters, having learned
+them from the blocks in the nursery.</p>
+
+<p>"You must learn to read," advised the
+teacher, and Marian stared helplessly about
+the schoolroom. She felt sure it wouldn't be
+a bit of fun to learn to read. Nor was it, if
+her first lesson was a sample.</p>
+
+<p>It wasn't long before Marian was tired of
+sitting still. She wasn't used to it. At last
+she remembered that in her pocket was a
+china doll, an inch high. On her desk was
+the new primer. The cover was pasteboard
+and of course one could chew pasteboard. The
+china doll needed a crib and as there seemed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span>
+nothing to make a crib of but the cover of
+her primer, Marian chewed a corner of it,
+flattened it out and fitted the doll in. It
+pleased her, and she showed it to the little
+girl in the next seat. Soon the teacher
+noticed that Marian was turning around
+and showing her primer to all the children
+near, and the children were smiling.</p>
+
+<p>"Marian, bring your book to me," said the
+teacher. Then there was trouble. Little Pilgrims
+had to be taught not to chew their
+books. The teacher gave Marian what one
+of the older girls called a "Lecture," and
+Marian cried.</p>
+
+<p>"I didn't have anything to do," she sobbed.</p>
+
+<p>"Nothing to do?" exclaimed the teacher,
+"why, little girl, you should study your lesson
+as you see the other children doing. That
+is why you are in school&mdash;to study."</p>
+
+<p>Marian went to her seat, but how to study
+she didn't know. She watched the other children
+bending over their books, making noises
+with their lips, so she bent over her primer
+and made so much noise the teacher told her
+she must keep still.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Why, Marian," said the young lady,
+"what makes you so naughty? I thought
+you were a good little girl!"</p>
+
+<p>Poor Marian didn't know what to think.
+Tears, however, cleared her views. She decided
+that as going to school was a thing that
+must be endured because Mrs. Moore would be
+displeased otherwise, it would do no good to
+make a fuss. She would draw pictures on her
+slate or play with the stones in her pocket&mdash;anything
+to pass the time. There was a great
+deal in knowing what one could or could not
+do safely, and Marian learned that lesson
+faster than she learned to read. When she
+was dismissed that afternoon, the little girl
+flew to the nursery to tell Mrs. Moore about
+her first school day. Soon after when Marian
+ran laughing into the hall on her way to the
+playground, she met Janey Clark who sat behind
+her in school.</p>
+
+<p>"Is Mrs. Moore your ma?" asked Janey.</p>
+
+<p>"What's a ma?" inquired Marian, seizing
+Janey's two hands.</p>
+
+<p>"A ma," was the reply, "why a ma is a
+mother. Is Mrs. Moore your mother?"</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Maybe," agreed Marian. "Oh, no, she
+isn't either. I know all about mothers, we
+sing about 'em, of course. I guess I never
+had one."</p>
+
+<p>"My mother just died," declared Janey,
+tossing her head in an important way that
+aroused Marian's envy.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, mine died too!" responded Marian.</p>
+
+<p>"Did you have a funeral?" persisted
+Janey.</p>
+
+<p>"Did you?" Marian cautiously inquired.</p>
+
+<p>"Well I should say yes," was the reply.</p>
+
+<p>"Then I did too," observed Marian.</p>
+
+<p>"Well," remarked Janey, "that's nothing
+to brag of; I don't suppose there's anybody in
+this Home that got here unless all their folks
+died dead. We are here because we don't belong
+anywhere else, and we are going to be
+given away to folks that'll take us, pretty
+soon."</p>
+
+<p>That was too much for Marian. "Why,
+Janey Clark, what a talk!" she exclaimed,
+then turning, she ran back to the nursery.</p>
+
+<p>"Nanna, Nanna!" she cried, "where's my
+mother?"</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Moore almost dropped a fretful baby
+at the question.</p>
+
+<p>"Did I ever have a mother?" continued
+the child, whose dark blue eyes looked black
+she was so much in earnest. "I thought
+mothers were just only in singing, but Janey
+Clark had a mother and she died, and if Janey
+Clark had a mother, I guess I had one too that
+died."</p>
+
+<p>The fretful baby was given to an assistant
+and Mrs. Moore took Marian in her lap.
+"What else did Janey tell you?" she
+asked.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, Janey said that all of us childrens
+are going to be gived away to folks. Mrs.
+Moore, did all the childrens that live here
+have mothers that died?"</p>
+
+<p>"Not all of them, Marian, some of the
+mothers are living and the children will go
+back to them: but your mother, little girl,
+will never come back for you. God took her
+away when He sent you to us. We keep little
+children here in our home until we find
+new fathers and mothers for them. Sometimes
+lovely mothers come here for little girls<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span>
+like you. How is it, Marian, do you want a
+mother?"</p>
+
+<p>The child nodded her head and looked
+so pleased Mrs. Moore was disappointed. It
+would be hard enough to part with the child
+anyway, but to think she wished to go was
+surprising.</p>
+
+<p>Two soft arms stole around Mrs. Moore's
+neck. "I'm going to have you for my
+mother," Marian explained, "and I'm going
+to live here always. I don't want to be gived
+away."</p>
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_III" id="CHAPTER_III"></a>CHAPTER III</h2>
+
+<p class="c">SHE GOES TO CHURCH</p>
+
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Janey Clark</span> was taken ill one day and
+was carried to the hospital. When she returned
+months afterward, she had something
+to tell Marian.</p>
+
+<p>"You want to get yourself adopted," was
+her advice. "I'm going to, first chance I get.
+When I was too well to stay in the hospital
+and not enough well to come home, a pretty
+lady came and said would I like to go to her
+house and stay until I was all better."</p>
+
+<p>"Did she 'dopt you?" questioned Marian.</p>
+
+<p>"No, of course not, or I could have stayed
+at her house and she would be my mother.
+She didn't want to keep me but only to borrow
+me so the children she is aunt to would
+know about Little Pilgrims and how lucky it
+is not to be one their own selves. And at
+her house," continued Janey, "if you liked
+something they had for dinner pretty well,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span>
+you could have a second helping, if you would
+say please. You better believe I said it when
+there was ice cream. And the children she
+was aunt to took turns dividing chocolate
+candy with me, and the only trouble was they
+gave me too much and made me sick most all
+the time. What do you think! One day a
+girl said she wished I was a little cripple like
+a boy that was there once, because she liked
+to be kind to little cripples and wash their
+faces. Wasn't she just lovely? Oh, Marian,
+I want to be adopted and have a mother like
+that lady and a room all my own and everything."</p>
+
+<p>"But I would rather live with Mrs. Moore,"
+objected Marian. "I've picked her out for my
+mother."</p>
+
+<p>"All right for you, stay here if you want
+to," agreed Janey, "but I'm not, you just wait
+and see."</p>
+
+<p>Janey Clark was adopted soon after and
+when Marian was invited to visit her, she
+changed her mind about living forever in the
+Home for Little Pilgrims. Mrs. Moore promised
+to choose a mother for her from the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span>
+many visitors to the Home, yet she and
+Marian proved hard to suit.</p>
+
+<p>"I want a mother just like my Nanna,"
+said Marian to the superintendent, who
+agreed to do all he could to find one. In
+spite of his help Marian seemed likely to
+stay in the Home, not because no one wanted
+her but because the child objected to the
+mothers who offered themselves. All these
+months the little girl was so happy and contented
+the superintendent said she was like a
+sunbeam among the Little Pilgrims and if
+the school-teacher had some ideas that he
+and Mrs. Moore didn't share, she smiled and
+said nothing.</p>
+
+<p>In time, Marian talked of the mother she
+wished to have as she did of heaven&mdash;of
+something beautiful but too indefinite and far
+away to be more than a dream. One never-to-be-forgotten
+morning, the dream took shape.
+A woman visited the Home, leading a little
+girl by the hand. A woman so lovely the
+face of the dullest Little Pilgrim lighted as
+she passed. It was not so much the bright
+gold of her hair, nor the blue eyes that at<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span>tracted
+the children, but the way she smiled
+and the way she spoke won them all.</p>
+
+<p>She was the mother for whom Marian had
+waited. It didn't occur to the child that the
+woman might not want her.</p>
+
+<p>It was noon before the strangers were
+through visiting the chapel, the schoolroom,
+the nursery and the dormitories.
+Like a shadow Marian had followed them
+over the building, fearing to lose sight of her
+chosen mother. On reaching the dining-room
+the woman and child, with the superintendent,
+stood outside the door where they watched the
+Little Pilgrims march in to dinner. Noticing
+Marian, the superintendent asked her why she
+didn't go to the table, and Marian tried to tell
+him but couldn't speak a word. The man was
+about to send her in the dining-room when he
+caught the appealing look on the child's face.
+At that moment the stranger turned. Marian
+seized her dress and the woman, glancing
+down, saw the dear little one and stooping,
+kissed her.</p>
+
+<p>The superintendent smiled but Marian began
+to cry as the woman tried ever so gently<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span>
+to release her dress from the small, clinging
+fingers.</p>
+
+<p>"We must go now," the stranger said, "so
+good-bye, dear child."</p>
+
+<p>"I'm going with you," announced Marian.
+"I want you for my mother."</p>
+
+<p>"But, don't you see, I have a little girl?
+What could I do with two?" remonstrated
+the woman. "There, there," she continued,
+as Marian began to sob piteously, "run in
+to dinner and some day I will come to see
+you again. Perhaps they may let you visit
+my little girl and me before long. Would
+you like that?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, no," wailed Marian, "I want you for
+my mother."</p>
+
+<p>"Come, Marian, sweetheart, let's go find
+Mrs. Moore," suggested the superintendent,
+taking her by force from the visitor, whose
+eyes filled with tears at the sight of little outstretched
+arms. For years afterwards there
+were times when that woman seemed to feel
+the clinging fingers of the Little Pilgrim
+who chose her for her mother. She might
+have taken her home. The next time she<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span>
+called to inquire for the child, Marian was
+gone.</p>
+
+<p>An unexpected thing happened as Marian
+was borne away to the nursery. The stranger's
+little girl cried and would not be comforted
+because she couldn't stay and have
+dinner with the Little Pilgrims. She was
+still grieving over her first sorrow after Mrs.
+Moore had succeeded in winning back the
+smiles to the face of her precious Marian.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, I know one sure thing," declared
+the Little Pilgrim as she raised her head
+from Mrs. Moore's shoulder and brushed away
+the tears. "I know that same mother will
+come and get me some time and take me home
+and then you will come and live with me&mdash;and
+won't it be lovely! Let's have some
+dinner, I'm hungry!"</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Moore smiled and sighed at the same
+time, but she ordered a luncheon for two
+served in the nursery and Marian's troubles
+vanished: also the luncheon.</p>
+
+<p>The next time the superintendent saw the
+child, she was sitting on the nursery floor
+singing to the babies. He was surprised and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span>
+pleased when he heard the sweet, clear voice
+and straightway sought Mrs. Moore.</p>
+
+<p>"Let me take her Sunday," he suggested.
+"I didn't know our Marian was a singer."</p>
+
+<p>"Are you going into the country?" asked
+the nurse.</p>
+
+<p>"No, Mrs. Moore, not this time. We expect
+to have services in one of the largest
+churches right here in the city. We have
+made special arrangements and I shall take
+twenty-five of the best singers in the Home
+with me. Marian will have plenty of company."</p>
+
+<p>"She is young," objected Mrs. Moore.</p>
+
+<p>The superintendent laughed. "Petey
+Ross," said he, "was two years old when
+he made his first public appearance on the
+platform; Marian is nearly six."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," agreed Mrs. Moore, "that is true and
+I remember that Petey Ross was adopted and
+in less than a week after that first appearance.
+Marian," she continued, "come here, darling.
+Do you want to go to a big church with the
+children next Sunday and sing one of the
+songs you and I sing to the babies?"</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Yes, Nanna, what for?"</p>
+
+<p>"Because the superintendent wishes you to.
+Every Sunday he takes some of our little
+boys and girls away to sing in the different
+churches, where he tells the people all about
+the Home for Little Pilgrims."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, yes, now I know," declared Marian.
+"Janey Clark used to go and sing. She said
+that was the way to get yourself adopted. I'd
+like to go if I don't have to get adopted and
+if Nanna may go too."</p>
+
+<p>"All right, Marian, I will go," assented
+Mrs. Moore, "and nobody shall adopt you
+unless you wish it. Now run back to the
+babies. Little Ned and Jakey are quarreling
+over the elephant. Hurry, Marian, or its ears
+will be gone."</p>
+
+<p>"She'll demand a salary in another year,"
+remarked the superintendent, watching the
+little girl's successful management of the
+babies.</p>
+
+<p>"I shouldn't know how to get along without
+her," said Mrs. Moore, "and yet it isn't
+right to let her grow up here."</p>
+
+<p>Sunday morning it would have been hard<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span>
+to find a happier child than Marian anywhere
+in the big city. She had never been in a
+church before and quickly forgot her pretty
+white dress and curls in the wonder of it all.
+She sat on the platform, a radiant little Pilgrim
+among the twenty-five waifs. Soon the
+church was filled. After the opening exercises
+the service was turned over to the superintendent
+of the Home for Little Pilgrims.
+He made a few remarks, and then asked
+Marian to sing. Pleased by the friendly faces
+in the pews and encouraged by Mrs. Moore's
+presence, Marian sang timidly at first, then
+joyously as to the babies in the nursery.</p>
+
+<div class="poem-container">
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"'I am Jesus' little lamb</span><br />
+<span class="i0">Happy all the day I am,</span><br />
+<span class="i0">Jesus loves me this I know</span><br />
+<span class="i0">For I'm His lamb.'"</span><br />
+</div>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p>As she went on with the song, the little girl
+was surprised to see many of the audience in
+tears. Even Mrs. Moore was wiping her eyes,
+although she smiled bravely and Marian knew
+she was not displeased. What could be the
+matter with the folks that bright Sunday morn<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span>ing?
+Janey Clark said everybody always cried
+at funerals. Perhaps it was a funeral. At the
+close of her song Marian sat down, much
+puzzled. After Johnnie Otis recited the poem
+he always recited on Visitors' Day at school,
+"The Orphan's Prayer," all the Little Pilgrims,
+Marian included, were asked to sing
+their chapel song. What was there sad about
+that, Marian wondered. She always sang it
+over and over to the babies to make them
+stop crying.</p>
+
+<div class="poem-container">
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"It is all for the best, oh, my Father,</span><br />
+<span class="i2">All for the best, all for the best."</span><br />
+</div>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p>When the Little Pilgrims were seated, the
+superintendent made a speech to which
+Marian listened. For the first time in her
+life she knew the meaning of the Home for
+Little Pilgrims. She understood at last all
+that Janey Clark had tried to tell her. No
+wonder the people cried. Marian stared at
+the superintendent, longing and dreading to
+hear more. Story after story he told of
+wrecked homes and scattered families; of
+little children, homeless and friendless left
+to their fate upon the street.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Whatever may be the causes which bring
+these waifs to our doors, remember," said he,
+"the children themselves are not to blame.
+It is through no fault of theirs their young
+lives have been saddened and trouble has
+come upon them while your little ones are
+loved and cared for in comfortable homes."</p>
+
+<p>The superintendent grew eloquent as he
+went on. How could it be, Marian wondered,
+that she had never known before what a sad,
+sad place was the Little Pilgrims' Home?
+Where did her mother die and where was her
+father? Perhaps he was in the dreadful prison
+mentioned by the superintendent. It was
+such a pitiful thing to be a Little Pilgrim.
+Marian wondered how she had ever lived so
+long. Oh, if she could change places with
+one of the fortunate little ones in the pews.
+The superintendent was right. Every little
+girl needed a father and mother of her own.
+She wanted the lovely mother who had passed
+her by. What was the superintendent saying?
+something about her? The next thing
+Marian knew the man had taken her in his
+arms and placed her upon the little table<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span>
+beside him. She thought he said "'For of
+such is the Kingdom of Heaven,'"&mdash;she
+wasn't sure.</p>
+
+<p>In the quiet moment that followed, Marian
+looked all over the church for the mother of
+her dreams. Maybe she was there and perhaps
+she would take her home. If she could
+only see that one face for a moment.</p>
+
+<p>"I am going to ask our little girl for
+another song," the superintendent said, telling
+Marian what to sing. The child hesitated,
+then looked appealing towards Mrs.
+Moore. She had forgotten her during the
+speech&mdash;dear, kind Mrs. Moore.</p>
+
+<p>"Don't be frightened," whispered the superintendent,
+whereupon to the surprise of every
+one in the church, Marian put her head upon
+his shoulder and sobbed aloud, "I don't want
+to be a Little Pilgrim any more! Oh, I don't
+want to be a Little Pilgrim any more!"</p>
+
+<p>Another second and Mrs. Moore's arms were
+around the child and the superintendent was
+alone on the platform with the twenty-five.</p>
+
+<p>"He told me to take you for a walk in the
+park," whispered Mrs. Moore, "so don't cry,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span>
+Marian, and we will leave the church quickly
+as we can. We will talk about the Little
+Pilgrims out in the sunshine where the birds
+are singing and we can see the blue sky."</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Moore would have been tempted to
+have stayed in the church had she known the
+superintendent's reason for wishing her to
+take the child away; nor would the good man
+have done as he did, could he have guessed
+the immediate consequences. When Marian
+was gone, the superintendent told her story
+effectively. She might have had her choice
+of many homes within a week had it not been
+for the appearance of Aunt Amelia.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IV" id="CHAPTER_IV"></a>CHAPTER IV</h2>
+
+<p class="c">AUNT AMELIA</p>
+
+
+<p><span class="smcap">There</span> was no question about it. Aunt
+Amelia had a perfect right to claim the child.
+The superintendent was sorry to admit it, but
+what could he do? Mrs. Moore was heartbroken,
+but she was powerless. The proofs
+were positive. Aunt Amelia's husband and
+Marian Lee's father were half-brothers and
+here was Aunt Amelia insisting upon her
+right to do her duty by the child.</p>
+
+<p>Marian never heard of Aunt Amelia until
+it was all over and the superintendent sent for
+her. She came dancing into the office, her
+face aglow until she saw Aunt Amelia. Then
+the sunshine faded from her eyes and she
+shrank past the stranger, scarcely breathing
+until the superintendent's arms were about
+her. From that safe shelter she surveyed
+Aunt Amelia.</p>
+
+<p>There was nothing in the woman's appearance
+to inspire confidence in a little child.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span>
+She was tall, thin, bloodless. One felt conscious
+of the bones in her very forehead.
+She wore her scant, black hair in wiry crimps
+parted in the middle. Her eyes were the
+color of stone, while her lips formed a thin,
+pale lone line closing over projecting front
+teeth. There was a brittle look about her
+ears and nose as though a blow might shatter
+them. Angles completed the picture.</p>
+
+<p>"You say you have a child of your own,
+Mrs. St. Claire?" The superintendent asked
+the question doubtfully. It seemed probable
+that his ears had deceived him.</p>
+
+<p>"I have," was the reply.</p>
+
+<p>"Then Marian will be sure of a playmate."
+The man seemed talking to himself.</p>
+
+<p>"If she behaves herself&mdash;perhaps," was the
+response.</p>
+
+<p>"What do you mean?" demanded the superintendent.</p>
+
+<p>"I think I expressed myself clearly," said
+Mrs. St. Claire. "If Marian behaves and is
+worthy of my little daughter's companionship,
+we may allow them to play together
+occasionally."</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Does she want to 'dopt me?" whispered
+Marian; "tell her no, quick&mdash;I got to go back
+to the nursery. Put me down."</p>
+
+<p>"I am your Aunt Amelia," announced
+the woman, "and I have come to take you
+to Michigan to live with your Uncle George
+and me."</p>
+
+<p>"Where did I get any Uncle George?"
+asked Marian, turning to the superintendent.</p>
+
+<p>"It isn't necessary to give a mere child
+too much information," put in Mrs. St. Claire;
+"it is enough for her to know that she has
+relatives who are willing to take her and do
+their duty by her."</p>
+
+<p>Regardless of this the man answered one of
+the questions he saw in Marian's solemn blue
+eyes.</p>
+
+<p>"Your uncle and aunt," he explained, "are
+visiting in the city; they were in church last
+Sunday when you sang. When relatives come
+for Little Pilgrims, Marian, we have to let
+them go."</p>
+
+<p>"You will not send me away with&mdash;her!"
+exclaimed the child, terror and entreaty expressed
+in the uplifted face.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Dear child, we must."</p>
+
+<p>"But I won't go, I won't go," cried Marian,
+clinging to the superintendent for protection.
+"Oh, you won't send me away, Mrs. Moore
+won't let them take me&mdash;I won't go! Please
+let me stay until the pretty mother comes
+again and I will ask her to take me and I
+know she will. Oh, if you love me, don't
+send me away with her!"</p>
+
+<p>"It is just as I told my husband Sunday
+morning," remarked Mrs. St. Claire as the
+superintendent tried to soothe Marian's violent
+grief. "I said the child was subject to
+tantrums. It is sad to see such traits cropping
+out in one so young. Lack of training
+may have much to do with it. Other influences&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Pardon me, madam," interrupted the superintendent,
+"you forget that this little one
+has been with us since she was six months
+old. Mrs. Moore has been a mother to her in
+every sense of the word. It is only natural
+that she dreads going among strangers. She
+is a good little girl and we all love her.
+Hush, sweetheart," he whispered to the sob<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span>bing,
+trembling child, "perhaps your aunt
+may decide to leave you with us."</p>
+
+<p>"I&mdash;I&mdash;I won't&mdash;won't go," protested Marian,
+"I&mdash;I won't go, I won't go!"</p>
+
+<p>"Are you willing, madam, to give this
+child to us?" continued the superintendent;
+"perhaps you may wish to relinquish your
+claim, under the circumstances."</p>
+
+<p>"I never shrink from my duty," declared
+the woman, rising as she spoke, grim determination
+in every line of her purple gown; "my
+husband feels it a disgrace to find his brother's
+child in an orphan asylum. She cannot
+be left in a charitable institution while we
+have a crust to bestow upon her. She will
+take nothing from this place except the articles
+which belonged to her mother. I will
+call for the child at eight this evening. Good-morning,
+sir."</p>
+
+<p>"I&mdash;I won't go&mdash;I&mdash;won't go! You&mdash;you
+needn't come for me!" Marian had the last
+word that time.</p>
+
+<p>The babies were left to the care of assistant
+nurses that afternoon. Mrs. Moore held
+Marian and rocked her as on that night so<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span>
+long before when she became a little Pilgrim.
+For some time neither of them spoke and
+tears fell like rain above the brown head
+nestled in Mrs. Moore's arms. Marian was the
+first to break the silence. "I&mdash;I won't go, I
+won't go," she repeated between choking sobs,
+"I&mdash;I won't go, I won't go, she'll find out she
+won't get me!"</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Moore tried to think of something to
+say. Just then a merry voice was heard singing
+in the hall outside,</p>
+
+<div class="poem-container">
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"It is all for the best, oh, my Father,</span><br />
+<span class="i2">All for the best, all for the best."</span><br />
+</div>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p>"Will they let me come to see you every
+day?" asked Marian when the singer was beyond
+hearing. "Will they?" she repeated as
+Mrs. Moore made no answer. "Where is
+Michigan, anyway? What street car goes out
+there?"</p>
+
+<p>It was some time before Mrs. Moore could
+speak. Her strongest impulse was to hide
+the precious baby. What would become of
+her darling among unloving strangers? Who<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span>
+would teach her right from wrong? Suddenly
+Mrs. Moore realized that in days to come there
+might be time enough for tears. There were
+yet a few hours left her with the little girl
+which she must improve.</p>
+
+<p>Gently and tenderly she told Marian the
+truth. Michigan was far, far away. She
+must go alone, to live among strangers&mdash;yet
+not alone, for there was One in heaven who
+would be with her and who would watch over
+her and love her always, as He had in the
+Home. Poor Marian heard the voice but the
+words meant nothing to her until long afterwards.
+Mrs. Moore herself could never recall
+just what she said that sad day. She knew
+she tried to tell Marian to be brave, to be
+good; to tell the truth and do right: but more
+than once she broke down and wept with her
+darling.</p>
+
+<p>When Mrs. St. Claire called at eight, she
+was greeted by a quiet, submissive child who
+said she was ready to go. More than that,
+the little thing tried to smile as she promised
+to be a good girl. Perhaps the smile wouldn't
+have been so easily discouraged if Mrs. St.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span>
+Claire had kissed the swollen, tear-stained
+face, or had said one comforting word.</p>
+
+<p>The time of parting came. When it was
+over, Mrs. Moore lifted the sobbing child into
+the carriage. Then she knew that in spite of
+the stars the night was dark.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_V" id="CHAPTER_V"></a>CHAPTER V</h2>
+
+<p class="c">MARIAN'S NEW HOME</p>
+
+
+<p><span class="smcap">The</span> second day of the journey to the new
+home, Marian laughed aloud. She had slept
+well the night before and had taken a lively
+interest in everything she saw from the time
+she was awakened by the first glimpse of daylight
+through the sleeper windows. Not that
+she was happy, far from it, but it was something
+that she wasn't utterly miserable.</p>
+
+<p>Uncle George was pleasanter than his wife,
+and although he said little from behind his
+newspaper, that little was encouraging: his
+tones were kind.</p>
+
+<p>Ella St. Claire, the cousin, three years
+younger than Marian, was inclined to be
+friendly. Left to themselves the children
+might have had a delightful time, but Mrs.
+St. Claire had no intention of leaving the two
+to themselves; it was not part of her plan.
+Marian made several attempts to get acquainted<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span>
+and Ella kept edging away from her mother,
+until in the middle of the forenoon, Mrs. St.
+Claire remarked that if she wished to have
+any peace she must separate the children.
+Accordingly she took Ella by the hand and
+went several seats back, leaving Marian alone.
+As she left, Ella begged for a cooky.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm hungry, too," added Marian.</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. St. Claire gave Ella the cooky and
+passed a bit of dry bread to Marian.</p>
+
+<p>"If you please," suggested Marian, "I like
+cookies, too."</p>
+
+<p>"You will take what I give you or go without,"
+said Mrs. St. Claire; "you can't be starving
+after the breakfast you ate in Buffalo."</p>
+
+<p>Marian, sorry she had spoken, dropped from
+sight in the high-backed seat. There was a
+lump in her throat and so deep a longing for
+the Home she had left it was hard to keep the
+tears back. Just then an old man began snoring
+so loud the passengers smiled and Marian
+laughed in spite of herself. Having laughed
+once she grew more cheerful. There were
+green fields and bits of woodland to be seen
+from the car windows, cows, sheep, bright<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span>
+flowers growing along the track, country roads
+and little children playing in their yards, sitting
+on fences and waving their hands to the
+passing train. Wonderful sights for a child
+straight from the Little Pilgrims' Home in a
+big city.</p>
+
+<p>Uncle George, growing tired of his paper,
+crossed the aisle and sat down beside his niece.
+Marian looked up with a happy smile. "I
+wish the cars would stop where the flowers
+grow," she said, "I'd like to pick some."</p>
+
+<p>"The cars will stop where the flowers grow,"
+answered the man. "When we get home you
+will live among the flowers; Marian, will you
+like that?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, goody!" the child exclaimed. "Oh,
+I am so glad! May I pick some flowers?"</p>
+
+<p>"Indeed you may, and we'll go to the
+woods where the wild flowers are. Were you
+ever in the woods?"</p>
+
+<p>Marian shook her head. "I've been in the
+Public Gardens and on the Common, though,
+and I know all about woods."</p>
+
+<p>"Who told you about the woods?"</p>
+
+<p>"Nanna&mdash;Mrs. Moore."</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Was she your nurse?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, Uncle George, she was my everybody.
+I love her more than anybody else in the
+world. She is the prettiest, nicest one in the
+Home."</p>
+
+<p>"See here, little girl," interrupted the man,
+"will you promise me something?"</p>
+
+<p>"Why, yes, what is it?"</p>
+
+<p>"I want you to do me this one favor.
+Don't tell any one you were ever in an orphan's
+home."</p>
+
+<p>The child was silent. "What will I talk
+about?" she finally asked.</p>
+
+<p>Uncle George laughed. "Take my advice
+and don't say much about anything," was his
+suggestion. "You'll find it the easiest way to
+get along. But whatever you talk about,
+don't mention that Home."</p>
+
+<p>Later, Aunt Amelia added a word on the
+same subject, but in a manner so harsh Marian
+became convinced that to have lived in an
+orphan asylum was a disgrace equal perhaps
+to a prison record. She determined never to
+mention the Home for Little Pilgrims. Janey
+Clark must have known what she was talking<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span>
+about and even Mrs. Moore, when questioned,
+had admitted that if she had a little girl it
+would make her feel sad to know she lived in
+a Home. Before the journey was ended
+Marian was thankful that relatives had claimed
+her. Perhaps if she tried hard, she might be
+able to win Aunt Amelia's love. She would
+be a good little girl and do her best.</p>
+
+<p>One thing Marian learned before she had
+lived ten days with Aunt Amelia. The part of
+the house where she was welcome was the outside.
+Fortunately it was summer and the new
+home was in a country town where streets
+were wide and the yards were large. Back of
+Aunt Amelia's garden was an orchard, and
+there or in the locust grove near by, Marian
+passed untroubled hours. The front lawn,
+bordered with shrubs and flower beds, was
+pleasing enough, but it wasn't the place for
+Marian who was not allowed to pick a blossom,
+although the pansies begged for more
+chance to bloom. She could look at the pansies
+though, and feel of the roses if Aunt
+Amelia was out of sight. How Marian loved
+the roses&mdash;especially the velvety pink ones.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span>
+She told them how much she loved them, and
+if the roses made no response to the endearing
+terms lavished upon them, at least they never
+turned away, nor said unkind, hard things to
+make her cry and long for Mrs. Moore.</p>
+
+<p>When Marian had been with the St. Claires
+a week, Aunt Amelia told her she could never
+hope to hear from Mrs. Moore, partly because
+Mrs. Moore didn't know where she lived, and
+also because Mrs. Moore would gladly forget
+such a bad tempered, ungrateful little girl.</p>
+
+<p>The pink roses under the blue sky were a
+comfort then. So were the birds. Day after
+day Marian gave them messages to carry to
+Mrs. Moore. She talked to them in the orchard
+and in the locust grove, and many a
+wild bird listened, with its head on one side,
+to the loving words of the little girl and then
+flew straight away over the tree-tops and the
+house-tops, away and away out of sight. Several
+weeks passed before Marian knew that she
+might pick dandelions and clover blossoms,
+Bouncing Bet and all the roadside blooms, to
+her heart's content. That was joy!</p>
+
+<p>Under a wide-spreading apple-tree, Marian<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span>
+made a collection of treasures she found in
+the yard. Curious stones were chief among
+them. Bits of moss, pretty twigs, bright
+leaves, broken china, colored glass&mdash;there was
+no end to the resources of that yard. One
+morning she found a fragile cup of blue. It
+looked like a tiny bit of painted egg shell, but
+how could an egg be so small, and who could
+have painted it? She carried the wonder to
+Uncle George who told her it was part of a
+robin's egg.</p>
+
+<p>"Who ate it?" asked Marian, whereupon
+Uncle George explained to her what the
+merest babies knew in the world outside the
+city. More than that, he went to the orchard,
+found a robin's nest on the low branch of an
+apple-tree, and lifted her on his shoulder so
+that she might see it. There were four blue
+eggs in the nest. Marian wanted to break
+them to see the baby birds inside, but Uncle
+George cautioned her to wait and let the
+mother bird take care of her own round
+cradle.</p>
+
+<p>In the meantime Madam Robin scolded
+Uncle George and Marian until they left the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span>
+tree to watch her from a distance. That
+robin's nest filled Marian's every thought for
+days and days. When the baby birds were
+hatched she was so anxious to see them oftener
+than Uncle George had time to lift her on his
+shoulder, she learned to climb the tree. After
+that Marian was oftener in the apple-trees than
+under them. Had there been no rainy days
+and had the summer lasted all the year, Marian
+would have been a fortunate child. Aunt
+Amelia called her a tomboy and said no one
+would ever catch Ella St. Claire climbing trees
+and running like a wild child across the yard
+and through the locust grove.</p>
+
+<p>The two children admired each other. Had
+it been possible they would have played together
+all the time. Marian, who became a
+sun-browned romp, thought there never was
+such a dainty creature as her delicate, white-skinned
+cousin Ella, whose long black curls
+were never tumbled by the wind or play: and
+Ella never missed a chance to talk with her
+laughing, joyous cousin, who could always
+think of something new.</p>
+
+<p>Aunt Amelia said that Ella wasn't the same<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span>
+child when she was left with Marian for half
+an hour, and she could not allow the children
+to play together for her little daughter's sake.
+It was her duty as a mother to guard that little
+daughter from harmful influences.</p>
+
+<p>This was the talk to which Marian listened
+day after day. It grieved her to the quick.
+Again and again, especially on rainy days, she
+promised Aunt Amelia that she would be
+good, and each time Aunt Amelia sent her to
+her room to think over the bad things she had
+done and what an ungrateful child she was.
+Although Marian became convinced that she
+was a bad child, she couldn't sit down and
+think of her sins long at a time, and her penitent
+spells usually ended in a concert. Uncle
+George took her to one early in the summer,
+and ever after, playing concert was one of
+Marian's favorite games. She had committed
+"Bingen on the Rhine" to memory from
+hearing it often read in school at the Home,
+and on rainy days when sent to her room, she
+chanted it, wailed it and recited it until poor
+Ella was unhappy and discontented because
+she could have no part in the fun.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Ella had a toy piano kept as an ornament.
+Marian's piano was a chair, her stool was a
+box and her sheet music, an almanac: but in
+her soul was joy.</p>
+
+<p>"What can you do with such a child?" demanded
+Aunt Amelia.</p>
+
+<p>"Let her alone," counseled Uncle George.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VI" id="CHAPTER_VI"></a>CHAPTER VI</h2>
+
+<p class="c">THAT YELLOW CUCUMBER</p>
+
+
+<p><span class="smcap">One</span> summer day the St. Claires were the
+guests of a farmer who lived a few miles from
+town. Ella stayed in the house with her
+mother and the farmer's wife, but Marian
+saw the farm; the cows and the sheep and the
+fields of grain. She asked more questions that
+day than the hired man ever answered at one
+time in his life before, and when night came
+he and Marian were tired.</p>
+
+<p>"She knows as much about farming as I
+do," the man said with a laugh as he put the
+sleepy child on the back seat of the carriage
+when the family were ready to go home.</p>
+
+<p>"I've had a lovely time, Mr. Hired Man,"
+Marian roused herself to remark, "and to-morrow
+I'm going to play farm."</p>
+
+<p>"Good haying weather," the man suggested
+with a smile; "better get your barns up quick's
+you can."</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"I'm going to," was the response; "it's a
+lovely game."</p>
+
+<p>Whatever Marian saw or heard that pleased
+her fancy, she played. Stories that were read
+to the little Ella were enacted again and again
+in Marian's room if the day was rainy, out in
+the orchard or the locust grove if the day was
+fair. Farming promised to be the most interesting
+game of all.</p>
+
+<p>Early the next morning Marian visited
+what she called the yarrow jungle ever since
+Uncle George read jungle stories to Ella.
+More than one queer looking creature tried to
+keep out of sight when her footsteps were
+heard. The old black beetle scampered away
+as fast as his six legs would carry him, though
+it can't be possible he remembered the time
+when Marian captured him for her museum.
+Crickets gathered up their fiddles, seeking
+safety beyond the fence. Perhaps they
+thought Marian wanted them to play in the
+orchestra at another snail wedding. Even
+the ants hastened to the hills beyond the
+jungle, leaving only the old toad to wink and
+blink at the happy one of whom he had no fear.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Well, Mr. Toad," said she, "why don't
+you hop along? I've come to make my farm
+out here where the yarrow grows. Why don't
+you live in the garden land? I would if I
+were you. Don't you know about the cool
+tomato groves and the cabbage tents? I've
+got to clear away this jungle so the sun may
+shine upon my farm the way the country
+man said. You really must go, so hop along
+and stop winking and blinking at me." The
+old toad wouldn't stir, so for his sake Marian
+spared the yarrow jungle.</p>
+
+<p>"After all, I'll make my farm here on the
+border-land," said she, while the daisies
+nodded and the buttercups shone brighter
+than before. "Only, I'll tell you one thing,
+Mr. Toad, that maybe you won't like. If you
+will stay there, you'll have to be an elephant
+in the jungle. There, now, I s'pose you are
+sorry. I say&mdash;be an elephant and now you
+are one." The toad didn't mind a bit. He
+was so used to being changed into all sorts of
+animals that he never seemed to notice whether
+he was an elephant or a kangaroo.</p>
+
+<p>Day after day Marian worked upon her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span>
+farm, enclosing fields and meadows with high
+stone walls, clearing roads and planting trees.
+Whatever she touched became what she wished
+it to be. Pasteboard match-boxes became
+houses and barns. Sticks became men working
+upon the farm and spools were wagons
+bearing loads of hay from place to place. At
+a word from her, green apples, standing upon
+four twigs, were instantly changed, becoming
+pigs, cows, sheep and horses. Kernels of
+yellow corn were chickens. It was a wonderful
+farm and for many a sunny hour Marian
+was happy. Even the old toad, winking and
+blinking beneath the shadow of the yarrow
+jungle, must have known it.</p>
+
+<p>At last there came a morning when the
+child went strolling through the garden.
+Suddenly, while singing her usual merry
+song, the joyous look faded from her face.
+She no longer saw the butterflies floating
+about nor cared that the bumble-bee wore his
+best velvet coat. There were tiny green
+cucumbers in that garden, just the right size
+for horses on the little girl's farm. There were
+a great many cucumbers, so many that Marian<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span>
+felt sure no one would ever miss a few. She
+picked a handful and knew that she was
+stealing. The sun went under a cloud. A
+blue jay mocked at her and a wren scolded.
+Though far from happy, Marian hurried
+away to her farm. The old toad saw her
+sticking twigs in the cucumbers. Then she
+placed them in a row.</p>
+
+<p>"Now be animals!" she commanded, but
+the spell was broken&mdash;she was no longer a
+farmer with magic power, but a pink-faced
+little girl who had done what she knew was
+wrong. And the cucumbers refused to be
+anything but cucumbers.</p>
+
+<p>Again the little girl went to the garden, returning
+with one big yellow cucumber that
+had gone to seed. "Now I guess I'll have a
+cucumber animal," she said, in tones so cross
+the daisies seemed to tremble. "You bad old
+cucumber, you're no good anyway, nobody
+could eat you, nor make a pickle of you, so
+you may just turn yourself into a giant cow
+right off this minute! There you are, standing
+on four sticks. Now be a cow, I say."</p>
+
+<p>The old cucumber wouldn't be a cow.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span>
+There it stood, big and yellow, spoiling the
+looks of the farm.</p>
+
+<p>"What's the matter with you, old toad?"
+went on the little girl. "I tell you that's a
+cow, and if you don't believe it you can just
+get off my farm quick's you can hop. You're
+homely anyway, and you turned yourself back
+into a toad when I said be an elephant."</p>
+
+<p>How surprised the toad was when the little
+girl took a stick and poked him along ahead
+of her. The poor old fellow had never been
+treated like that in his life. When he reached
+the garden he hid beneath the nearest cabbage
+plant. The little girl went on but came back
+in a short time with her apron full of cucumbers.</p>
+
+<p>"I guess I'll sit down here and put the
+sticks in them," she said: but instead of
+touching the cucumbers the child sat on the
+ground beside the toad forever so long, looking
+cross, oh, so cross. The toad kept perfectly
+still and by and by he and the little
+girl heard a man whistling. In a few minutes
+there was a long whistle and then no sound in
+the jungle save the buzzing of flies and the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span>
+chirping of birds. The little girl was afraid
+of her uncle who had been her one friend in
+that land of strangers. Soon she heard them
+calling and with her apron full of cucumbers,
+Marian rose to meet him.</p>
+
+<p>It may be that the old toad, as he hopped
+back to the yarrow jungle, thought that he
+should never again see the little girl: but the
+next morning in the midst of brightest sunshine,
+Marian returned, her head drooping.
+With her little feet she destroyed the farm
+and then, throwing herself face downward
+among the ruins, wept bitterly. When she
+raised her head the old toad was staring solemnly
+at her, causing fresh tears to overflow
+upon the round cheeks.</p>
+
+<p>"Don't look at me, toad, nobody does," she
+wailed. "I'm dreadfully bad and it doesn't
+do a bit of good to be sorry. Nobody loves
+me and nobody ever will. Aunt Amelia says
+that Nanna wouldn't love me now. Uncle
+George doesn't love me, he says he's disappointed
+in me! Oh, dear, oh, dear! Nobody
+in this world loves me, toad, and oh,
+dear, I've got to eat all alone in the kitchen<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span>
+for two weeks, and even the housemaid doesn't
+love me and can't talk to me! Oh, dear,
+what made me do it!"</p>
+
+<p>What could an old toad do but hide in the
+yarrow jungle: yet when he turned away
+Marian felt utterly deserted. It was dreadful
+to be so bad that even a toad wouldn't look
+at her.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VII" id="CHAPTER_VII"></a>CHAPTER VII</h2>
+
+<p class="c">AN UNDESERVING CHILD</p>
+
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Try</span> as hard as she would, Marian could
+not fit into Aunt Amelia's home. Everywhere
+within its walls, she was Marian the
+unwanted. Saddest of all, the child annoyed
+Uncle George. Not at first, to be sure; he
+liked his little niece in the beginning, but
+when Aunt Amelia and the little Ella were
+rendered unhappy by her presence, that made
+a difference.</p>
+
+<p>Early in the summer Uncle George insisted
+upon taking Marian wherever Ella and her
+mother went, to picnics, to the circus and
+other places of amusement, but as something
+disagreeable was sure to happen and trouble
+seemed to follow little Marian, she was finally
+left at home where her gay talk and merriment
+could not reach the ears of Aunt Amelia,
+who called her talk "clatter" and her laughter
+"cackle."</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"It's cucumbers," sobbed Marian, the first
+time she was left with the sympathetic housemaid.</p>
+
+<p>"What do you mean, you poor little
+thing?" asked the girl.</p>
+
+<p>The child looked up in astonishment.
+"Don't you remember about the cucumbers?"
+she asked reproachfully.</p>
+
+<p>"Cucumbers," sniffed the girl. "Never
+mind, you poor, sweet darling, we'll have a
+tea-party this afternoon, you and I,&mdash;that old
+pelican!"</p>
+
+<p>Marian knew no better than to tell about the
+tea-party, what a jolly time she had and how
+happy she was, closing her story by asking
+Uncle George if a pelican was a chicken.</p>
+
+<p>"Because," she added, "we had a little dish
+of cream chicken and I didn't see any pelican,
+but Annie did say two or three times, 'that
+old pelican!'"</p>
+
+<p>Aunt Amelia was prejudiced against pelicans
+and she objected to tea-parties, so Annie
+packed her trunk and left. Lala took her
+place. Lala was equally kind but far too wise.
+She befriended the little girl every way in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span>
+her power but cautioned her to keep her
+mouth shut. She went so far as to instruct
+the child in the art of lying and had there
+not been deep in Marian's nature a love of
+truth, Lala's influence might have been more
+effective. Marian turned from her without
+knowing why, nor would she accept any
+favors from the girl unless she believed Aunt
+Amelia approved.</p>
+
+<p>Lala called Marian a "Little fool," Aunt
+Amelia called her an undeserving, ungrateful
+child who would steal if she were not watched,
+a saucy, bold "young one" who had disappointed
+her Uncle George, and Uncle George
+plainly didn't love her. What wonder that
+Marian had a small opinion of herself and
+dreaded the first Monday in September, the
+beginning of her school-days among strangers.</p>
+
+<p>The schoolhouse was so far from where
+Aunt Amelia lived, Marian carried her
+luncheon in a tin pail. The child left
+home that Monday, a timid, shrinking
+little mortal, afraid to speak to any one.
+She returned, happy as a lark, swinging her
+dinner pail and singing a new song until<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span>
+within sight of the St. Claire home. Then
+she walked more slowly and entered the gate
+like a weary pilgrim. She expected trouble,
+poor little Marian, but there happened to be
+callers, giving her a chance to escape unnoticed
+to the locust grove where she made a
+jumping rope of a wild grape vine and played
+until the shadows were long and the day was
+done.</p>
+
+<p>That evening Uncle George questioned Marian
+about her teacher and how she liked
+school. "I hope," said he, when he had
+listened to the account so gladly given, "I
+hope you will be a credit to your uncle and
+that you will behave yourself and get to the
+head of your class and stay there. Don't give
+your Uncle George any cause to be ashamed
+of his niece. I want to be proud of you."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, do you!" exclaimed the child. "Oh,
+I'll try so hard to be good and learn my lessons
+best of anybody. Then will you love
+me?"</p>
+
+<p>"Good children are always loved," put in
+Aunt Amelia. "Doesn't your Uncle George
+love Ella?"</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"She's his little girl," ventured Marian,
+longing for a place beside Ella in her uncle's
+lap. He certainly did love Ella.</p>
+
+<p>"Sit down, child," said Uncle George,
+"you're my brother's little girl, aren't you,
+and you are Ella's cousin, aren't you?"</p>
+
+<p>"I am sure she ought to be grateful," interrupted
+Aunt Amelia, "with all she has done
+for her and such a home provided for
+her&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, I am, I am," protested Marian earnestly.
+"I'm so glad I've got a home I don't
+know what to do, and I'm gratefuller'n anything&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Queer way of showing your gratitude," exclaimed
+Aunt Amelia; "a more undeserving
+child I never saw."</p>
+
+<p>Uncle George bit his lip. "Now don't cry,
+Marian," he cautioned, as the child's eyes
+filled with tears. "I have a story to read
+you and Ella, so sit down and be quiet."</p>
+
+<p>"Don't expect her to be quiet," Aunt
+Amelia persisted. "If she would listen to
+stories as Ella does, I wouldn't send her to
+bed. You know as well as I do that she in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span>terrupts
+and asks questions and gets in a perfect
+fever of excitement. Ella behaves like a
+lady. You never catch her squirming and
+fidgeting about, acting like a perfect jumping-jack&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"No," remarked Uncle George, opening
+the book in his hand, "she goes to sleep.
+Don't you, pet?"</p>
+
+<p>"Go to bed, Marian," Aunt Amelia commanded.
+"Not a word. I shall not allow you
+to add sauciness to disobedience. Go!"</p>
+
+<p>Uncle George frowned, put away the book
+and reached for his newspaper: then, touched
+by the pathetic figure in the doorway he
+called the child back. "That's right," he
+said, "be a good girl and obey your aunt
+promptly. She has your interest at heart,
+child. Come, kiss Uncle George good-night."</p>
+
+<p>Marian was surprised because her natural
+tendency to kiss every one in the family before
+going to bed had been severely checked
+and she had been obliged to whisper her good-nights
+to the cat. If she sometimes kissed
+its soft fur, what difference did it make, if
+the cat had no objection.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Now kiss little cousin Ella," suggested
+Uncle George, but Ella covered her face, saying
+her mother had told her never to let Marian
+touch her.</p>
+
+<p>Uncle George looked so angry Marian didn't
+know what was going to happen. He put
+little Ella in her mother's lap and then taking
+Marian in his arms, carried her to her
+room. After the child had said her prayers
+and was in bed, Uncle George sat beside her
+and talked a long, long while. He told her
+to try and be a good child and do her best in
+school.</p>
+
+<p>Marian dreamed that night of Mrs. Moore
+and the little stranger's mother. When she
+awoke in the starlight she was not afraid as
+usual. She thought of Uncle George and
+how she would try to please him in school
+that he might be proud of her and love her as
+she loved him, and so fell peacefully asleep.</p>
+
+<p>When the man was looking over his papers
+the next morning before breakfast he felt a
+touch upon his arm. He smiled when he saw
+Marian. "I want to tell you," she said, "I'm
+awful sorry about the cucumbers."</p>
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VIII" id="CHAPTER_VIII"></a>CHAPTER VIII</h2>
+
+<p class="c">IN THE NAME OF SANTA CLAUS</p>
+
+
+<p><span class="smcap">In</span> November Ella and her mother began
+making plans for Christmas. Aunt Amelia
+invited seven little girls to tea one night
+when Uncle George was away, and Marian ate
+in the kitchen with Lala. The seven were
+all older than Ella and one of them, little
+Ruth Higgins, knowing no better, asked for
+Marian. Lala overheard the answer and was
+indignant.</p>
+
+<p>"You poor little lamb," she sputtered, upon
+returning to the kitchen, "I'd run away if I
+were you."</p>
+
+<p>"Where would I run to?" questioned Marian.</p>
+
+<p>"Anywhere'd be better than here," the
+girl replied, "and that woman calls herself a
+Christian!"</p>
+
+<p>"She's a awful cross Christian," Marian admitted
+in a whisper, brushing away the tears<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span>
+that came when she heard the peals of laughter
+from the dining-room.</p>
+
+<p>"I wouldn't cry if I were you," advised the
+girl. "You'll only spoil your pretty eyes and
+it will do them good to see you cry, you poor
+baby. The idea of having a party and making
+you stay out here!"</p>
+
+<p>"It's a Club," corrected Marian, "I've heard
+'em talking about it. Dorothy Avery and Ruth
+Higgins belong. I've tried so hard to be good
+so I could be in it. They are going to sew
+presents for poor children and give them toys
+and everything they don't want their own
+selves, and then when Christmas day comes
+they're going to have a sleigh ride and take
+the things to the poor children. If I was
+good like Ella, I could be in it. I used to be
+good, Lala, truly, I did."</p>
+
+<p>"There, there, don't cry," begged Lala.
+"Look a-here! did you ever see anybody
+dance the lame man's jig?"</p>
+
+<p>Marian shook her head, whereupon Lala
+performed the act to the music of a mournful
+tune she hummed, while Marian laughed
+until the Club was forgotten. There was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span>
+plenty of fun in the kitchen after that. In
+the midst of the hilarity Ella appeared to tell
+Marian it was her bedtime.</p>
+
+<p>"Are you ever afraid, Lala, when you wake
+up all alone in the night?" asked Marian as
+she started up the back stairs.</p>
+
+<p>"I never wake up," said Lala. "Do you,
+Marian?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, and I'm lonesome without all the
+little girls. Sometimes I'm so frightened I
+pretty nearly die when I'm all alone and it's
+dark."</p>
+
+<p>"Little girls," echoed Lala, "what little
+girls? Where did you live before you came
+here?"</p>
+
+<p>"When I was good I lived in a big city,
+Lala."</p>
+
+<p>"Tell me about it," the girl insisted.</p>
+
+<p>"If you'll promise you won't ever tell, I
+will," declared Marian. "I'll have to whisper
+it. I lived in a beautiful orphan's home,
+Lala."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh!" exclaimed Lala. "Oh, you poor
+baby."</p>
+
+<p>"Of course it's dreadful," Marian hastened<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span>
+to say, "but I couldn't help it, Lala, truly I
+couldn't; they took me there when I was a
+baby and it was a lovely place, only, it was a
+Home."</p>
+
+<p>"Do you know anything about your father
+and mother?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, I guess they're dead&mdash;my mother is
+anyway, and I'm 'fraid about my father."</p>
+
+<p>"What do you mean?"</p>
+
+<p>"Well, Lala, Aunt Amelia always says,
+what can you expect when you think what
+my father was. I guess may be he was a
+stealer because Aunt Amelia won't stop talking
+about the cucumbers and what could you
+expect. Maybe he is in prison."</p>
+
+<p>"No, your father is not in prison, Marion
+Lee!" Lala exclaimed. "Listen. It was your
+father I heard them talking about with some
+callers the other day. I'm sure of it now, because
+they said the man was a great deal
+younger than your uncle&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, tell me, do tell me what you know
+about my father?" besought Marian, walking
+back into the kitchen on tiptoes.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, I don't know much," said the girl,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span>
+"but he isn't in prison, that's one sure thing.
+He went away to South America years ago to
+make his fortune, and they know that all the
+men who went with him were killed, and as
+your father never came back they know he
+must be dead."</p>
+
+<p>"What was there bad about that?" questioned
+the small daughter.</p>
+
+<p>"Nothing," was the reply, "only he and
+your Uncle George had a quarrel. Your
+uncle didn't want him to go because he said
+your father had plenty of money anyway, and
+it all came out as he said it would."</p>
+
+<p>At that moment, Ella returned. Seeing
+Marian, she forgot that she was after a drink
+of water. "Oh, Marian Lee!" she exclaimed.
+"I'm going straight back and tell mamma you
+didn't go to bed when I told you to. You'll
+be sorry."</p>
+
+<p>Marian, the guilty, flew up the back stairs,
+expecting swift punishment. She was sure
+she deserved it, and what would Uncle George
+say? It was so hard to be good. Retribution
+was left to Santa Claus. How could a disobedient,
+ungrateful child expect to be re<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span>membered
+by that friend of good children?
+How could Marian hope for a single gift?
+Aunt Amelia didn't know. Nevertheless the
+little girl pinned her faith to Santa Claus.
+He had never forgotten her nor the two hundred
+waifs at the Home. Teddy Daniels once
+made a face at the superintendent the very
+day before Christmas, yet Santa Claus gave
+him a drum.</p>
+
+<p>Marian wasn't the least surprised Christmas
+morning when she found her stockings hanging
+by the sitting-room grate filled to the
+brim, exactly as Ella's were. She was delighted
+beyond expression.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, oh, oh!" she cried. "Both my
+stockings are full of things for me. Oh, see
+the packages! Oh, I am so happy! Just
+only look at the presents!" Uncle George
+left the room and Marian sat upon the rug to
+examine her treasures.</p>
+
+<p>"Why don't you look in your stockings,
+Ella?" she suggested. "Let's undo our presents
+together."</p>
+
+<p>"No, I'd rather wait and see what you'll
+say when you know what you've got!" Ella<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span>
+replied. "Mamma and I know something."</p>
+
+<p>"Hush!" cautioned Aunt Amelia. "Let's
+see what Santa Claus has brought Marian.
+She knows whether she's been a deserving,
+grateful child or not."</p>
+
+<p>Why would Aunt Amelia remind one of
+disagreeable things on Christmas morning?
+Marian's chin quivered before she took a
+thing from her stocking, whereupon Aunt
+Amelia smiled. In the meantime, Ella, becoming
+impatient, emptied one of her stockings
+in her mother's lap and began a series
+of squeals as toys, games and dolls tumbled out.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, what fun!" cried Marian, laughing
+and clapping her hands as she witnessed
+Ella's delight. A pitiful expression stole
+over her face as she turned to her own stockings.
+How she longed for a mother to share
+her joy. How she wished Aunt Amelia would
+smile kindly and be pleased with her gifts.
+The child quickly removed the paper from a
+round package.</p>
+
+<p>"I've got a ball," she ventured. "I'll let
+you play with it, Ella."</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Got one of my own," said Ella, exhibiting
+a big rubber ball.</p>
+
+<p>An exclamation of dismay burst from
+Marian's lips. "Why, why&mdash;it's a potato!"
+she cried.</p>
+
+<p>"What did you expect?" inquired Aunt
+Amelia in chilling tones.</p>
+
+<p>"I guess that was just for a joke." The
+little girl smiled cheerfully as she said it, at the
+same time untying a box wrapped in tissue
+paper. Potatoes again. Marian shut her lips
+tight together and tried another package.
+More potatoes. Still she kept the tears back
+and reached for a long bundle. Removing
+the paper she found switches. Aunt Amelia
+and Ella watched silently as Marian, her eyes
+blazing and her cheeks growing a deeper red
+every second, emptied the stocking in which
+there was nothing but potatoes. Then the
+child rose, straightened her small figure to its
+full height and made this statement:</p>
+
+<p>"That wasn't never Santa Claus that did
+that!"</p>
+
+<p>"Look in the other stocking," Ella advised,
+"there are real presents in that one. I guess<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span>
+you will be a good girl now, won't you,
+Marian? Take the other stocking down,
+quick."</p>
+
+<p>"No," declared Marian, "I don't want any
+more potatoes. Nobody loves me and I don't
+care if they don't." Then she broke down
+and cried so hard, Ella cried too.</p>
+
+<p>"What's all the trouble?" asked Uncle
+George, entering the room at that moment.</p>
+
+<p>"Marian is making a scene and distressing
+both Ella and me," explained Aunt Amelia.
+"She has been highly impertinent and ungrateful.
+Ella, you may have the other
+stocking yourself."</p>
+
+<p>"But I don't want it," sobbed Ella. "I
+want Marian to have it."</p>
+
+<p>"Then we'll take it to the poor children
+this afternoon," said her mother. "They'll
+be glad to get it. Marian, don't drop what's
+in your apron. Now go to your room and
+think over how you've spoiled the peace of a
+family on Christmas morning. I'll bring
+your breakfast to you myself."</p>
+
+<p>"I don't want any breakfast," sobbed Marian,
+walking away with her apron full of potatoes.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Come back," called Uncle George. "You
+tell your aunt you are sorry you were so
+naughty, and you may come to breakfast with
+us. It's Christmas morning, child, why can't
+you behave?"</p>
+
+<p>"I wasn't naughty," sobbed Marian.
+"I&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Not another word," put in Aunt Amelia.
+"Go to your room, stubborn, bad child. I
+can't have such an example continually before
+my little Ella. We'll have to put her in
+a reform school, George, if she doesn't improve."</p>
+
+<p>This remark fell upon unheeding ears so
+far as Marian was concerned. The minute
+the door of her little room closed behind her
+she dropped the potatoes upon the floor and
+throwing herself beside them cried as if her
+heart would break.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, Nanna, Nanna, I want you," she
+sobbed. "Oh, where are you, oh, my Mrs.
+Moore?"</p>
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IX" id="CHAPTER_IX"></a>CHAPTER IX</h2>
+
+<p class="c">AT THE RICH MAN'S TABLE</p>
+
+
+<p><span class="smcap">True</span> to her word, Aunt Amelia carried
+Marian's breakfast to her room. But for the
+interference of Uncle George his little niece
+would have been given bread and water; it
+was all an impertinent child deserved. Uncle
+George, however, insisted that the One who
+was born on Christmas Day was a friend to
+sinners great and small. Out of respect to His
+memory, Marian should have her breakfast.
+Lala offered to take the tray up-stairs when it
+was ready, but Aunt Amelia said it was her
+duty to take it herself: so there was no one to
+speak a word of comfort to the little black
+sheep outside the fold.</p>
+
+<p>It had been a dark, cloudy morning, but
+curiously enough, the moment the door closed
+behind Aunt Amelia, the sun came out bright
+and warm, and shone straight through Marian's
+window. The child raised her head, wiped<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</a></span>
+her eyes and finally sat up. She wouldn't eat
+any breakfast of course, how could she? No
+one loved her and what was the use of eating?
+The tray looked tempting though and the
+breakfast smelled good. The big orange
+seemed rolling toward her and Uncle George
+must have poured the cream on her oatmeal.
+No one else would have given her so much.
+The omelet was steaming, and even Lala never
+made finer looking rolls.</p>
+
+<p>Marian moved a little nearer and a little
+nearer to the tray until the next thing she
+knew she was sitting in a chair, eating breakfast.
+Everything tasted good, and in a little
+while Marian felt better. Out of doors, the
+icy trees sparkled in the sunshine and all the
+world looked clean and new. Oh, how the
+little girl longed for a mother that Christmas
+morning. Some one who would love her and
+say "Dear little Marian," as Nanna once did.</p>
+
+<p>Thinking of Mrs. Moore brought back to
+the child's memory that last day in the Home.
+Mrs. Moore had said, "Be brave, be good and
+never forget the Father in heaven." Marian
+had not been brave nor good; and she had for<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span>gotten
+the Father in heaven. Suddenly the
+child looked around the room, under the bed
+everywhere. She was certainly alone. It
+seemed strange to say one's prayers in the daytime,
+but Marian folded her hands and kneeling
+in the flood of sunshine beneath the window,
+confessed her sins. She felt like a new
+born soul after that. The despairing, rebellious
+little Marian was gone, and in her place was a
+child at peace with herself and the world.
+Without putting it in words, Marian forgave
+Aunt Amelia: more than that, she felt positively
+tender towards her. She would tell her
+she was sorry for her impertinence and promise
+to be a good child. It would be so easy to
+do right. She would set Ella a good example.
+Not for anything would Marian ever again do
+what was wrong. In time Uncle George and
+Aunt Amelia would love her dearly.</p>
+
+<p>Marian smiled thoughtfully as she gazed
+down the straight and perfect path her little
+feet would travel from thenceforth forevermore.
+The child's meditations were interrupted
+by a remembrance of the potatoes.
+There they were, her Christmas presents, try<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span>ing
+to hide under the bed, under the chairs,
+beneath the bureau. She stared at them but
+a moment when a happy smile broke over
+her face.</p>
+
+<p>Marian was a saint no longer; only a little
+girl about to play a new game.</p>
+
+<p>"Why, it's a circus!" she exclaimed, and
+straightway seizing the potatoes and breaking
+the switches into little sticks, she transformed
+the unwelcome gift into a circus parade. The
+elephant came first. His trunk was a trifle
+too stiff as the switches were not limber. The
+camel came next and if his humps were not
+exactly in the right place, he was all the more
+of a curiosity. Then followed the giraffe with
+sloping back and no head worth mentioning
+because there was nothing to stick on the
+piece of switch that formed his long neck.
+Marian did wish she had a bit of gum to use
+for a head. The giraffe would look more
+finished. The lion and the tiger were perfect.
+Marian could almost hear them roar. Nobody
+could have found any fault with the kangaroo
+except that he would fall on his front feet.
+The hippopotamus was a sight worth going to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span>
+see. So was the rhinoceros. The zebras almost
+ran away, they were so natural.</p>
+
+<p>Marian searched eagerly for more potatoes.
+A peck would have been none too many.
+"I'll have to play the rest of the animals are
+in cages," she said with a sigh. "Too bad I
+didn't get more potatoes. Wish I had the
+other stocking."</p>
+
+<p>When Marian was tired of circus, she played
+concert. Bingen on the Rhine came in for
+its share of attention, but school songs were
+just as good and had ready-made tunes.</p>
+
+<p>Lala in the kitchen, heard the operatic
+singing and laughed. Aunt Amelia caught a
+few strains, frowned and closed the hall doors.
+Uncle George smiled behind his newspaper:
+but Ella, tired of her toys, pouted and said
+she wished she could ever have any fun.
+Marian always had a good time. Mrs. St.
+Claire reminded her of the sleigh ride with
+the seven little girls in the afternoon and
+Ella managed to get through the morning
+somehow, even if it was dull and Christmas
+joy was nowhere in the house except in the
+little room off the back hall up-stairs.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>At one o'clock Lala was sent to tell Marian
+she might come down to dinner if she would
+apologize to Aunt Amelia for her impertinence.
+Lala was forbidden to say more, but
+nobody thought to caution her not to laugh,
+and what did Lala do when she saw Marian
+playing the piano beside the circus parade, but
+laugh until the tears ran down her cheeks.
+Worst of all she waited on table with a broad
+smile on her face that made Aunt Amelia
+quite as uncomfortable as the mention of a
+pelican. Nor was it possible for Aunt Amelia
+to understand how a child who had been in
+disgrace all the forenoon, could be cheerful
+and ready to laugh on the slightest provocation.
+She thought it poor taste.</p>
+
+<p>After dinner Ella thrust a repentant looking
+stocking in Marian's hand. "Papa says
+the things are yours and you must have
+them," she explained.</p>
+
+<p>"What makes the stocking look so floppy?"
+asked Marian.</p>
+
+<p>"Because," Ella went on, "papa made me
+take all the potatoes out and there wasn't
+much left. You've got a handkerchief in the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span>
+stocking from me and one from mamma,
+and&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Please don't tell me," protested Marian.
+"I want to be s'prised."</p>
+
+<p>"Like the selfish child you are," put in
+Aunt Amelia, "unwilling to give your cousin
+a bit of pleasure."</p>
+
+<p>"And a box of dominoes from papa and
+a doll's tea set Lala gave you," finished
+Ella.</p>
+
+<p>"She'll expect a doll next," observed Aunt
+Amelia.</p>
+
+<p>"I did think Santa Claus would give me
+one," admitted the child, "but I had rather
+have the beautiful tea set. Help me set the
+table on this chair, Ella, and we'll play Christmas
+dinner. I'll let you pour the tea
+and&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Ella has no time to play," her mother
+interrupted. "Come, little one, help mamma
+finish packing the baskets of presents for the
+poor children."</p>
+
+<p>"But I had rather play with Marian's tea
+set," pouted Ella.</p>
+
+<p>"You have one of your own, dearest."</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"It isn't as nice as Marian's, though, and I
+want to stay here and play."</p>
+
+<p>"Now you see, George," and Mrs. St. Claire
+turned to her husband, "now you see why I
+cannot allow these children to play together.
+You can see for yourself what an influence
+Marian has over our little Ella. Come, darling,
+have you forgotten the sleigh ride? It
+is time to get ready."</p>
+
+<p>"Me too?" questioned Marian, springing to
+her feet, "shall I get ready?"</p>
+
+<p>The child knew her mistake in less than a
+minute, but forgetting the uselessness of protest,
+she begged so earnestly to be taken with
+the children Aunt Amelia called her saucy,
+and as a punishment, the Christmas gifts, tea
+set and all, were put on a high shelf out of
+sight.</p>
+
+<p>Marian was allowed to stand in the parlor
+by the window to see the sleigh-load of noisy
+children drive away. When they were gone,
+the parlor seemed bigger than usual and
+strangely quiet. Uncle George, with a frown
+on his face, was reading in the sitting-room.
+He didn't look talkative and the clock ticked<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span>
+loud. Marian turned again to the parlor
+window. Across the street was the rich man's
+house, and in the front window of the rich
+man's house was a poor little girl looking out&mdash;a
+sad little girl with big eyes and a pale
+face. Marian waved her hand and the little
+girl waved hers&mdash;such a tiny, white hand. A
+new idea flashed into Marian's mind. She
+had often seen the little girl across the way
+and wondered why she never played with
+Ella. At last she thought she knew. The
+rich man's wife probably went to a hospital
+after the little girl, and took her home to get
+well just as Janey Clark was taken home,
+only Janey was never thin and delicate and
+Janey never stared quietly at everything as
+the little girl did who lived in the rich man's
+house.</p>
+
+<p>Marian wondered why Aunt Amelia didn't
+leave her some of the presents in the baskets.
+Perhaps nobody loved the little girl: maybe
+her father and mother were dead and Santa
+Claus didn't know where to find her. Marian
+wished she had something to take to the poor
+thing. She would have given away her tea<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span>
+set that minute had it been within reach.
+Just then a long-legged horse went by, a horse
+that looked so queer it reminded Marian of
+her potato menagerie. The child smiled at
+the thought. Perhaps the little girl in the
+rich man's house never saw a potato animal
+and would like to see one. Perhaps she
+would like two or three for a Christmas present.
+Why not? It was all Marian had to
+give and the animals were funny enough to
+make any poor little girl laugh. Up-stairs
+Marian flew, returning with the elephant, the
+rhinoceros, the hippopotamus and two zebras
+packed in a pasteboard box.</p>
+
+<p>"Please, Uncle George," she asked, "may I
+go and visit the poor little girl that lives in
+the rich man's house? I want to say 'Wish
+you a merry Christmas' to her, and&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Run along, child," interrupted Uncle
+George, the frown smoothing out as he spoke,
+"go where you will and have a good time if
+it is possible&mdash;bless your sunny face."</p>
+
+<p>Uncle George had heard of the rich man's
+house and he smiled a broad smile of amusement
+as he watched Marian climb the steps<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span>
+and ring the bell. "What next?" he inquired
+as the door closed behind the child.
+In a short time he knew "What next." One
+of the rich man's servants came over with a
+note from the neighbor's wife, begging Uncle
+George to allow Marian to stay and help them
+enjoy their Christmas dinner at six. The permission
+was gladly given and at eight o'clock
+Marian came home hugging an immense wax
+doll and fairly bubbling over with excitement.</p>
+
+<p>"I never had such a good time at the table
+in my life," she began, "as I did at the rich
+man's house. They asked me to talk, just
+think of it&mdash;asked me to, and I did and they
+did and we all laughed. And the poor little
+girl isn't poor, only just sick and she belongs
+to the folks. The rich man is her father and
+her name is Dolly Russel and she was gladder
+to see me than she ever was to see anybody in
+her life and she wants me to come again,
+and&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"And I suppose you told all you knew,"
+snapped Aunt Amelia.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, most, 'specially at the table," admitted
+the child.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_X" id="CHAPTER_X"></a>CHAPTER X</h2>
+
+<p class="c">A GAME OF SLICED BIRDS</p>
+
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Marian</span> was so happy with her doll and
+teaset the following day she was blind and
+deaf to all that happened in the house outside
+her little room. She didn't know that
+Mrs. Russel made her first call upon Aunt
+Amelia in the afternoon, nor that company
+was expected in the evening. Ella's mysterious
+airs were lost upon her. The child was
+accordingly surprised when she met the company
+at breakfast.</p>
+
+<p>Aunt Hester, Mrs. St. Claire's younger
+sister, was a pleasant surprise because she
+was good-looking and agreeable. She returned
+Marian's smile of greeting with interest.
+Marian hoped she had found a friend
+and hovered near the welcome stranger until
+sent to her room. During the rest of the week
+she and Aunt Hester exchanged smiles when
+they met at the table, and to win a few kind<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span>
+words from her became Marian's dream. New
+Year's Day brought an opportunity. Mrs.
+Russel sent a box of sliced birds to Marian
+and her cousin, and as the gift came while
+the family were at breakfast, Marian knew all
+about it. At last she and Ella owned something
+in common and might perhaps be allowed
+to play together. She could hardly
+wait to finish her breakfast.</p>
+
+<p>"What are sliced birds and how do you
+play with them?" she asked Aunt Hester,
+who carried the box into the sitting-room.</p>
+
+<p>"Well," began Aunt Hester, "can you read,
+Marian?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, auntie, I can read pretty near anything
+I try to, but I can't write very good,
+not a bit good. Do you have to write in
+sliced birds?"</p>
+
+<p>"No," was the laughing reply, "if you can
+spell a little that is all that is necessary.
+Here is a paper with a list of birds on it we
+can put together. Now here is the word jay.
+A picture of a jay is cut in three pieces, on
+one piece is 'J,' on another is 'A' and on the
+third is 'Y.' Now hunt for 'J.'"</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Ella knows her letters," Marian suggested.
+"Come, Ella, hunt for 'J,' that piece would
+have a blue jay's head on it, I guess." Marian
+waited until Ella found the letter and together
+they finished the blue jay. Both children
+were delighted with the result.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, what fun!" cried Marian. "We'll
+make all the birds, Ella. I'll read a name
+and tell you what letters to hunt for."</p>
+
+<p>A shadow fell across the bright scene, caused
+by the entrance of Aunt Amelia. "Go over
+there and sit down," she said to Marian. "I
+came in to help Hester divide the game."</p>
+
+<p>"Divide the game!" echoed both children.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, don't do it, please don't," besought
+Marian, "we want to play with all the birds
+together."</p>
+
+<p>"It seems a pity," began Aunt Hester, but
+she gathered Ella in her arms and helped
+form all the birds in two straight lines upon
+the floor as her sister desired.</p>
+
+<p>Marian watched with eager interest. She
+hoped when the birds were divided a few of
+the pretty ones might be given to her. If
+she had her choice she couldn't tell whether<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</a></span>
+she would take the peacock or the bird of
+paradise&mdash;they were both gorgeous. The
+scarlet tanager and the red-headed woodpecker
+were beautiful but of course it wasn't
+fair to wish for all the brightest birds. It
+was Aunt Hester who suggested a way to
+divide the game.</p>
+
+<p>"Let them take turns choosing," she said.
+"It seems to me that will be perfectly fair.
+The children might draw cuts for first
+choice."</p>
+
+<p>At that, Marian saw her opportunity.
+"Ella may be the first chooser," she declared,
+and was rewarded by a smile from
+Aunt Hester. Which would Ella take? the
+bird of paradise or the peacock? Either
+would please Marian, so it really made no
+difference which was left. Ella wanted them
+both and said so.</p>
+
+<p>"Hush," whispered her mother, "if you
+keep still Marian won't know which birds
+are the prettiest. Aunt Hester and I will
+help you choose."</p>
+
+<p>"I guess I'll take that," Ella decided, pointing
+towards the bird of paradise.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Marian was about to choose the peacock
+when a whispered word from Aunt Hester
+caught her ear.</p>
+
+<p>"I hope, Ella dear, that she won't take the
+peacock."</p>
+
+<p>Marian hesitated a moment. She wanted
+the peacock with its gay, spreading tail, but
+if Aunt Hester wished Ella to have it perhaps
+she would love whoever helped her get it.
+"I'll take the turkey," said the child, whereupon
+Ella gave a shout.</p>
+
+<p>"She don't know much, she took an old
+brown turkey. I'll have the peacock and I
+want the red bird and the redhead."</p>
+
+<p>Aunt Amelia laughed. "One at a time,
+you dear, impulsive child," said she, but
+Aunt Hester smiled across at Marian. "Your
+turn," she said.</p>
+
+<p>"I'll take the owl," Marian quietly replied.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, ho! an old owl!" laughed Ella, clapping
+her hands for joy. "Now I'll have the
+redhead! goody! And next time&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Hush," warned her mother. "You
+mustn't let Marian know what you want or
+she'll take it."</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"I choose the wren," came in low tones
+from Marian.</p>
+
+<p>"My turn," Ella called. "Give me the
+redhead."</p>
+
+<p>"Choose the flicker next," advised her
+mother, so Marian, still hoping to be loved,
+chose the robin.</p>
+
+<p>Aunt Hester smiled again, but the smile
+was for Ella. "Take the parrot next," she
+whispered, so Marian chose the crow.</p>
+
+<p>"Now, Ella, darling," whispered her mother,
+"the oriole, after Marian has her turn," and
+Marian, taking the hint, motioned for the jay.</p>
+
+<p>It was over at last and Marian was told to
+go to her room. As she was leaving, Aunt
+Hester gave Ella a rapturous hug and said,
+"Our baby has all the prettiest birds." Aunt
+Hester didn't know Marian heard the remark
+until she saw the tears that could not be kept
+back, wetting the rosy cheeks. "Oh, you
+poor young one!" she exclaimed, and but for
+the presence of Aunt Amelia, she would have
+taken the sad little mortal in her arms.</p>
+
+<p>"She's crying 'cause her birds are all
+homely," said Ella.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Of course, she always wants the best,"
+remarked Mrs. St. Claire, but Aunt Hester
+and Ella both gazed after the retreating figure
+of little Marian, with conscience-stricken faces.
+They had been three against one, and that one
+didn't know enough to take the choicest birds
+when she had the chance. They hadn't played
+fair.</p>
+
+<p>Marian, blinded by tears, stumbled over a
+rug at the door of her room and the sliced
+birds slipped almost unheeded from her apron.
+The nearest seat was the box she called her
+piano stool. She dropped upon it and buried
+her face in her arms on the piano. The
+sheet music tumbled forward upon her head,
+perhaps fearing it might be but an old almanac
+forever after. Bitter thoughts filled the little
+soul. Why would no one love her? Why did
+the sound of her voice annoy every one so
+she feared to speak? What was the trouble?
+Was she so bad or so homely that no one
+might love her? She had tried to be good
+and tried to do right, but what difference had
+it made? Aunt Hester thought her stupid
+because she allowed Ella to take what birds<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</a></span>
+she would. Surely Aunt Hester was the stupid
+one.</p>
+
+<p>It was impossible for Marian to feel miserable
+long at a time. In a few minutes she sat
+up and straightened her sheet music, whereupon
+the almanac became a hymn-book. She
+turned the leaves slowly as did the young lady
+who played the organ prayer-meeting nights.
+Then, addressing the wax doll and the bed
+posts she announced in solemn tones, "We'll
+sing nineteen verses of number 'leventy 'leven."</p>
+
+<p>"Number 'leventy 'leven" happened to be
+"Come Ye Disconsolate," a hymn Marian
+was familiar with, as it was Aunt Amelia's
+favorite. The tune began dismally enough,
+but the disconsolate one took courage on the
+third line and sang out triumphantly at last,
+with a great flourish upon the piano, "'Earth
+has no sorrow that Heaven cannot heal.'"
+"Twenty Froggies Went to School" came
+next, and Marian was herself once more,
+which is to say, she became at a moment's
+notice, a famous musician, a school-teacher, a
+princess, a queen or whatever the occasion
+required, while the little room was easily<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</a></span>
+changed into anything from the Desert of
+Sahara to a palace.</p>
+
+<p>The extent of Marian's knowledge was the
+only limit to the games she played. Pictures
+in the family Bible had given her many an
+hour of entertainment in the little room,
+thanks to the fact that Uncle George allowed
+Marian to look at the pictures on an occasional
+Sunday afternoon. The doll almost broke her
+nose the day before playing "Rebecca at the
+Well." The "Marriage at Cana" was a safer
+game for a wax doll that could not stand,
+especially as the doll made a beautiful bride.
+Turning from her piano, Marian saw something
+that made her laugh. The robin's head
+and the duck's feet had fallen one above the
+other.</p>
+
+<p>"Poor robin," she said, "I guess you would
+rather have your own feet. R-o-b-i-n, I know
+how to spell you, and I'll put you on your
+own feet and I'll give the duck his own head
+so he can quack." When the robin was put
+together it looked like an old friend. "You're
+nicer than the bird of paradise, after all," declared
+Marian, "because I know you so well.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</a></span>
+You and I used to be chums because I didn't
+have any little girls to play with."</p>
+
+<p>It was something of a puzzle to put all of
+the birds together, but when the work was
+finished Marian was pleased. "You're all so
+nice and common looking," she said. "I
+never saw the owl bird, but we used to hear
+him in the woods at night, didn't we, blue
+jay? He used to go, 'Who&mdash;who&mdash;whoo&mdash;whoo!'
+We used to see you, old black crow,
+you always said 'Caw&mdash;caw&mdash;caw,' and you
+dear little wren, how I would like to hear you
+sing once more. Where are you all now?
+Somewhere way down South, because our
+teacher says so and when the snow is gone,
+you'll come flying back.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, now we'll play something. It is
+autumn over here on the rug, the rug's the
+orchard, and the leaves are falling and all the
+flowers are fading and winter is coming. You
+see that sunshiny spot on the floor over there
+under the windows, birdies? Well, that is
+down South where you are going. I don't
+remember who goes first but I guess the little
+wren better fly away now, and we'll have lots<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</a></span>
+of fun." One by one the birds went south,
+owl and all, and one by one they flew back to
+the orchard in the spring-time, where the wax
+doll welcomed them, listened to their songs
+and scattered strings about for them to use in
+building their nests.</p>
+
+<p>It was a pleasant game and Marian was
+called to the dining-room before she thought
+of putting the birds away.</p>
+
+<p>"I wonder if I didn't get the best half of
+the game after all," she suggested to the wax
+doll as she threw it a parting kiss.</p>
+
+<p>Had Marian known that the bird of paradise,
+the peacock and the other bright ones
+were laid upon a shelf as birds of no consequence
+and that Ella had complained all the
+forenoon of having nothing to do, she would
+have understood why Aunt Hester not only
+greeted her with a smile, but said at the same
+time, "You dear, happy child."</p>
+
+<p>It was enough that Aunt Hester said it and
+smiled, without puzzling for a reason. Surely
+Marian had chosen the better half of the game
+when such loving tones were meant for her.
+It was wonderful.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XI" id="CHAPTER_XI"></a>CHAPTER XI</h2>
+
+<p class="c">THE WAY OF THE TRANSGRESSOR</p>
+
+
+<p><span class="smcap">A year</span> passed away, in which time Marian
+was kept more and more outside of the family
+and more and more apart from all ordinary
+pleasures of childhood, but in spite of everything
+she was happy, ever hoping to win the
+approval of her aunt and uncle.</p>
+
+<p>Going to school was a never-failing joy because
+at noon-times and recess there were
+girls and boys to play with, and the long
+walks to and from school were always a delight
+to a child who was interested in everything
+from a blade of grass to the clouds.</p>
+
+<p>Ella attended a private school near home
+and was scarcely allowed to speak to Marian.
+She had many playmates, but all of them put
+together were not half so attractive from her
+point of view as the little cousin who played
+alone. One winter morning Ella told Marian
+behind the dining-room door that her grand<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</a></span>mother
+and Uncle Robert were coming to stay
+all the spring-time and that Uncle Robert was
+a little boy only a few years older than Marian.
+Ella was delighted, but Marian wished Uncle
+Robert was a girl. She had reason for the
+wish before summer.</p>
+
+<p>Marian was prejudiced against boys for as
+much as a year after Ella's uncle went away.
+He believed it was his privilege to tease little
+girls, though in all his life he never had such
+a chance to torment any one as he had that
+spring. It was useless to play tricks on Ella,
+because she ran crying to her mother and that
+made trouble for Robert: but Marian could
+appeal to no one and teasing her was safe and
+interesting. To hold her doll by the hair
+while Marian begged and screamed, was daily
+amusement until the child learned to leave
+the doll in her room. To hide her few books
+was another pleasure and to frighten her on
+every possible occasion until her eyes seemed
+fairly popping out of her head, was a victory.</p>
+
+<p>Marian was glad to have some one to play
+with if that some one was a tyrant and often
+before her tears were dry, she was ready to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</a></span>
+forgive Robert for teasing her and to join in
+any game he proposed. One day he suggested
+something that shocked Marian. He asked
+her to steal sugar. He didn't say steal, he
+said "Hook," and at first Marian didn't understand.
+Robert told her to sneak into the
+pantry after Lala was through work in the
+afternoon, take a lump of sugar from the
+barrel and give it to him. She wouldn't listen
+in the beginning, but by dint of persuasion
+and threats, Robert succeeded in getting his
+lump of sugar: not only one, but many, for
+stealing sugar became easier as the days
+went by and no one caught the small
+culprit.</p>
+
+<p>Robert's ambition was to be a railroad engineer,
+and soon after the sugar stealing began,
+he made an engine of boxes and barrels in the
+locust grove. When it was finished and in
+running order, he allowed Marian to be his
+fireman. At first the child thought it was
+fun, but when she had shoveled air with a
+stick for five minutes without stopping, while
+Robert rang the bell, blew the whistle and
+ran the engine, she threw down her shovel.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</a></span>
+"It's my turn to be engineer now," she declared.</p>
+
+<p>"Girls don't know enough to run engines,"
+was the reply.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm not a girl," protested Marian, "I'm a
+fireman."</p>
+
+<p>"Then tend to your job, why don't you?"
+was the retort. "I wouldn't ring the bell for
+my fireman if I didn't think he was a good
+one. Come, coal up, tend to business."</p>
+
+<p>Somewhat flattered, the fireman smiled,
+shoveled coal until his arms ached, and then
+rebelled. "I say," she declared, "you've got
+to let me be engineer now! I won't be fireman
+another minute!"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, you won't?" taunted the engineer.
+"We'll see about that! Of course you needn't
+shovel coal for me if you don't want to, but you
+had better make up your mind pretty quick, because
+if you won't be my fireman, I'll go and
+tell my sister Amelia that you steal sugar!"</p>
+
+<p>Marian was too stunned for words until
+Robert laughed. Then her face grew scarlet,
+and her eyes had a look in them the boy had
+never seen before.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"You dare not tell!" she screamed, leaning
+towards Robert, anger and defiance in every
+line of her slight figure. "I say you dare
+not!"</p>
+
+<p>"I wonder why?" sniffed the boy.</p>
+
+<p>"You know why; you told me to take the
+sugar, and I got it for you and I never tasted
+a bit of it. You were such an old pig you
+wouldn't give me back a crumb&mdash;old rhinoceros&mdash;hippopotamus&mdash;I'd
+call you an elephant
+too, only elephants are so much nicer'n
+you."</p>
+
+<p>Again the boy laughed. "You hooked the
+sugar, didn't you?" he demanded.</p>
+
+<p>"What if I did, didn't I do it 'cause you
+told me to, and didn't you eat it, you old
+gorilla?"</p>
+
+<p>"What if I did, Miss Marian Spitfire? I'll
+say it's one of your lies, and no one will believe
+what you say. You know you can't look
+my sister in the face and tell her you didn't
+take the sugar, but I can stand up and cross
+my heart and hope to die if I ever saw any
+sugar, and they'll believe me and they won't
+believe you. Now will you shovel coal?<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</a></span>
+Toot-toot-toot&mdash;chew-chew-chew&mdash;ding-a-ling-a-ling&mdash;engine's
+going to start! Ha, ha, ha!"</p>
+
+<p>"You mean thing, you horrid boy! I hate
+you!" sputtered Marian, but she shoveled
+coal. In fact the child shoveled coal the rest
+of the spring whenever Robert chose to play
+engine, until the day his taunts proved too
+much and she kicked his engine to pieces,
+threatening to "give it to him," if he didn't
+keep out of the way.</p>
+
+<p>"Now tell," she screamed from the midst
+of the wreck, "tell anything you're a mind
+to, I don't care what you do."</p>
+
+<p>Robert walked away whistling "Yankee
+Doodle." "I'm tired of playing engine," he
+called over his shoulder, "and I'm much
+obliged to you for saving me the trouble of
+taking it to pieces. I don't wonder nobody
+likes you. My sister Amelia knows what
+she's talking about when she says you've got
+the worst temper ever was! I bet you'll die
+in prison&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"You'll die before you get to prison if you
+don't get out of my sight," was the retort.</p>
+
+<p>Robert walked away so fast Marian was cer<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</a></span>tain
+he was going to tell about the sugar and
+she waited, defiantly at first, then tremblingly.
+What would become of her? What would
+they do? For reasons best known to himself,
+Robert didn't mention sugar, and after a few
+days of suspense, Marian breathed easier, although
+she wasn't thoroughly comfortable until
+Robert and his mother were on their way
+home.</p>
+
+<p>A few weeks later Aunt Amelia made a jar
+of cookies for Ella's birthday party. She
+made them herself and put them on a low
+shelf in the pantry. Marian asked for a cookie
+and was refused. She didn't expect to get it.
+The more she thought of the cookies, the more
+she wanted one. She remembered the sugar.
+No one but Robert knew about that sugar, and
+if she helped herself to a cooky that would be
+her own secret. Marian took a cooky and ate
+it back of the orchard. Her old friends, the
+chipping sparrows, flew down for the crumbs
+that fell at her feet. The little birds were surprised
+when Marian frightened them away.
+She had been so kind to them they had lost
+all fear of her.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>The second cooky Marian took she ate in
+the locust grove where she was much annoyed
+by the curiosity of a chipmunk. He asked
+her questions with his head on one side and
+his hand on his heart. His chatter made her
+angry. What was it to him if she happened
+to be eating a cooky? She did wish folks
+would mind their own business. From that
+day, Marian grew reckless. She carried away
+cookies two or three at a time and talked back
+to the birds and the squirrels and all the inhabitants
+of the orchard and the locust grove
+who were not polite enough to hide their inquisitiveness.</p>
+
+<p>For once in her life, Marian had all the
+cookies she wished, although they agreed with
+neither her stomach nor her conscience. She
+didn't feel well and she was cross and unhappy.
+At last Marian knew that the day
+of reckoning was near at hand. She could
+almost touch the bottom of the cooky jar
+when she realized that the cookies had been
+made for Ella's party and had not been used
+upon the table. No one had lifted the cover
+of the jar but herself since the day they were<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</a></span>
+baked. It was a frightful thought. There
+was no more peace for Marian. Awake or
+dreaming, the cookies were ever before her.
+In school and at home they haunted her.
+What should she do, what could she do?</p>
+
+<p>Quietly the child went about the house.
+She no longer sang nor laughed. Uncle
+George wondered, Aunt Amelia rejoiced. She
+thought Marian's usual high spirits unbecoming
+a child dependent upon charity, as Marian
+had often heard her remark.</p>
+
+<p>"She may be working too hard in school,"
+suggested Uncle George.</p>
+
+<p>"Whatever is the cause she has behaved so
+well lately, I shall allow her in the sitting-room
+with the children when Ella has her
+party," conceded Aunt Amelia.</p>
+
+<p>Even a shadow of kindness touched Marian's
+heart. Oh, why had she done wrong? From
+the depths of her soul, the child repented.
+Why had she been called bad in the days
+when she tried to be good, and at last when
+she was so bad, why would Aunt Amelia declare
+that there was a great improvement in
+her behavior, and why would Uncle George<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</a></span>
+speak to her almost as pleasantly as he did to
+Ella? If only she had remembered the words
+of Mrs. Moore before it was too late; to "Be
+good and to do right." Mrs. Moore also said,
+"Be brave." It would be brave to go to Aunt
+Amelia and tell her the truth about the cookies.
+Marian had not been good, she had not
+done right and she could not be brave.</p>
+
+<p>Many and many a time the child studied
+the grim face of Aunt Amelia, repeating over
+and over to herself "Be brave." It seemed
+to Marian that if she attempted telling Aunt
+Amelia of her sin, she would die on the spot,
+choke to death, perhaps, trying to get the
+words out. Her throat closed tight together
+at the very thought. It might, under some
+circumstances, be possible to tell Uncle George,
+although to confess was to be forever an outcast.
+Neither Uncle George nor Aunt Amelia
+would ever love her, nor would she ever be
+allowed to play with Ella. All the golden
+texts Marian had ever learned, haunted her
+memory. "The way of the transgressor is
+hard." "Be sure your sin will find you out."
+"Enter not into the path of the wicked."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span>
+"Evil pursueth sinners." There were many
+others, so many, the child was sorry she had
+ever gone to Sunday-school.</p>
+
+<p>The day of the party was bright and beautiful.
+All the little girls came who were invited,
+Ruth Higgins, Dorothy Avery and
+Dolly Russel among the number. Marian
+went into the sitting-room with drooping
+head and misery in her soul, until joining in
+the games and merriment, she forgot the
+cookies and had a good time. Not a thought
+of trouble disturbed her pleasure even though
+she heard Lala setting the table in the dining-room.</p>
+
+<p>Her conscience awoke only when Aunt
+Amelia appeared to summon her into the
+kitchen. Every bit of color left the child's
+face. She could hear nothing clearly because
+of the ringing in her ears. As she followed
+Aunt Amelia through the dining-room the
+floor seemed rising up at every step and the
+candles on the birthday cake danced before her
+eyes. On the table in the kitchen was the
+empty cooky jar, the eloquent witness of her
+guilt. On a rosebud plate beside it were less<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</a></span>
+than a dozen cookies. Marian gazed stupidly
+at the jar and at the plate of cookies.</p>
+
+<p>"What have you to say for yourself, Marian
+Lee?" Aunt Amelia's voice sounded far
+away. There were such lumps in Marian's
+throat she couldn't speak.</p>
+
+<p>"Answer me," commanded Aunt Amelia,
+"what have you to say?"</p>
+
+<p>Marian's tongue felt paralyzed. Perhaps it
+was unwilling to do its owner's bidding. It
+was certainly hard for that truthful little
+tongue to say the one word "Nothing." Aunt
+Amelia's face was terrible. "Do you mean
+to tell me that you haven't touched those
+cookies?"</p>
+
+<p>There was no retreat. Marian nodded her
+head.</p>
+
+<p>"Speak!" continued Aunt Amelia, "say
+yes or no? Do you dare to tell me that you
+didn't take the cookies?"</p>
+
+<p>It was all Marian did dare to do and her
+reply was "Yes."</p>
+
+<p>Aunt Amelia raised a long forefinger as
+she said, "Don't stand there and lie, Marian
+Lee, you took those cookies."</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"I did not." Lala grew pale when she
+heard that answer and saw the terrified eyes
+of the child.</p>
+
+<p>"Own up," she whispered as she passed
+the trembling sinner on her way to the dining-room.</p>
+
+<p>Marian looked beseechingly at Aunt Amelia,
+but her face was hard and pitiless. The child
+dared not "Be brave." "I did not touch the
+cookies," she repeated again and again.</p>
+
+<p>"How do you account for the disappearance
+of a whole jar of cookies, Marian, if you
+didn't eat them?" asked Uncle George upon
+his arrival.</p>
+
+<p>Marian had not thought of accounting for
+the loss of the cookies, but she took a deep
+breath and made a suggestion. "I s'pose a
+hungry tramp took 'em."</p>
+
+<p>The reply wasn't satisfactory. Uncle George
+frowned and Aunt Amelia smiled. The smile
+wasn't the kind she was in the habit of bestowing
+upon Ella. It was the sort that
+froze the blood in Marian's veins. She sank
+in a miserable little heap upon the floor and
+cried and cried.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Reform school is the place for children
+who steal and lie," said Aunt Amelia.</p>
+
+<p>Uncle George tried to make the child confess,
+but his efforts were vain. She would
+not. Threats were powerless. The more
+frightened Marian became the more vehemently
+she denied her guilt. Although it
+was Ella's birthday, and shouts of laughter
+could be heard from the sitting-room, Aunt
+Amelia produced a certain strap Marian was
+familiar with through past experience.
+"Spare the rod, spoil the child," was Mrs.
+St. Claire's favorite motto so far as her husband's
+small relative was concerned.</p>
+
+<p>"You can whip me till I die," sobbed
+Marian when she saw the strap, "but I can't
+say I took the cookies, because I didn't. How
+can I say I did, when I didn't?" Nor could
+Aunt Amelia nor Uncle George compel the
+child to say anything different.</p>
+
+<p>"You can whip me till I die," she insisted
+over and over, "but I can't say I took
+those cookies," and they finally believed
+her.</p>
+
+<p>"Go to bed," commanded Aunt Amelia. "I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</a></span>
+don't want to see a child who could die easier
+than she could tell the truth. Go!"</p>
+
+<p>A smothered sob caught Marian's ear.
+Lala was crying; and because Lala cried and
+was soon after found in Marian's room trying
+to quiet her, she was sent away the next day.
+Tilly was her successor. Before she had been
+in the house a week, she openly befriended
+Marian. "Poor little thing," she said, "if
+you had stolen a barrel of cookies from a
+baker you wouldn't have deserved half of the
+punishment you get. There isn't anything
+left they can do to you, is there?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, they can send me to the reform
+school," was the reply, "and, oh, dear, I'm
+afraid to go. What will become of me?"</p>
+
+<p>"If I were you," Tilly advised, "and I
+took the cookies, I would own up. They
+can't any more than kill you and I guess
+they'll do that anyway."</p>
+
+<p>Marian shook her head. The time to own
+up was long passed. She stayed in her room
+and ate bread and water a week without protest.
+On Sunday afternoon she listened to
+the story of Ananias and Sapphira with teet<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</a></span>h
+and fists tightly closed. She heard long
+speeches on the fearful consequences of stealing
+and lying, without a word. Only when
+questioned would she say in low spiritless
+tones, "I did not touch the cookies."</p>
+
+<p>When it was all over, and Aunt Amelia
+and Uncle George gave up trying to wring a
+confession from her and the child was simply
+in disgrace, her own conscience began its
+work. It gave her no peace. Marian had
+said her prayers every night as Mrs. Moore
+had taught her when she was a baby; but she
+had repeated them quickly with her back
+turned towards heaven and had made no
+mention of cookies. At last, troubled by her
+conscience, and not knowing where to turn
+for comfort, Marian knelt by her bedside one
+night and tried an experiment.</p>
+
+<p>"O Lord," she began, "I am not going to
+lie to you about the cookies. Thou knowest
+I took them. That is why I haven't said any
+made up prayers for so long. I knew Thou
+knewest how wicked I am and I know what
+the Bible says about lying lips. I am afraid
+of Aunt Amelia or I would own up. She<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</a></span>
+says I won't go to heaven when I die because
+I am too bad to live there. Now, O Lord, I
+know I could be good in heaven, but it has
+been hard work on earth, and after I took the
+cookies I got wickeder and wickeder, but
+honest and truth I'll never do anything wrong
+again and I'll never tell another lie. Thou
+knowest I could be good in heaven. Please,
+O Lord, forgive me and take me straight up
+to heaven when I die. Amen."</p>
+
+<p>That prayer didn't help Marian a bit. She
+could scarcely get off her knees when she had
+said "Amen." Her head seemed bowed down
+beneath a weight of cookies.</p>
+
+<p>"You know what you must do," insisted
+her conscience, "you must go to your Uncle
+George and your Aunt Amelia first, first, I say."</p>
+
+<p>"But I can't do that, and I'm so unhappy,"
+sobbed Marian, but her conscience was pitiless.
+It would allow no compromise. "Oh, if I
+could see Nanna," whispered Marian as she
+crept into bed. No one had ever kissed her
+good-night but once since she had left the
+Home, and now, no one ever would again.
+The Father in heaven had turned away His<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</a></span>
+face. Marian cried herself to sleep as she had
+many a night before.</p>
+
+<p>In the middle of the night she awoke and
+sat up in bed, cold and trembling. Thunder
+was rolling through the sky and an occasional
+flash of lightning made the little room bright
+one minute and inky black the next. Perhaps
+the end of the world was coming when
+the graves would give up their dead and the
+terrible Judge would descend to deal with the
+wicked. A crash of thunder shook the house.
+Marian dived beneath the blankets, but a horrible
+thought caused her to sit bolt upright
+again. Aunt Amelia had told her that sinners,
+on the last day, would call for the rocks
+and mountains to fall upon them. Perhaps
+hiding beneath blankets meant the same thing.
+Another crash came and a blinding flash
+of lightning. Then another and another.
+Springing from her bed, Marian ran down
+the hall to Mrs. St. Claire's room. The
+door was closed but the room was lighted.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, let me come in," she cried, knocking
+frantically at the door and keeping her eye
+upon the crack of light at the bottom.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>The response was immediate. Aunt Amelia
+stepped into the hall and closed the door behind
+her. "Go back to your room," she said,
+"and don't you dare leave it again. I should
+think you would expect the lightning to
+strike you!"</p>
+
+<p>Marian shrank back as a flash of lightning
+illumined the hall. For one moment she
+saw Aunt Amelia, tall and terrible in her
+white night-dress, her voice more fearful than
+the thunder, and her form seeming to stretch
+upward and upward, growing thinner and thinner
+until it vanished in the awful darkness.</p>
+
+<p>Marian fled, closing the door of her little
+room and placing a chair against it. Kneeling
+by the window, she closed her eyes to
+shut out glimpses of the unnatural garden below
+and the angry sky above. The thought
+of sudden death filled her with terror. What
+would become of her soul if she died with her
+sins unconfessed? "Dear Father in heaven,"
+she cried, "if you have to kill me with lightning,
+forgive me and take me to heaven.
+I'll be good there. I'll never steal anything
+there nor ever lie again. I was going to own<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</a></span>
+up to Aunt Amelia, but O Lord, I was so
+afraid of her I didn't dare. If you'll let me
+live through this night, I'll go and tell her in
+the morning and then I'll never do wrong
+again. O Lord, I'm so sorry, and I'm awful
+afraid of lightning. I don't want to die by
+it, but if I have to, please take me up to
+heaven. Amen."</p>
+
+<p>Then Marian went back to bed. Her conscience
+didn't say a word that time and she
+went to sleep before the storm was over, long
+before Ella was quieted or ever Aunt Amelia
+closed her eyes.</p>
+
+<p>Marian's first waking thought when she
+looked out on the fresh brightness of another
+day was one of thankfulness. It was good to
+be alive. Another second and she groaned.
+Perhaps she would have been dead but for
+that midnight promise, the promise she must
+keep. Marian dressed quickly and sought
+Aunt Amelia before she lost courage. She
+wasn't gone long. Back she flew to the little
+room where her prayer was short although
+her sobs were long.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, Lord, I couldn't, I just couldn't."</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>There were many thunder-storms that
+summer and for a while every one of
+them frightened Marian. In the night,
+she would resolve to confess, but daylight
+took away her courage. "If I should be
+sick a long time," Marian argued, "perhaps
+then Aunt Amelia would like me some and
+just before I died I could shut my eyes and
+tell her about the cookies. Then God would
+surely forgive me and I would go straight up
+to heaven and it would be all right. But if
+I should die suddenly, before I had any time
+to say any last words, what would become of
+me?" she asked herself. After thinking of it
+some time, Marian hit upon a plan that
+brought her peace of mind. She wrote the
+following confession:</p>
+
+<p>"Nobody knows how much I have suffered
+on account of some cookies. I used to like
+cookies but not now. It began by sugar. I
+took lumps of sugar out of a barrel for a boy.
+I thought if I could take sugar I could take
+cookies, too, and I did, but I said I didn't.
+I did take the cookies. I hope my folks will
+forgive me now I am dead. I suffered awful<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</a></span>
+before I died on account of cookies. Give
+my wax doll and all my things to Ella. The
+doll is good if I wasn't. I tried but it is hard
+for some children on earth. I am awful sorry
+on account of being so much trouble to everybody.
+I took those cookies. Marian Lee."</p>
+
+<p>Having folded this paper, Marian was happier
+than she had been for weeks. She felt
+that she had saved her soul.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XII" id="CHAPTER_XII"></a>CHAPTER XII</h2>
+
+<p class="c">MARIAN'S DIARY</p>
+
+
+<p>"<span class="smcap">June</span> 20.&mdash;It is hard to begin a diary.
+You don't know what to say first. Bernice
+Jones says a diary is a book to put the weather
+in. She ought to know on account of her
+grandmother keeping one. Leonore Whiting,
+the girl that sits behind me and wears the
+prettiest ribbons in school, says a diary is to
+put your feelings in. Leonore thinks she
+ought to know because her sister is a poetry
+writer.</p>
+
+<p>"When I asked Uncle George for an empty
+diary and what you write in it, he laughed
+and said he would give me all the paper I
+wanted to write things in and I had better
+put down everything. He said it would be a
+good thing for me to write more and talk less,
+so I guess I will have the fullest diary of any
+of the Diary Club. That's our name. Maud
+Brown was the one that got up the name.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</a></span>
+She says everybody belongs to a Club. Her
+mother does and her father and her brothers
+too. Maud says she has got to be in a Club
+or she never will be happy. She is only going
+to keep weather because she doesn't like to
+write. Leonore and a lot of the other girls
+are just going to keep a few feelings, but I am
+going to write down weather and feelings and
+everything.</p>
+
+<p>"The weather is all right to-day.</p>
+
+<p>"It is too bad about vacation. It is almost
+here and then I won't have anybody to play
+with. Uncle George says he never saw a little
+girl like to go to school as well as I do. It
+really isn't school I like to go to, it is recesses.
+I guess he had some other boys to play with
+when he was little or he would know. I
+would like to play with Dolly Russel but my
+aunt never will let me go over there and she
+tells Dolly's mother 'No,' about everything
+she wants me to do. She did let Ella go, only
+they don't invite Ella any more. I wonder if
+she talked too much, or broke anything, or
+why? Lala works over there now, but my
+aunt told me not to talk to Lala so I don't dare.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"I found out something to-day at school.
+The children that live in houses don't all go
+to bed in the dark. I cried and cried when I
+first had to go to bed in the dark because
+where I used to live, we didn't have to. I
+wish I could sit up late at night.</p>
+
+<p>"Another thing about a diary is how nice it
+will be for your grandchildren to know what
+you used to think about and what you used
+to do. I can hardly believe that I am the
+grandmother of my own grandchildren, but
+of course it is so.</p>
+
+<p>"June 21.&mdash;We took our diaries to school.
+I had the most written of anybody, but I
+don't think it is nice to read your diary out
+loud because they ask questions. The girls
+wanted to know where I used to live and I
+wanted to tell them but I didn't dare to, and
+now I wonder about things. Louise Fisher
+said that Dolly Russel's mother told her
+mother that my aunt is not good to me, and
+a good many more things, and they are all
+sorry for me and they say it is too bad I can't
+have pretty clothes like Ella. I didn't say
+much because I don't want everybody in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</a></span>
+school to know how bad I am and that nobody
+can love me, and about the cookies. I
+guess I would die if they knew it all. Their
+mothers wouldn't let them play with me at
+recess.</p>
+
+<p>"I wish I had a white dress to wear the
+last day of school when I sing a song alone
+and speak my piece. I don't like to sing and
+speak pieces because I am afraid. I am not
+going to take my diary to school any more.</p>
+
+<p>"June 22.&mdash;I don't know what to think.
+I heard some more things about me at school
+to-day. Folks wonder who I am and where I
+came from, and Louise Fisher says she knows
+Uncle George is not my own uncle and if she
+was me she would run away. I can't run
+away because I don't know where to run to
+and I am afraid. Ella knows things about
+me and if she ever gets a chance I guess she
+will tell me, but her mother won't let her
+speak to me if she can help it. I guess her
+mother doesn't know how hard I try to set
+Ella a good example of being polite and not
+slamming doors and speak when you're spoken
+to, and children should be seen and not heard,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</a></span>
+and if you behave as well as you look you'll
+be all right.</p>
+
+<p>"I know it was bad about the cookies, but
+Ella never can do a cooky sin because her
+mother always says to her, 'Help yourself,
+darling,' and that's different. Besides that,
+Ella thinks a tramp did take the cookies. I
+will tell her some time because she cried and
+was sorry I had so much trouble. Then she
+will never speak to me again, but it is better
+to tell the truth than to do any other way.
+When I think I am going to die, sure, then I
+will tell my aunt if it kills me.</p>
+
+<p>"I wonder if Uncle George is my uncle or
+what?</p>
+
+<p>"June 23.&mdash;It was the last day of school
+to-day. I sung my song and spoke my piece
+and Dolly Russel's mother kissed me. I wish
+she was my mother. I wish I had a mother.
+I am glad she kissed me. Aunt Amelia
+wasn't there. Ella cried because she couldn't
+go. It didn't rain. You don't think about
+weather when it is nice.</p>
+
+<p>"September 5.&mdash;The queerest thing happened.
+I thought I would be the one that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</a></span>
+would write the most in my diary this summer,
+but I wasn't, and good reason why. It
+was just a little after daylight the day after
+the last day of school, that Aunt Amelia came
+and called me and told me to get dressed
+quick, and she gave me all clean clothes to
+put on and I was frightened. I said what had
+I done and she said I had done enough. I
+was scared worse than ever. She told me to
+go down in the kitchen and I would find
+some breakfast ready. I thought I couldn't
+eat, everything was so queer and early, but I
+did, and then I had to put on my hat and
+Uncle George said, 'Are you ready?' I said
+where am I going, is it reform school, and
+Aunt Amelia said it ought to be, and then I
+got in a carriage with Uncle George and the
+driver put a little new trunk on behind and
+we drove to the depot.</p>
+
+<p>"It was awful early and the grass and the
+trees looked queer and the birds were singing
+like everything. Uncle George told me to
+cheer up, I was going to a nice place where I
+would have a good time, and he told me to
+write to him every week and he would write<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</a></span>
+to me. He said I mustn't tell the folks where
+I was going that I was ever bad. He said he
+thought I was a pretty good little girl, and
+when he put me on the train and told the
+conductor where I was going and to take care
+of me, because I was his little girl, I put my
+arms around his neck and kissed him good-bye.
+He is a good man. I hope he is my
+uncle, but I don't know.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, I had a nice time in that village
+where I went and Uncle George came after
+me yesterday. I was glad to see him, but I
+didn't want to come home. I wanted to stay
+and go to the country school, but he said that
+my grandchildren would want their grandmother
+to know something.</p>
+
+<p>"Then he told me he found my diary and
+that he put it away where nobody could see it
+until I got back. He said he thought he had
+better tell me to keep my diary out of sight,
+because that was the style among diary-writing
+folks. So I will hide my diary now.
+I wonder if he read it. Anyway, I know
+Aunt Amelia didn't get a chance, because he
+told me most particular about how he found<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</a></span>
+it first thing and put it where it wouldn't get
+dusty. He says he is my Uncle George. I
+was afraid maybe I was just adopted for a
+niece, and I am not sure yet. He didn't say
+he wasn't my adopted Uncle George, and
+maybe he thought I was his brother's little
+girl when I wasn't. The folks I stayed with
+told Uncle George I am a lovely child. He
+didn't look surprised, only glad.</p>
+
+<p>"September 6.&mdash;All the girls had new
+dresses at school. I am in the fourth grade
+this term. I am in fractions and on the map
+of South America. We played London Bridge
+and King William at recess.</p>
+
+<p>"September 7.&mdash;Too many things to play
+after school. Can't write. Aunt Amelia
+makes me get straight to bed after I come to
+my room at night. It doesn't seem like
+night, though. I don't like to go to bed in
+the afternoon very well, but after all, I am
+glad it doesn't get dark early. I go to sleep
+in the daytime and wake up in the daytime
+and the birds are always singing.</p>
+
+<p>"September 8.&mdash;Nothing happened in school
+to-day. It rains and I can't go out in the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</a></span>
+orchard. I was going to play 'Landing of
+the Pilgrims,' but I guess I will write in my
+diary. Where I was this summer they had a
+library, not a big one like the one down-stairs,
+but the shelves were low so I could
+reach the books, and the folks let me read all
+I wanted to. I was pretty glad of it, rainy
+days and Sundays.</p>
+
+<p>"The book I liked best was full of stories
+about the Norsemen. They gave me the book
+to keep. I take it way up in the top of my
+favorite apple-tree and read and read. Sometimes
+I play I'm Odin and sometimes I am
+Thor. I am not so afraid of thunder since I
+read about Thor. When it thunders and lightens
+I play I am an old Norseman and that I
+really believe Thor is pounding with his big
+hammer and that he is scaring the bad frost
+giants. I am glad Aunt Amelia says she
+never read Norse stories. If she had, she
+would call me Loki, so there's somebody that's
+bad she can't say I am.</p>
+
+<p>"What I like best is to sit in the top of the
+apple-tree and shut the book and think about
+the Rainbow Bridge that stretched from earth<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</a></span>
+to heaven. Every one couldn't cross, but if
+my father and my mother were on the other
+side of the shining bridge, I would look
+straight towards them and I wouldn't look
+down and my mother would hold out her
+arms and I wouldn't be afraid. May be the
+Rainbow Bridge is wide. I am sure it is
+when I stop to think, because the gods used
+to drive over it when they came to visit the
+earth. Perhaps they would let me cross if
+they saw me coming because it was only the
+bad giants they tried to keep out of heaven.
+Oh, dear, I guess I am a bad giant myself,
+even if I am little, because the book says,
+'The giants in old Norse times were not easy
+to conquer: but generally it was when they
+hid themselves behind lies and appeared to be
+what they were not that they succeeded for a
+time.' I hid myself behind lies.</p>
+
+<p>"September 9.&mdash;One sure thing, I will always
+tell the truth as long as I live. I didn't
+come straight home from school to-night. A
+lot of us girls went in the old cemetery and
+read what's on the tombstones, and I didn't
+get home early. I tried to get through the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</a></span>
+gate when my aunt wasn't looking, but that
+would have been what you call good luck.
+She took me in and said, 'Where have you
+been?' I said, 'In the graveyard.' She said,
+'Why didn't you stay there?' I didn't know
+what to answer so I kept still. Then my aunt
+said, 'You can't go out to play,' and that was
+all. So I am always going to tell the truth
+and feel comfortable inside, no matter what
+happens. I was more afraid of how I would
+feel when it was time to say my prayers if I
+told a lie, than I was of my aunt.</p>
+
+<p>"September 10.&mdash;I didn't get home early
+to-night because I walked around the pond
+with Louise Fisher and Maud Brown. I
+owned up when I got home. I am not going
+to write down what happened, but it was
+worse than just being sent to your room. I
+don't want my little grandchildren to read
+about it. I am coming straight home next
+Monday night.</p>
+
+<p>"September 11.&mdash;Aunt Amelia says I act
+worse all the time. I don't know what I did
+that was bad to-day, but I got scolded all the
+time.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"September 12.&mdash;Went to church and Sunday-school
+and the boys made fun of my
+shoes. They couldn't make me cry. I should
+think I would get used to being made fun of
+because I have to wear a sunbonnet to school
+and all the other little girls wear hats. I wear
+my sunbonnet as far as my aunt can see and
+then I take it off and swing it by the strings.
+She would be angry if she knew. I would almost
+rather be baldheaded than wear a sunbonnet
+when all the other girls wear hats. I
+wish I could have pretty shoes for Sundays,
+but I won't let the boys know I care.</p>
+
+<p>"September 13.&mdash;I came straight home to-night.
+I wish school began at daylight and
+didn't let out till dark, there is so much
+trouble at home. Uncle George says it is all
+on account of me.</p>
+
+<p>"September 14.&mdash;I came straight home and
+got scolded.</p>
+
+<p>"September 15.&mdash;Got scolded again.</p>
+
+<p>"September 16.&mdash;Got scolded some more.</p>
+
+<p>"September 17.&mdash;Got put to bed without
+any supper on account of sitting down by the
+side of the pond to watch a frog. It was a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</a></span>
+funny frog and when I had to go to bed, I
+went to sleep thinking about it. When it was
+almost dark Uncle George came and woke me
+up to give me something to eat. He didn't
+scold. I am writing this the next morning
+for yesterday.</p>
+
+<p>"September 18.&mdash;It was a beautiful Saturday.
+My aunt had company and I played out
+in the orchard all day long. Ella and my
+aunt and the company went to drive in the
+afternoon so there wasn't anybody to scold me.
+I saw the mole to-day. He came out and
+walked around a little. I guess he knew my
+aunt was gone. Everything was happy in the
+orchard. I watched a caterpillar a long time.
+He went so fast he made me laugh. I guess
+he was going home from school and wanted to
+get there in time.</p>
+
+<p>"September 19.&mdash;This is Sunday. Uncle
+George called me in the parlor to sing for the
+company and some other folks that came.
+Aunt Amelia played on the piano and when she
+couldn't play any more on account of a cramp
+in her wrist, they told me to sing without any
+music and I did. The company wiped away<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</a></span>
+some tears, and she said I could sing just the
+way my father did when he was a little boy,
+and then she took me in her lap and said she
+thought I looked like my mother. I was going
+to ask some questions, but my aunt said
+not to talk about some things, and then the
+company said it was going to rain, she guessed,
+and would I sing another song. I did and
+then my aunt sent me to my room, cross. I
+mean she was cross. I felt pretty bad at first
+but I got over it.</p>
+
+<p>"September 20.&mdash;Ella says there is a picture
+of my father in the album, and she will show
+it to me first chance she gets.</p>
+
+<p>"September 21.&mdash;My aunt was away when
+I got home from school so Ella said, 'Now's
+your chance,' and we went into the parlor and
+she showed me the picture. I smiled back at
+the face because it smiled at me. My father is
+pleasant and kind.</p>
+
+<p>"September 22.&mdash;I went in the parlor and
+looked at the picture again. I was afraid my
+aunt would come in and find me.</p>
+
+<p>"September 23.&mdash;It happened to-day. I
+was looking at the picture and my aunt came<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</a></span>
+in still and caught me. She said dreadful
+things, and I cried and I don't know what I
+did, but she said I was saucy and she didn't
+know what to do with me. Uncle George
+heard the noise and came in and he scolded,
+too. I never saw him so cross. I almost
+thought he was angry with Aunt Amelia, but
+of course that was not so. At last he took my
+father's picture out of the album and gave it
+to me, and told me to keep it, and he told me
+not to go in my aunt's parlor because she
+didn't want me there. I knew that before, because
+I wanted to take lessons on the piano
+same as Ella, and she wouldn't let me.</p>
+
+<p>"I am so glad I have my father's picture.
+It is like having folks of your own to
+have a picture of somebody that was yours.
+I haven't missed a single question in
+school on the map of South America. I
+guess that is one map I can't forget. I wish
+I knew where my father went in South
+America. I don't dare ask Uncle George.
+He says I am the trial of his life, and he
+doesn't see why I don't behave like other
+children.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"October 1.&mdash;I am getting so I don't care
+what happens to me. I don't come straight
+home from school any more. I always think
+I will until I get started home, and then I
+dread to come because nobody loves me and I
+will get scoldings and things anyway, so I stop
+and look at toads and frogs and have a good
+time before I get home, and sometimes nothing
+happens. My aunt says I tell things, but
+I don't. What would I tell for? I don't
+even write sad things in my diary because I
+don't want to make my grandchildren cry. It
+would make me feel pretty bad if I found out
+that nobody loved my grandmother.</p>
+
+<p>"October 2.&mdash;Had a lovely time playing
+Pocahontas in the grove.</p>
+
+<p>"October 3.&mdash;I tried to count the stars last
+night, but I couldn't. I wonder why we don't
+fall off the earth when China's on top?
+Aunt Amelia says I ought to know better than
+to ask her questions. I do.</p>
+
+<p>"October 20.&mdash;I listened to what the minister
+said to-day. It was about heaven. I've
+got to try to be awful good on earth so I can
+surely go there. Then I guess somebody will<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</a></span>
+love me and when I walk in through one of
+the pearly gates, the angels won't look cross.</p>
+
+<p>"October 21.&mdash;You get tired of keeping
+your diary. I am going to write a book.
+Its name will be 'The Little Daughter of
+Thor.' I guess Thor never had a little girl,
+but I am going to write it in a book that he
+did, and one day when the little girl was a
+baby and she was playing with the golden apples,
+she fell right through the sky on to the
+earth. Then I am going to write about how
+the little girl watched for the Rainbow Bridge.
+She was a little stray child on earth, and even
+the giants were kind to her. Of course Thor's
+little daughter would know enough to know
+that the only way home was over the blue and
+golden Rainbow Bridge that she couldn't see
+only sometimes.</p>
+
+<p>"At the end of the story, Thor himself will
+find the little girl and will take her in his
+chariot across the Rainbow Bridge to the
+shining bright city in the clouds where her
+mother will hug her pretty near to pieces.
+Maybe when I get the book done, I will
+write another about what Thor's little daugh<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</a></span>ter
+did when she got home. About the songs
+she used to sing with her mother, and the
+flowers they used to pick and about everything
+that is happiness. It will be nicer to
+do than keeping an old diary about real
+things.</p>
+
+<p>"The nicest looking man's picture I ever
+saw is my father, so I am going to have him
+for Thor. My father looks kind and smiling,
+but he looks, too, as if he would know how to
+use Thor's big hammer if the bad giants tried
+to cross the Rainbow Bridge. I think it is
+queer that I like the god of thunder so well
+that I will let him have my father's face in my
+book.</p>
+
+<p>"October 22.&mdash;I am going to put some last
+words in my diary, just to say that it is a
+good thing to write a book. Something
+dreadful happened after school to-night. I
+felt dreadful, nobody knows. I got over it
+though, and then because I had to stay in
+my room and have dry bread and water for
+my supper, I started my book and it was lots
+of fun. It is the best thing there is to do
+when you want to forget you are a little girl<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</a></span>
+that nobody loves. If I live here until I am
+an old lady I presume I will turn into an
+author.</p>
+
+<p>"If it wasn't for the orchard and the locust
+grove and the way home from school, and
+recesses and my doll and my books, and the
+birds and the wild flowers and the lovely
+blue sky I can see from my window this
+minute, and a good many other things, I
+would wish I had died when I was a baby.
+That makes me laugh. It is a nice world to
+live in after all. A beautiful world."</p>
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIII" id="CHAPTER_XIII"></a>CHAPTER XIII</h2>
+
+<p class="c">DIPHTHERIA</p>
+
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Early</span> in the winter, diphtheria broke out
+in the schools. Marian said little about it at
+home, fearing she might not be allowed to go,
+though the daily paper told the whole story.
+Why the schools were not closed was a question
+even in the long ago days when Marian
+was a child. Uncle George was indignant,
+but influenced by his wife's arguments, he
+allowed Marian to have her way. Mrs. St.
+Claire said Marian was better off in school
+than at home, and in no more danger of
+catching diphtheria than she would be hanging
+over the fence talking to passing children.
+Marian didn't tell her Uncle George that she
+was never allowed to speak to passing children.
+He might have kept her home.</p>
+
+<p>Weeks passed and many little ones died.
+The schoolroom became a solemn place to
+Marian. It seemed strange to look at empty<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</a></span>
+seats and know that the ones who used to sit
+in them would never come to school again.
+Even the boys were quieter than ever before.
+There were no longer paper wads flying the
+minute the teacher's back was turned, perhaps
+because the chief mischief maker's curly
+head was missing. He was Tommy Jewel,
+and he made things lively at the beginning
+of the term.</p>
+
+<p>Marian felt that it was something to have
+known so many girls and boys who died. At
+recess in the basement she used to ask children
+from the other rooms how many of
+their number were missing. Marian felt so
+well and full of life it never entered her head
+that she might be taken ill herself, and the
+thought of death was impossible, although
+she often closed her eyes and folded her
+hands, trying to imagine her school-days
+were over.</p>
+
+<p>At home the children met but seldom after
+the outbreak of diphtheria. Marian ate her
+breakfast alone and Ella had hers when the
+little cousin had gone to school. It was
+easily possible for Mrs. St. Claire to keep the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</a></span>
+children entirely separate. To guard Ella
+from all danger of contagion was her daily
+care and the smell of burning sulphur was
+ever present in the house.</p>
+
+<p>One morning Marian's throat was sore and
+she felt ill. The child dressed quickly and
+went down to tell Uncle George. Tilly the
+maid was at her home on a short visit, and
+Uncle George was building the kitchen
+fire.</p>
+
+<p>"I've got the diphtheria," announced
+Marian, and there was terror in her face.</p>
+
+<p>"Let me look in your throat," said Uncle
+George. "Why it looks all right, Marian,
+just a little red."</p>
+
+<p>"I don't care, I feel sick all over," insisted
+the child, "and I tell you now and then, I
+know I've got it."</p>
+
+<p>When Aunt Amelia was called she said
+Marian imagined that her throat was sore and
+as Marian ate breakfast, she was sent to
+school. The child went away crying. She
+didn't swing her little dinner pail around
+and around that morning just to show that
+she could do it and keep the cover on. Uncle<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</a></span>
+George was inclined to call her back, but
+Aunt Amelia laughed at him.</p>
+
+<p>"Any child," argued Mrs. St. Claire, "that
+could eat the breakfast she did, isn't at death's
+door, now you mark my words. She has let
+her imagination run away with her. Our
+darling Ella is far more apt to have diphtheria
+than that child. She would be willing to
+have the disease to get a little sympathy."</p>
+
+<p>Marian felt better out in the fresh air and
+as she met Ellen Day soon after leaving home,
+the way to school seemed short. The chief
+ambition of Marian's school life was to sit on
+a back seat, yet from the beginning, it had
+been her lot to belong to the front row. The
+teachers had a way of putting her there and
+Marian knew the reason. It wasn't because
+she was the smallest child in the room, although
+that was the truth. Tommy Jewel
+used to sit on a front seat, too, and once
+Marian had to share the platform with him.
+The teacher said they were a good pair and
+the other children laughed. Possibly the
+memory of Tommy's mischievous face caused
+the teacher to notice how quiet Marian was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</a></span>
+the morning her throat was sore. The child
+sat with her elbows on her desk, her face in
+her hands, staring solemnly into space.</p>
+
+<p>"Are you ill, Marian?" asked the teacher.</p>
+
+<p>"No, Miss Beck," the child answered, recalling
+her aunt's remarks.</p>
+
+<p>At last, conscious of pathetic eyes following
+her about the room and having heard of Aunt
+Amelia, the teacher again questioned Marian.
+"What is the trouble, little girl? Is there
+anything you would like to do? Would you
+like to write on the blackboard?"</p>
+
+<p>Marian's face lighted. "I wish I could sit
+in that empty back seat all day," she eagerly
+suggested.</p>
+
+<p>The teacher smiled. "You may pack your
+books, Marian, and sit there until I miss you
+so much I shall need you down here again."</p>
+
+<p>Marian knew what that meant. "I'll be
+awful good," she promised. "I mean, I'll be
+ever so good."</p>
+
+<p>So Marian sat in a back seat that last day
+and in spite of her sore throat and headache,
+she was happy. It was triumph to sit in a
+back seat. She was glad the children looked<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</a></span>
+around and smiled. They might get bad marks
+for turning their heads, to be sure, but what
+of it? At recess Marian walked across the
+schoolroom once or twice, then returned
+to her seat. At noon she refused to go to
+the basement with the children to eat her
+luncheon. In fact, she couldn't eat. Marian
+wondered why time seemed so long.</p>
+
+<p>When the history class was called to the
+recitation seat early in the afternoon, one
+little girl was motionless when the signals
+were given.</p>
+
+<p>"Marian Lee's asleep," volunteered the
+child who sat in front of her.</p>
+
+<p>At that, Marian raised her head and stumbled
+to her class.</p>
+
+<p>"Don't you feel well?" asked the teacher.</p>
+
+<p>Marian shook her head. Her cheeks were
+crimson. She had never felt so wretched.</p>
+
+<p>"Don't you think you had better go
+home?" continued Miss Beck.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, no," answered the child in tones of
+alarm. "Oh, she wouldn't let me come home
+before school is out."</p>
+
+<p>"There, there, don't cry," begged the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</a></span>
+teacher. "You may go back to your seat if
+you wish."</p>
+
+<p>Marian did so and was soon asleep again.
+At recess she awoke to find herself alone in
+the room with Miss Beck.</p>
+
+<p>"You had better go home, dear," the teacher
+urged. "I am sure you are ill. Let me help
+you put on your coat and hood."</p>
+
+<p>"I can't go home until school is out," and
+Marian began to cry.</p>
+
+<p>"Why not?"</p>
+
+<p>"Because on account of my aunt. She
+wouldn't let me come home."</p>
+
+<p>"But you are ill, Marian."</p>
+
+<p>"She won't let me be sick," was the sobbing
+reply, "and I don't dare go home. You don't
+know my aunt. I guess I feel better. I want
+to go where it isn't so hot."</p>
+
+<p>The teacher was young and hopeful. "Perhaps
+you will feel better if you go out to
+play," was her reply.</p>
+
+<p>Instead of going out of doors, Marian went
+into the basement and joined in a game of
+blind man's buff. Only a few minutes and
+she fell upon the floor in a dead faint. When<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</a></span>
+the child opened her eyes she found herself
+the centre of attraction. The basement was
+quiet as though the command had been given
+to "Form lines." A strange teacher was
+holding Marian and Miss Beck was bathing
+her face with a damp handkerchief. Her
+playmates stood about in little groups, whispering
+the dread word "Diphtheria." Miss
+Beck came to her senses and ordered the children
+into the fresh air. How to send Marian
+home was the next question. The child listened
+to the various suggestions and then,
+struggling to her feet declared that she would
+walk home alone. She couldn't imagine what
+her aunt might say if she did anything else.</p>
+
+<p>The child had her way. Through the gate
+and down the road she went alone. The journey
+was long and the wind was cold. The
+little feet were never so weary as that December
+day. It seemed to Marian that she
+could never reach home. Finally she passed
+the church. Seven more houses after that,
+then a turn to the right and two more houses.
+If she dared sit down on the edge of the sidewalk
+and rest by the way, but that wouldn't<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</a></span>
+do. "I could never stir again," she thought
+and plodded on.</p>
+
+<p>At last she reached her own gate and saw
+Ella at the window. Would Aunt Amelia
+scold? It would be good to get in where it
+was warm, anyway. Oh, if Aunt Amelia
+would open the front door and say, "Come in
+this way, Marian," but she didn't and the
+child stumbled along a few more steps to the
+back entrance. She was feeling her way
+through the house when Aunt Amelia stopped
+her in the dining-room.</p>
+
+<p>"Don't come any further," said she. "I
+have callers in the parlor. What are you
+home in the middle of the afternoon for?"</p>
+
+<p>"I've got the diphtheria," the child replied,
+and her voice was thick.</p>
+
+<p>Aunt Amelia made no reply but returned
+immediately through the sitting-room to the
+parlor.</p>
+
+<p>"I guess she knows I'm sick now," Marian
+whispered as she sank into a chair by the
+table and pushed her dinner pail back to make
+room for her aching head. The callers left.
+Marian heard the front door open and close.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</a></span>
+Then Aunt Amelia hastily entered the dining-room,
+threw a quantity of sulphur upon
+the stove and went back, closing the door behind
+her. Another door closed and Marian
+knew that her aunt was in the parlor with
+Ella.</p>
+
+<p>The child choked and strangled and called
+to her aunt. She tried to walk and couldn't
+stand. The fumes of burning sulphur grew
+stronger and stronger. The air was blue.
+Marian became terrified as no one replied to
+her calls, but in time a merciful feeling of rest
+and quiet stole over her and her head fell forward
+upon the table.</p>
+
+<p>For a long time she knew nothing. Then
+came dreams and visions. Part of the time
+Marian recalled that she was home from school
+early and that she had not taken off her hood
+and coat. Again she wondered where she was
+and why it was so still. Then came an awful
+dread of death. Where was everybody and
+what would become of her? The thought of
+death aroused Marian as nothing else had
+done. Would she be left to die alone? She
+remembered that some of her schoolmates<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</a></span>
+were ill with diphtheria but a few hours before
+the end came. Where was Aunt Amelia?
+Had she gone away from the house? Marian
+could not lift her head and when she tried to
+call her aunt her voice was a smothered whisper.
+What she suffered before her uncle came
+was a story long untold. Things happened
+when Uncle George walked into the house.
+He aired the room and there was wrath in his
+voice as he demanded explanations.</p>
+
+<p>"Have patience a minute more, little girl,
+and it will be all right," he said to Marian, as
+he brought a cot into the room and quickly
+made a bed. Then he undressed her, put her
+in bed and grabbed his hat.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, don't leave me," begged Marian,
+"please don't, Uncle George, I'm awful sick
+and I'm afraid when I'm alone."</p>
+
+<p>"I'm going for the doctor," was the reply;
+"lie still and trust Uncle George."</p>
+
+<p>The man was gone but a moment and soon
+after he returned, the doctor came. It was
+no easy matter to look in Marian's throat. It
+needed more than the handle of a spoon to
+hold down the poor little tongue.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Am I going to die right off?" demanded
+the child. "Oh, if I can only live I'll be so
+good. I'll never do anything bad again. Tell
+me quick, have I got to die to-night?"</p>
+
+<p>For a time it seemed useless to try to quiet
+the little girl. "Oh, I'm afraid to die," she
+moaned, "I don't dare to die. Aunt Amelia
+says I won't go to heaven and I'm afraid. I
+don't want to tell what she does say. Oh,
+Uncle George, don't let me die. Tell the doctor
+you want me to get well. Tell him I'll
+be good."</p>
+
+<p>Uncle George sat down and covered his
+face with his hands when Marian told him
+she couldn't hear what he said, that it was
+dark and she wanted more light so she could
+see his face that she might know if he was
+angry. Then she called for Aunt Amelia,
+and Aunt Amelia would not come; she was
+afraid of the diphtheria.</p>
+
+<p>"But if I'm going to die, I've got to tell
+her," cried the child, clutching at the air, and
+it was some time before Uncle George understood.</p>
+
+<p>"Child, child, don't speak of cookies," he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</a></span>
+begged, "that was all right long ago;" but
+the assurance fell upon unheeding ears.</p>
+
+<p>The nurse came and went up-stairs to prepare
+a room for Marian. The woman's appearance
+convinced the child that there was
+no hope&mdash;she was surely going to die. Uncle
+George groaned as he listened to her ravings.</p>
+
+<p>At last the doctor put down his medicine
+case and drew a chair close beside the cot.
+He was a big man with a face that little children
+trusted. He took both of Marian's small,
+burning hands in one of his and told her she
+must look at him and listen to what he had
+to tell her. Uncle George moved uneasily.
+He thought the doctor was about to explain
+to Marian that unless she kept more quiet,
+nothing would save her, she would have to
+die. The man was surprised when he heard
+what the kind physician said. He talked to
+Marian of the friend of little children and of
+the beautiful home beyond the skies. Nor
+would he allow her to interrupt, but patiently
+and quietly told her over and over that the
+One who took little children up in His arms
+and blessed them, didn't ask whether they<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</a></span>
+were good or bad. He loved them all. The
+sins of little children were surely forgiven.</p>
+
+<p>The troubled brain of the child grasped the
+meaning at last. There was nothing to fear.
+She closed her eyes and was quiet for a few
+moments. When she began to talk again, it
+was of summer mornings and apple-blossoms,
+of the wild birds and the chipmunk that lived
+in the locust grove. Many days passed before
+Marian realized anything more: then she
+knew that Uncle George took care of her
+nights and the nurse came every morning.</p>
+
+<p>"Where is my aunt?" asked the child.
+"Doesn't she come up here?"</p>
+
+<p>"Your aunt and little cousin," replied the
+nurse, "stay by themselves in the front part
+of the house down-stairs. They are afraid of
+the diphtheria."</p>
+
+<p>Marian stared at the wall. She was glad to
+know there was no danger that Aunt Amelia
+might walk in, but somehow it seemed better
+not to tell the nurse.</p>
+
+<p>"Am I going to die?" she asked.</p>
+
+<p>The question came so suddenly the nurse<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</a></span>
+was taken by surprise. "Why&mdash;why we hope
+not," was the reply.</p>
+
+<p>Something in the tones of the woman's
+voice impressed the truth upon Marian's mind.
+She was far more likely to die than to live.
+"I only wanted to know," she remarked,
+"I'm not afraid any more. I only hope I
+won't be a grown up angel the first thing. I
+should like to be a little girl with a mother
+and live in one of the many mansions for a
+while, like other children. I'd pick flowers in
+the front yard."</p>
+
+<p>Soon after, the child fell asleep. When she
+awoke she was delirious, talking continually
+about the Rainbow Bridge. The doctor came,
+but it was hours before the Rainbow Bridge
+faded away and Marian was quiet. That was
+the day the little pilgrim seemed near the
+journey's end. Until sunset, Uncle George
+watched each fluttering breath. In the silent
+room below, Ella wept bitterly and Aunt
+Amelia waited to hear that the little soul was
+gone. She waited calmly, declaring that she
+had done her duty by the child up-stairs.</p>
+
+<p>Marian lived. A few weeks more and Aunt<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</a></span>
+Amelia heard her ringing laugh and knew
+that she was happy. At last Marian was well
+enough to leave her room but it was days and
+days after the house was fumigated before she
+was allowed to see Ella or sit at the table with
+the family. Everything seemed changed.
+The rooms were brighter and more cheerful.
+The pictures on the walls had a different
+meaning. The very chairs looked new.
+Nothing appeared just as Marian left it.
+Even Aunt Amelia was better looking and
+spoke more kindly to the child. Nothing was
+ever the same after Marian had diphtheria.
+She never returned to the little back room
+where she was away from all the family at
+night, nor did she ever again doubt that Uncle
+George was her own uncle.</p>
+
+<p>Many bright days crowded one upon another
+during the remaining weeks of winter.
+The neighbors invited Marian to their homes
+and took her driving with them. Dolly
+Russel's mother gave a house party for her, inviting
+little girls from the country for a week
+in town. That was the time Marian was so
+happy she almost believed herself a princess<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</a></span>
+in a fairy tale. When she was home again,
+the child added a line to her diary.</p>
+
+<p>"February 29.&mdash;I had diphtheria this
+winter and it was a good thing. I got well
+and now I am having the best time that ever
+was written down in a diary. I have changed
+my mind about being an author. I won't
+have time to write books. There is too much
+fun in the world."</p>
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIV" id="CHAPTER_XIV"></a>CHAPTER XIV</h2>
+
+<p class="c">MUSICAL CONVERSATIONS</p>
+
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Once</span> in a great while Marian and Ella had
+a chance to play together. These rare occasions
+were times of joy.</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. St. Claire usually took Ella with her
+wherever she went, but sometimes she was
+compelled to leave the child at home with her
+father or Tilly, and there was merriment in
+the house. The little cousins had gay times
+and their only regret was that such hours of
+happiness were few. At last Marian thought
+of a plan. Her new room was opposite Ella's.
+As Aunt Amelia insisted upon sending Marian
+to bed at seven, Uncle George declared that
+early hours were necessary for Ella's welfare.
+Accordingly, both children went to their
+rooms at the same time with instructions not
+to talk. No one cautioned them not to sing
+and singing was one of Marian's habits. After
+listening to the solos a few nights, Ella tried<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</a></span>
+a song of her own and that gave Marian an
+idea. She listened until Ella stopped for
+breath and then expressed a few thoughts to
+the tune of "Home, Sweet Home."</p>
+
+<div class="poem-container">
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"O-oh, I know what will be great fun</span><br />
+<span class="i0">And I'll tell you what it is,</span><br />
+<span class="i0">We will play go to gay old concerts,</span><br />
+<span class="i0">And take our children too.</span><br />
+</div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"First the other lady</span><br />
+<span class="i0">Can sing a good long song,</span><br />
+<span class="i0">And then it will be my turn next,</span><br />
+<span class="i0">And I'll sing a song myself.</span><br />
+</div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Fun fu-un-fun, fun-fun,</span><br />
+<span class="i0">I guess it will be fun-fun,</span><br />
+<span class="i0">I guess it will be fun."</span><br />
+</div>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p>It was fun. The other lady took the hint
+quickly. She and her children went to
+the concert without waiting to get ready.
+Furthermore she left herself sitting beside her
+children in the best seat in the hall and at the
+same time took her place on the stage. She
+even went so far as to become a colored man
+while she sang</p>
+
+<div class="poem-container">
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Way down upon the Suwanee River."</span><br />
+</div>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Ella's mother came up-stairs for something
+as the gentleman was rendering this selection
+with deep feeling, but she had no idea that
+her little daughter was singing on the stage,
+nor did she know that the greatest soprano in
+America was the next performer, although she
+did hear Marian begin in tragic tones,
+"'There is a happy land, far, far away.'"
+"Far, far away" was tremulous with emotion.</p>
+
+<p>From that hour dated many a concert, and
+after the concerts, the ladies continued to sing
+everything they had wished to talk over during
+the day. Often the musical conversations
+were cut short by an admonition from the
+hall below, but even Tilly never learned the
+nature of those evening songs. As the children
+disturbed nobody and were put to bed
+long before they were sleepy, Uncle George
+said, "Let them sing." In this way Marian
+and Ella became well acquainted.</p>
+
+<p>One night Marian asked Ella if she knew
+anything about how she happened to be taken
+to the Little Pilgrim's Home when she was a
+baby.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="poem-container">
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+
+<span class="i0">"No-o-o," replied Ella in shrill soprano,</span><br />
+<span class="i0">"They won't tell-ell me-e a thing now-ow days</span><br />
+<span class="i0">But a long time ago-go</span><br />
+<span class="i0">They used to talk about everything</span><br />
+<span class="i0">Right before me-e, only the trouble is-s,</span><br />
+<span class="i0">I was such a little goo-oose</span><br />
+<span class="i0">I didn't think much about it."</span><br />
+</div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Do you know anything about my mother-other-other?"</span><br />
+<span class="i0">Chanted the musician across the hall.</span><br />
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"No-o-o," was the response,</span><br />
+<span class="i0">"I only know-o that my mother-other</span><br />
+<span class="i0">Didn't know your mother-other, ever in her li-ife,</span><br />
+<span class="i0">But I do-oo remember-ember that the folks at that Ho-o-me</span><br />
+<span class="i0">Had some things that used to belong-long</span><br />
+<span class="i0">To your mother-other.</span><br />
+<span class="i0">And they are packed away-way somewhere in the house.</span><br />
+<span class="i0">I guess they are in the attic-attic,</span><br />
+<span class="i0">But of course I don't know-o.</span><br />
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Once I saw-aw a picture of your mother-other</span><br />
+<span class="i0">But I don't remember-ember</span><br />
+<span class="i0">What she looked like, looked like-looked like.</span><br />
+<span class="i0">Don't you wi-ish your mother wasn't dead?</span><br />
+<span class="i0">If you had a mother-other</span><br />
+<span class="i0">I could go to your hou-ouse</span><br />
+<span class="i0">And your mother-other</span><br />
+<span class="i0">Would let us play together-ether."</span><br />
+</div>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</a></span><br />
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Yes, yes, she would," Marian's voice chimed in,</span><br />
+<span class="i0">"She would let us play-ay</span><br />
+<span class="i0">All the day-ay.</span><br />
+<span class="i0">And sometimes I thi-ink my mother is ali-ive,</span><br />
+<span class="i0">And if she is, won't I be gla-ad.</span><br />
+<span class="i0">If I do find my mother-other</span><br />
+<span class="i0">And I go to live with her-er,</span><br />
+<span class="i0">Why, may be your mother-other will die-i</span><br />
+<span class="i0">And then you can come and live with u-us</span><br />
+<span class="i0">And won't that be gay-ay.</span><br />
+<span class="i0">You never know what's going to happen in this world."</span><br />
+</div>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p>"What kind of a song are you singing?"
+called Aunt Amelia.</p>
+
+<p>"Opera house music," replied Marian, who
+feared that concerts were over for the season
+when she heard the question.</p>
+
+<p>"I thought," responded Aunt Amelia,
+"that a lunatic asylum was turned loose.
+Don't let me hear another sound to-night."</p>
+
+<p>The musicians laughed softly, and there
+were no more solos that evening.</p>
+
+<p>The following day Ella and Aunt Amelia
+went visiting and in the middle of the forenoon,
+when Tilly was busily working in the
+kitchen, Marian climbed the attic stairs with
+determination in her eye. An old portrait of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</a></span>
+George Washington on the wall at the landing
+seemed to question her motives. "Don't
+worry, Mr. Washington," remarked the child,
+"I'm not going to tell a lie, but sir, I'm looking
+for my mother and I'm going to find her
+if she's here." Marian gazed steadily at the
+face in the old oaken frame, and meeting with
+no disapproval there, passed on, leaving the
+Father of her Country to guard the stairway.</p>
+
+<p>There were numerous trunks, boxes, barrels
+and an old sea-chest in the attic. Marian
+hesitated a moment before deciding to try the
+yellow chest. Her knees shook as she lifted
+the cover. At first she was disappointed;
+there seemed to be nothing but blankets in
+the chest. Then a bit of blue silk peeping
+from beneath the blankets caught her eye and
+Marian knew she was searching in the right
+place. From the depths of the chest she drew
+forth a bundle, unfolded it and beheld a beautiful
+gown of pale blue silk, trimmed with
+exquisite lace. Tears filled her eyes as she
+touched the shimmering wonder. She had
+never seen anything like it.</p>
+
+<p>"This was my mother's," she whispered, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</a></span>
+kissed the round neck as she held the waist
+close in her arms. "She wore it once, my
+mother." Marian would gladly have looked
+at the dress longer but time was precious and
+there was much to see. Embroidered gowns
+of purest white, bright sashes and ribbons
+were there, and many another dainty belonging
+of the woman whose name was never
+mentioned in the presence of her child. In a
+carved ivory box, were jewels. Marian closed
+it quickly, attracted by a bundle at the bottom
+of the chest. She had found it at last. The
+picture of her mother. It was in an oval
+frame, wrapped in a shawl of white wool.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, if I had her, if she could only come
+to me," cried Marian, as the lovely face became
+her own. Though the child might
+never again see the picture, yet would it be
+ever before her.</p>
+
+<p>When she dared stay in the attic no longer,
+Marian kissed the picture, wrapped it in the
+white shawl and laid it tenderly away. As
+she did so she noticed for the first time a
+folded newspaper on the bottom of the chest.
+Inside the paper was a small photograph.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</a></span>
+Marian tiptoed to the attic stairs and listened
+a moment before she looked at the photograph.
+Then she uttered a low exclamation
+of delight. There was no doubt that the face
+in the oval frame was her mother's, for the
+small picture was a photograph of Marian's
+father and a beautiful woman. "It's the same
+head," whispered the child, "and oh, how
+pretty she is. I am so glad she is my mother!</p>
+
+<p>"I wonder what they saved an old newspaper
+so carefully for?" continued Marian.
+"Maybe I had better look at it. What does
+this mean? 'Claimed by Relatives,' who was
+claimed, I wonder? Oh! I was! Now I'll
+find out all I want to know because, only see
+how much it tells!"</p>
+
+<p>Marian laid the photograph down and read
+the article from beginning to end. She didn't
+see George Washington when she passed him
+on the landing on the way down-stairs and
+for the rest of the day the child was so quiet
+every one in the house marveled. There were
+no concerts that evening. The leading soprano
+had too much on her mind. The following
+morning Marian sharpened her lead<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</a></span>
+pencil and opened her diary. After looking
+for a moment at the white page she closed the
+book.</p>
+
+<p>"No use writing down what you are sure to
+remember," she remarked, "and besides that,
+it is all too sad and finished. I am going outdoors
+and have some fun." Marian was in the
+back yard watching a cricket, when Ella sauntered
+down the path singing, "Good-morning,
+Merry Sunshine."</p>
+
+<p>"Where are you going, sweetheart?" called
+her mother from the kitchen window.</p>
+
+<p>"Just down here by the fence to get some
+myrtle leaves," Ella replied and went on singing.</p>
+
+<p>Marian bent over the cricket nor did she
+look up although Ella gave her surprising information
+as she passed.</p>
+
+<div class="poem-container">
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+
+<span class="i0">"If I were you, Miss Marian Lee,</span><br />
+<span class="i0">I'll tell you what I'd do,</span><br />
+<span class="i0">I'd pack my doll and everything I wanted to take with me,</span><br />
+<span class="i0">Because in the very early morning,</span><br />
+<span class="i0">You're surely going away</span><br />
+<span class="i0">To a country town where you will stay</span><br />
+<span class="i0">Until school begins again.</span><br />
+</div>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</a></span><br />
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"I knew they were going to send you somewhere,</span><br />
+<span class="i0">But I didn't know just when,</span><br />
+<span class="i0">Until I just now heard my father and mother</span><br />
+<span class="i0">Both talking all about it.</span><br />
+<span class="i0">I know you'll have a pretty good time,</span><br />
+<span class="i0">I wish I were going too,</span><br />
+<span class="i0">But maybe you'll find some girls to play with,</span><br />
+<span class="i0">I'm sure I hope you do."</span><br />
+</div>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p>Marian smiled but dared not reply, especially
+as the singer broke down and laughed
+and Aunt Amelia knew there were no funny
+lines in "Good-morning, Merry Sunshine."</p>
+
+<p>The hint was enough. Marian straightened
+her affairs for a journey and a long absence
+from home.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XV" id="CHAPTER_XV"></a>CHAPTER XV</h2>
+
+<p class="c">LITTLE SISTER TO THE DANDELION</p>
+
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Marian</span> asked no questions the following
+morning until she was on her way to the station
+with Uncle George. "Where am I going?"
+she finally ventured.</p>
+
+<p>"Where you passed the summer last
+year," was the reply. "How does that suit
+you?"</p>
+
+<p>"Suit me," repeated Marian, "nothing ever
+suited me better. I'm pretty glad I'm going
+there. Why didn't you send me back to
+school, Uncle George? School won't be out
+for two months. I'm glad you didn't, but
+why?"</p>
+
+<p>"Well, sis, you told me you wanted to go
+to the country school."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, but&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Now's your chance," interrupted the man,
+"learn all you can and try to do some one<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</a></span>
+thing better than any one else in school, will
+you?"</p>
+
+<p>"Well, but Uncle George, big boys and big
+girls go to country schools."</p>
+
+<p>"What of it, Marian? You do some one
+thing better than any one else in school, and
+when you come home this fall you may
+choose any book you wish at the book store,
+and I will buy it for you."</p>
+
+<p>"But, Uncle George, how will you know
+whether I really do something better than
+any one else or not?"</p>
+
+<p>"I'll take your word for it, Marian."</p>
+
+<p>"My word is true," the child remarked
+with dignity.</p>
+
+<p>"No doubt about it," added Uncle George,
+turning away to hide a smile.</p>
+
+<p>Just as the train pulled into the station,
+Marian caught a glimpse of a small blue butter-fly.
+It fluttered away out of sight as Uncle
+George said "good-bye." "Oh, I hate to
+leave that butter-fly," exclaimed Marian, and
+those were the last words Uncle George heard
+as he left her. The passengers smiled, but
+Uncle George looked thoughtful. There was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</a></span>
+so much to be seen from the car windows and
+so many folks to wonder about within the
+car, the journey seemed short.</p>
+
+<p>Two young ladies welcomed Marian at the
+train, hugging and kissing her the minute
+the small feet touched the platform. "I
+guess folks will think you're some relation to
+me," laughed the child.</p>
+
+<p>"So we are," replied Miss Ruth Golding.
+"We are your cousins."</p>
+
+<p>"Certainly," agreed Miss Kate, "your
+Uncle George knew us when we were little
+girls, so of course we are your cousins."</p>
+
+<p>"Of course!" echoed Marian, "and I
+know my summer of happiness has begun
+this day in April."</p>
+
+<p>"Your troubles have begun, you mean,"
+warned Miss Ruth; "the school-teacher
+boards with us and you'll have to toe the
+mark."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, goody!" exclaimed Marian. "I can
+walk to school with her."</p>
+
+<p>"You won't say 'goody' when you see the
+lady," predicted Miss Kate. "She's as sober
+as a judge, very quiet, and keeps to herself."</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"What's the matter with her?" asked
+Marian.</p>
+
+<p>"She's lived in the city all her life and
+eaten books," explained Ruth. "She eats
+them, Marian, covers, binding, pictures and
+everything. Too bad, but maybe you'll get
+used to it. Here is mother coming to meet
+you, and here comes Carlo."</p>
+
+<p>Marian ran ahead to throw her arms
+around Mrs. Golding's neck. "I am so glad
+they sent me back to you," she cried. "I
+didn't say anything about it to my aunt
+because she would have sent me somewhere
+else. It doesn't do to let her know when
+you're too happy. She isn't a bit like you,
+not a bit."</p>
+
+<p>"No, I think not," was the response.
+"You see, dear, your neighbor, Mrs. Russel,
+is one of my old friends, and she has told
+me so much about your aunt I feel as if I
+know her. I am sure we are not alike."</p>
+
+<p>"Why, I should say not!" laughed Marian.
+"Why she's as thin as&mdash;as knitting
+needles, and you're as plump as new pin
+cushions. Won't we have fun this summer,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</a></span>
+though? Well, Carlo, old fellow. Didn't
+forget Marian, did he? Nice old doggie."</p>
+
+<p>"Down, sir!" Mrs. Golding commanded.
+"He is so glad to see you, Marian, he can't
+express his feelings without trying to knock
+you over."</p>
+
+<p>"I wish Uncle George owned a dog," commented
+Marian; "there'd always be some one
+glad to see you when you got home. I like
+dogs. Does the teacher come home at noon,
+Mrs. Golding?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, sometimes we don't see her until
+supper time. She won't be such jolly company
+for you as my girls. She's too quiet."</p>
+
+<p>"Is she cross, Mrs. Golding?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, oh, no indeed."</p>
+
+<p>"Then I shall like her," was the quick
+reply.</p>
+
+<p>There were callers in the late afternoon, so
+Marian wandered out alone. She had gone
+but a short distance down the lane when she
+saw dandelions ahead. She gathered a handful
+of the short-stemmed blooms and walked
+on. In the distance she heard a bluebird
+singing. Marian ran to find it and was re<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</a></span>warded
+by a flash of glorious blue as the bird
+sought a tree across the river. Marian followed
+it as far as she could, being obliged to
+stop at the river's bank. As she stood gazing
+after the bird, she was startled by a woman's
+voice.</p>
+
+<p>"What have you in your hand, little girl?"</p>
+
+<p>Turning, Marian saw a young lady sitting
+on a log near by. "Just dandelions," the
+child replied, and would have hidden the
+bunch behind her if the young lady had not
+forbidden it.</p>
+
+<p>"We all love dandelions, little girl," she
+said; "come and show them to me."</p>
+
+<p>Marian wonderingly obeyed.</p>
+
+<p>"Did you ever look at a dandelion through
+a microscope?" continued the young lady.</p>
+
+<p>"No, I never did."</p>
+
+<p>The stranger passed Marian a microscope
+and asked her to tell what she saw.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, I never knew a dandelion was like
+this," said Marian; "why there are a thousand
+little blossoms in it all crowded together,
+and they are the goldenest golden ever was!
+Oh, oh, oh! Wasn't it lucky you were here<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</a></span>
+so I could see through your microscope?
+What if I had never seen that dandelion!"</p>
+
+<p>"Would you like to borrow the microscope
+often?" asked the young lady, smiling so
+pleasantly Marian straightway decided that
+she was pretty.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, I should say yes, Miss&mdash;Miss&mdash;you
+see I don't know what your name is?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, that's so, I am Miss Smith, Miss Virginia
+Smith. Who are you?"</p>
+
+<p>"My name," was the reply, "is Marian Lee,
+but who I am I don't really know."</p>
+
+<p>Miss Smith repressed her curiosity, believing
+that Marian was the little girl the Goldings
+were to meet that day.</p>
+
+<p>"It's everything to have a name," said she.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, but I'd like some relatives," Marian
+explained, "some real sisters and cousins and
+aunts of my own."</p>
+
+<p>"Why don't you do as Hiawatha did?"
+Miss Smith suggested.</p>
+
+<p>"You mean play all the birds and squirrels
+are my brothers and sisters? I think I will.
+I'll be little sister to the dandelion."</p>
+
+<p>Miss Smith laughed with Marian. "I'll do<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</a></span>
+the same thing," said she, "and if we are sisters
+to the dandelion, you must be my little
+sister and I'm your big sister and all the wild
+flowers belong to our family."</p>
+
+<p>"It's a game," agreed Marian. "I suppose
+little Indian children picked dandelions in
+the spring-time before Columbus discovered
+America."</p>
+
+<p>"There were no dandelions then to pick,"
+Miss Smith remonstrated. "The plant was
+brought here by white men. Its name is
+from the French, meaning lion's tooth."</p>
+
+<p>"I don't see anything about a dandelion
+to mean lion's tooth," objected Marian; "do
+you?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, I don't, Marian, nor does any one
+know exactly how it came by its name. Some
+believe it was given to the plant because its
+root is so white; then again, in the old days
+lions were pictured with teeth yellow as dandelion
+blossoms. The explanation I like best is
+that the dandelion was named after the lion
+because the lion is the animal that used to
+represent the sun, and all flowers named after
+him are flowers of the sun."</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Do you know anything more about dandelions?"
+questioned Marian.</p>
+
+<p>"If I don't," said Miss Virginia Smith,
+smiling as she spoke, "it isn't because there
+is nothing more to learn. Did you ever hear
+the dandelion called the shepherd's clock?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, Miss Smith, never. Why should they
+call it that?"</p>
+
+<p>"Because the dandelion is said to open at
+five and close at eight."</p>
+
+<p>"Well!" exclaimed Marian, "I guess you
+could write a composition about dandelions."</p>
+
+<p>"Possibly," was the laughing response.
+"As far as that goes, Marian, there isn't a
+thing that grows that hasn't a history if you
+take the time and trouble to hunt it up."</p>
+
+<p>"Skunk cabbages?" suggested Marian.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, 'skunk cabbages,'" was the reply.
+"What flowers do you suppose are related
+to it?"</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know, unless Jack-in-the-pulpit,
+maybe, is it?"</p>
+
+<p>"That's right, guess again."</p>
+
+<p>"I'll have to give up, Miss Smith. I never<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</a></span>
+saw anything except Jack-in-the-pulpit that
+looks a bit like old skunk cabbage."</p>
+
+<p>"The calla lily, Marian, what do you think
+of that?"</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know, Miss Smith, but such things
+happen, of course, because Winnie Raymond
+has a horrible looking old Uncle Pete, and
+Winnie's awful pretty herself. But how do
+you know so much about plants?"</p>
+
+<p>"By reading and observation, Marian."</p>
+
+<p>"Are there many books about wild flowers,
+Miss Smith?"</p>
+
+<p>"More than we can ever read, little girl.
+Better than that the country around this
+village is a garden of wild flowers. Down by
+the old mill and on the hills, in the fields and
+woods and along the river bank, we shall
+find treasures from now on every time we
+take the shortest walk."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, dear," grumbled Marian, "isn't it too
+bad I've got to go to school?"</p>
+
+<p>"Why don't you like to go to school,
+child?"</p>
+
+<p>"At home I do, on account of recesses. I
+don't like the school part of it much, but<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</a></span>
+here it would be recess all the time if I could
+go in the woods with you, besides having a
+good time with the Golding girls and playing
+all day long where I don't get scolded. Dear!
+I wish I didn't have to go to school, or else I
+wish they'd have lessons about birds and
+flowers and butterflies and little animals, instead
+of old arithmetic. I hate arithmetic."</p>
+
+<p>"Do you?" sympathized Miss Smith.
+"That's too bad, because we all need to understand
+arithmetic."</p>
+
+<p>"I don't," protested Marian. "I don't even
+think arithmetic thoughts."</p>
+
+<p>"Some day, Marian, you will wish you
+understood arithmetic," said Miss Smith.
+"Now if you and I went for a walk and we
+saw ten crows, three song sparrows, five bluebirds,
+seven chipping sparrows and twenty-seven
+robins, and Mrs. Golding asked us
+when we got home how many birds we saw,
+I wonder how you would feel if you couldn't
+add?"</p>
+
+<p>"Well, but don't you see," interrupted
+Marian, "I could add birds, yes and subtract
+and multiply and divide them. That's dif<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</a></span>ferent.
+What I don't like is just figures and
+silly arithmetic things."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, Marian, I may as well tell you now
+that I'm the school-teacher and we'll have
+arithmetic stories about birds and flowers and
+little animals."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, are you the teacher?" exclaimed
+Marian. "I thought she was&mdash;was&mdash;different,
+you know."</p>
+
+<p>"Different, how?"</p>
+
+<p>"Well, they told me the teacher was&mdash;was
+quiet."</p>
+
+<p>"So she is, usually," agreed Miss Smith,
+"but this afternoon she met one of her own
+folks. This little sister to the dandelion."</p>
+
+<p>"Won't we have fun!" was Marian's comment.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVI" id="CHAPTER_XVI"></a>CHAPTER XVI</h2>
+
+<p class="c">PROFESSOR LEE, BOTANIST</p>
+
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Miss Virginia Smith</span> knew how to teach
+arithmetic. Fractions lost their terror for
+Marian, even the mysteries of cube root were
+eagerly anticipated. History became more
+than ever a living story to the child, and geography
+was a never failing joy. On rainy
+days every stream and puddle between Mrs.
+Golding's home and the schoolhouse was
+named, and if several Mississippi Rivers
+emptied into Gulfs of Mexico, and if half a
+dozen Niles overflowed their banks over the
+country road, what difference did it make?
+When the sun shone bright and only dew-drops
+glistened in the shade, Marian saw
+deserts and plains, mountains and volcanoes
+along the dusty way.</p>
+
+<p>For a time the game of geography became
+so absorbing Marian played it at the table,
+forming snowy peaks of mashed potatoes and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</a></span>
+sprinkling salt upon the summits until the
+drifts were so deep, only the valleys below
+were fit to be eaten. Brown gravy was always
+the Missouri River winding its way
+across Marian's plate between banks of vegetables.
+Ice cream meant Mammoth Cave. A
+piece of pie was South Africa from which the
+Cape of Good Hope quickly disappeared.
+However hungry Marian might be, there was
+a time when she ate nothing but continents
+and islands.</p>
+
+<p>Whatever Miss Virginia Smith tried to teach
+the country children, Marian Lee appropriated
+for herself. She listened to all recitations
+whether of the chart class or the big
+boys and girls. Perhaps if Marian had
+attended more strictly to her own lessons, she
+might have made the kind of a record she
+thought would please Uncle George. As it
+was, Jimmie Black "Left off head" in the
+spelling class more times than she did, the first
+month. Belle Newman had higher standings
+in arithmetic and geography, and some one
+carried off all the other honors.</p>
+
+<p>Marian, however, knew something about<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</a></span>
+botany before the end of May, and she
+gloried in the fact that she could name all
+the bones in her body. Mr. Golding was
+proud of her accomplishment and once when
+she went with him to see old Bess newly shod,
+he asked her to name the bones for the blacksmith:
+and the blacksmith thought it wonderful
+that a little girl knew so much. "Yes,
+but that's nothing," remarked the child, "all
+the big boys and girls in the fifth reader class
+know their bones."</p>
+
+<p>"Ain't you in the fifth reader?" asked the
+blacksmith.</p>
+
+<p>"No," was the reply, "I can read the whole
+reader through, but I'm not in that reader
+class. That's the highest class in the country.
+I suppose being in the fifth reader here is like
+being in the high school at home just before
+you graduate. I won't have to learn bones
+when I get up to the high school."</p>
+
+<p>"And still you say that ain't nothing,"
+protested the blacksmith.</p>
+
+<p>Marian shook her head. "I haven't done
+one thing in school better'n anybody else,"
+she said, "and to do something better'n any<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</a></span>body
+else is all that counts. Don't you try to
+be the best blacksmither in the country?"</p>
+
+<p>Old Bess flourished her tail in the blacksmith's
+face and the man spoke to her next instead
+of to Marian. He wasn't the best blacksmith
+and he knew it. Some years afterwards
+when he had won an enviable reputation, he
+told Mr. Golding that the first time he thought
+of trying to do unusually good work was when
+the little Lee girl asked him if he tried to be
+the best blacksmith in the country.</p>
+
+<p>Concerning botany, Miss Smith knew that
+Marian was interested in the wild flowers and
+had told her many a legend of wayside blooms
+when walking with her through the fields and
+across the hills: but she had no idea how much
+the child had learned from listening to the recitations
+of the botany class, until the Saturday
+morning when the wax doll went to school.
+Miss Smith happened to pass the corn-crib unnoticed
+by teacher or pupil.</p>
+
+<p>The doll was propped in an attitude of attention
+among the ears of corn.</p>
+
+<p>"Now, little girl," the instructor was saying,
+"if you ever expect to amount to anything in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</a></span>
+this world, you've got to use your eyes and
+ears. I'm the Professor of Botany your
+mother was reading about last night, who
+knew nothing about botany until she began
+to study it. Next winter when we can't get
+outdoors, I am going to give you lessons on
+seeds and roots and things and stems and leaves.
+The Professor of Botany has got to learn the
+names of the shapes of leaves and how to
+spell them. She really ought to own a book
+but she doesn't, and that can't be helped.
+You're sure to get what you want some time
+though, if you only try hard enough, and the
+Botany Professor will get a book. You just
+wait.</p>
+
+<p>"Don't think, little girl, because we are
+skipping straight over to flowers this morning
+that you are going to get out of learning beginnings.
+We're taking flowers because it is
+summer. Of course you know this is a strawberry
+blossom I hold in my hand. Well, if it
+wasn't for strawberry blossoms you couldn't
+have strawberry shortcake, remember that.
+That's the principal thing about strawberries.
+This little circle of white leaves is called the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</a></span>
+corolla. Now don't get the calyx mixed with
+the corolla as some children do. I tell you it
+makes me feel squirmy to hear some big girls
+recite. You ought to see this flower under a
+microscope. I guess I'll go and ask Professor
+Smith for hers."</p>
+
+<p>Marian turned around so quickly Professor
+Smith was unable to get out of sight. The
+doll's instructor felt pretty foolish for a
+moment, but only for a moment.</p>
+
+<p>"Marian Lee," said Miss Smith, "you shall
+join the botany class next Monday morning
+and I'll give you a book of mine to study."</p>
+
+<p>"What will the big girls say?" gasped
+Marian.</p>
+
+<p>"About as much as your doll in there,"
+laughed Miss Smith, adding seriously, "I
+won't expect too much of you, Marian, but
+you may as well be in the class and learn all
+you can."</p>
+
+<p>On Monday morning, although the big
+girls smiled and the little girls stared, Professor
+Lee became a member of the botany
+class and learned to press the wild flowers.</p>
+
+<p>"I won't have the most perfect lessons of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</a></span>
+anybody in the class," Marian confided to her
+doll, "because the big girls know so much;
+but I'll try and have the best specimens in my
+herbarium. I can do that, I am sure. I have
+just got to do something better than any one
+else in school before I go home."</p>
+
+<p>The following Saturday the doll listened
+with unchanging face to a confession. "Every
+one of the big girls can press specimens better
+than I can. Their violet plants look like
+pictures but mine look like hay. I guess
+Uncle George will be discouraged. I don't do
+anything best. A robin is building a nest
+just outside the window where my seat is in
+school and I forgot to study my spelling lesson.
+Of course I missed half the words. It
+was the robin's fault. She ought to keep
+away from school children."</p>
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVII" id="CHAPTER_XVII"></a>CHAPTER XVII</h2>
+
+<p class="c">THE COMPOSITION ON WILD FLOWERS</p>
+
+
+<p><span class="smcap">All</span> the children in Marian's class were
+writing in their copy-books "Knowledge is
+Power." The pens squeaked and scratched
+and labored across pages lighted by June sunshine.
+The little girls' fingers were sticky and
+boy hands were cramped. It was monotonous
+work. The "K" was hard to make and the
+capital "P" was all flourishes.</p>
+
+<p>Marian sighed, then raised her hand.</p>
+
+<p>"What is it?" asked Miss Smith.</p>
+
+<p>"Will you tell which one of us has the best
+looking page when we get through with
+'Knowledge is Power'?"</p>
+
+<p>Miss Smith consented and Marian, determined
+to conquer, grasped her pen firmly and
+bent to the task. Two days later the page
+was finished and seven copy-books were piled
+upon Miss Smith's desk for inspection. At
+first Miss Smith smiled as she examined the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</a></span>
+various assertions that "Knowledge is Power,"
+then she grew serious.</p>
+
+<p>"Did you try your best, children?" she
+asked, whereupon five girls and two boys
+looked surprised and hurt.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, then, I wonder what is the
+trouble?" continued Miss Smith. "I am
+ashamed of your work, children, it seems as
+if you could do better."</p>
+
+<p>"Which is best?" demanded Marian. It
+made no difference how poor her copy was if
+only it was better than the others. The child
+was sorry she had asked the question when
+she knew the truth. "I think it is pretty
+discouraging," she said, "when you try your
+best and do the worst."</p>
+
+<p>"We will begin something new," Miss
+Smith suggested. "Next week we will write
+compositions on wild flowers and to the one
+who does the neatest looking work, I will give
+the little copy of 'Evangeline' I have been
+reading to you. It will make no difference
+whether the compositions are long or short,
+but the penmanship must be good. Every
+one of you knows the spring flowers for we<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[Pg 194]</a></span>
+have had them here in school and have talked
+about them every day."</p>
+
+<p>"Will we have to write in our copy-books
+just the same?" asked Tommy Perkins.</p>
+
+<p>"No," was the reply; "you may work on
+your compositions all the time we usually
+write in the copy-books, and remember, it
+doesn't make a bit of difference how short
+your compositions are."</p>
+
+<p>That was exactly what Marian did not remember.
+At first she wrote:</p>
+
+<p>"No flower is so pretty as the anemone that
+blooms on the windy hill."</p>
+
+<p>At recess she consulted Miss Smith. "Is
+that long enough?" she asked.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, that will do," was the reply.</p>
+
+<p>"Is it fair if I copy off her composition?"
+asked Tommy Perkins, "and practice writing
+it? I can't make up one."</p>
+
+<p>"That sentence will do as well as any
+other," agreed Miss Smith. "I simply wish
+you to write something you choose to do."</p>
+
+<p>Marian beamed upon Tommy. "I'll copy
+it for you," she said. "I don't really think
+anemones are the prettiest flowers, Tommy,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[Pg 195]</a></span>
+but they are easy to write; no ups or downs
+in the word if the flowers themselves do dance
+like fairies all the day long."</p>
+
+<p>"I wish't you'd write me a composition,"
+put in Frankie Bean.</p>
+
+<p>"I will," assented Marian, "after school
+calls, but now, come on out and play."</p>
+
+<p>After recess, Marian passed Frankie a piece
+of paper upon which was written this:</p>
+
+<p>"Clover loves a sunny home."</p>
+
+<p>"That's easy, Frankie, because 'y' is the
+only letter below the line. You can say sun-kissed
+if you would rather keep it all above
+the line. If I don't get the book, may be you
+will. I hope you won't be disappointed,
+though. I would try if I were you. Something
+may happen to me before next week,
+you never can tell."</p>
+
+<p>Monday and Tuesday Marian wrote compositions
+for the four girls to copy. They were
+more particular than the boys had been and
+their compositions were longer.</p>
+
+<p>By the time Marian was ready to settle
+down to her sentence on the anemone, she was
+tired of it and determined to write something<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[Pg 196]</a></span>
+new. Soon she forgot all about penmanship
+and Friday afternoon found her with a long
+composition to copy in an hour. Even then,
+after the first moment of dismay, she forgot
+that neatness of work alone, would count.</p>
+
+<p>Miss Virginia Smith read the composition
+aloud.</p>
+
+
+<p class="c">"<i>Wild Flowers, by Marian Lee.</i></p>
+
+<p>"When you shut your eyes and think of
+wild flowers, you always want to open them
+and fly to the hills and the woods. You wish
+you had wings like the birds.</p>
+
+<p>"In an old flower legend book that tells
+about things most folks don't know, I found
+out what you were always sure of before you
+knew it. The anemones are fairy blossoms.
+The pink on the petals was painted by the
+fairies and on rainy nights elves hide in the
+dainty blooms.</p>
+
+<p>"Tulips are not wild, but how can I leave
+them out when the fairies used them for
+cradles to rock their babies in.</p>
+
+<p>"Some folks laugh at you when you hunt
+for four-leaved clover, but you can never see<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</a></span>
+the fairies without one nor go to the fairy
+kingdom.</p>
+
+<p>"The old book says, too, that the bluebells
+ring at midnight to call the fairies together.
+I believe it because I have seen bluebells and
+have almost heard the music. I don't believe
+they ever were witches' thimbles.</p>
+
+<p>"You most always get your feet wet when
+you go after marsh marigolds, but it can't be
+helped. They are yellow flowers and live
+where they can hear the frogs all the time.
+I wonder if they ever get tired of frog concerts.
+I never do, only I think it is mournful
+music after the sun goes down. It makes you
+glad you are safe in the house.</p>
+
+<p>"There is one lovely thing about another
+yellow flower. It is the cinquefoil and you
+find it before the violets come if you know
+where to look. On rainy days and in damp
+weather, the green leaves bend over and cover
+the little yellow blossom. The cinquefoil
+plant must be afraid its little darling will
+catch cold.</p>
+
+<p>"If you ever feel cross, the best thing you
+can do is to go out where the wild flowers<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</a></span>
+grow. You will be sure to hear birds sing
+and you may see a rabbit or a squirrel. Anyway,
+you will think thoughts that are not
+cross."</p>
+
+<p>"Evangeline" was given to Tommy Perkins.
+He had practiced writing the anemone
+sentence until his perfectly written words
+astonished Miss Virginia Smith.</p>
+
+<p>"I know my writing isn't good," admitted
+a little girl named Marian. "Only see how
+it goes up-hill and down-hill and how funny
+the letters are."</p>
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVIII" id="CHAPTER_XVIII"></a>CHAPTER XVIII</h2>
+
+<p class="c">MARIAN'S LETTER HOME</p>
+
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Marian's</span> letters to her Uncle George were
+written on Sunday afternoons. She wrote
+pages and pages about Miss Smith and the
+country school and begged him not to come
+for her in August.</p>
+
+<p>"I haven't done anything better than any
+one else in school yet," she wrote, "but I am
+learning all kinds of things and having the
+best time ever was. I want to go to the country
+school until I graduate. I'll be ready for
+college before you know it if you will only
+let me stay.</p>
+
+<p>"I am good all the time because Mrs. Golding
+says so and Miss Ruth and Miss Kate
+take me almost everywhere they go&mdash;when
+they drive to town, circuses and things and I
+have lovely times every day.</p>
+
+<p>"I would tell you who I play with only
+you would forget the names of so many chil<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[Pg 200]</a></span>dren.
+When I can't find any one else I go
+to the mill to see the miller's boy. That isn't
+much fun because the miller's boy is half foolish.
+His clothes are always covered with
+flour and he looks like a little old miller
+himself. He jumps out at you when you
+don't know where he is and says 'Boo!' and
+scares you almost out of your wits, and that
+makes his father laugh. I tried to teach him
+to read but I didn't have good luck. He read
+'I see the cat' out of almanacs and everything.</p>
+
+<p>"The old miser died last night, Uncle
+George, and I saw him in the afternoon.
+Only think of it, I saw a man that died.
+After dinner I went to see the miller's boy
+and he wasn't there. His father said he was
+wandering along the river bank somewhere,
+so I stayed and talked to the miller. Pretty
+soon the boy came back making crazy motions
+with his arms and telling his father the
+old miser wanted to see him quick.</p>
+
+<p>"I went outside and watched the big wheel
+of the mill when the boy and his father went
+away, but it wasn't any time before the boy<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</a></span>
+came back and said the old miser wanted to
+see me. Of course I went as fast as I could
+go, and when I got to the hut, the miller
+asked me if I could say any Bible verses, and
+if I could to say them quick because the old
+miser wanted somebody to read the Bible
+quick&mdash;quick. I thought it was queer, Uncle
+George, but I was glad I had learned so much
+out of the Bible.</p>
+
+<p>"The old miser was all in rags and I guess
+he didn't feel well then, because he was lying
+down on a queer old couch and he didn't
+stir, but I tell you he watched me. I didn't
+want to go in the hut, so I stood in the doorway
+where I could feel the sunshine all
+around me. Some way I thought that wasn't
+any time to ask questions, so I began the
+Twenty-third Psalm right straight off. When
+I got to the end of that I was going to say the
+first fourteen verses of John, but the old miser
+raised one hand and said, 'Again&mdash;again,' but
+before I got any further than 'The valley of
+the shadow,' he went to sleep looking at me
+and I never saw his face so happy. It
+smoothed all out and looked different. Poor<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[Pg 202]</a></span>
+old miser, the boys used to plague him. The
+miller motioned to his boy and me to go away.
+I guess he was afraid Jakey would wake the old
+miser. Of course I knew enough to keep still
+when a tired looking old man dropped to
+sleep.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know just when the old miser
+died, Uncle George, nobody talks about it
+where I can hear a word. Mrs. Golding says
+when I grow up I will be glad that I could
+repeat the Twenty-third Psalm to a poor old
+man who hadn't any friends. She says it
+isn't true that he was a miser, he was just an
+unfortunate old man. I wonder if he was
+anybody's grandfather? You never can tell.</p>
+
+<p>"I am well acquainted with all the folks in
+the village, Uncle George, and lots of times I
+go calling. There are some old folks here
+who never step outside of their houses and
+they are glad to have callers. One old blind
+woman knits all the time. She likes to be
+read to, real well. And there is one woman,
+the shoemaker's wife, that has six children
+that bother her so when she tries to work; she
+says it does her good to see me coming.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[Pg 203]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Only think, Uncle George, how lonesome
+I will be when I get home where I am not
+acquainted. The only sad thing that has
+happened here all summer is that the miser
+died, and of course you know that might be
+worse.</p>
+
+<p>"I would like to be with Miss Smith more
+than I am but she studies almost all the time.
+I don't see what for because she knows everything,
+even about the stars. She likes me a
+great deal but I guess nobody knows it. You
+mustn't have favorites when you are a school-teacher,
+she told me so.</p>
+
+<p>"You don't know how hard it is, Uncle
+George, to do something better than anybody
+else. You might think it would be easy, but
+somebody always gets ahead of you in everything,
+you can't even keep your desk the
+cleanest. Some girls never bring in anything
+from the woods, so of course they can keep
+dusted.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm afraid you'll be disappointed in</p>
+
+<p class="sig">
+"Your loving niece,<br />
+"<span class="smcap">Marian Lee</span>."
+</p>
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[Pg 204]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIX" id="CHAPTER_XIX"></a>CHAPTER XIX</h2>
+
+<p class="c">THE MOST TRUTHFUL CHILD IN SCHOOL</p>
+
+
+<p><span class="smcap">In</span> the early morning the schoolhouse was
+a quiet place, and there Miss Virginia Smith
+went to study. No one knew why she
+worked so hard, though Marian often wondered.
+It was her delight to please Miss
+Smith, and when the teacher waited several
+mornings until a certain mail train passed
+and the letters were distributed, Marian
+offered to stop at the post-office and get the
+mail.</p>
+
+<p>"Are you sure you won't lose anything?"
+asked Miss Smith.</p>
+
+<p>"Sure," promised Marian. "You go to
+school early as you used to do and I'll bring
+your letters when I come."</p>
+
+<p>Usually the postmaster gave Marian something
+to carry to Miss Smith, and all went
+well until a few days before school closed.
+Elizabeth Gray called for Marian that morn<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[Pg 205]</a></span>ing
+and together they went to the post-office
+where they waited on tiptoe for the postmaster
+to distribute the mail. There was one
+letter for Miss Smith, a thin, insignificant
+looking letter.</p>
+
+<p>"That's nothing but an old advertisement,"
+declared Elizabeth; "it wasn't worth waiting
+for."</p>
+
+<p>"I guess you're right," agreed Marian,
+"see what it says in the corner. What's a
+seminary, anyway? Do you know?&mdash;'Young
+Ladies' Seminary.' Some kind of a new
+fashioned place to buy hats, may be, come
+on."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, let's get started before the Prior kids
+and the Perkinses catch up with us. I can't
+bear that Tommy Perkins."</p>
+
+<p>"We could play De Soto if we had a
+crowd," suggested Marian. "You and I
+could be the head leaders and the Priors and
+the Perkins could be common soldiers."</p>
+
+<p>"How do you play De Soto?" asked Elizabeth.
+"I never heard of it."</p>
+
+<p>"You've heard of De Soto, the man that
+discovered the Mississippi River, I hope."</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[Pg 206]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Of course, he's in the history."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, Elizabeth, I've been reading about
+him in one of Mr. Golding's books about
+early explorations and I knew in a minute
+that it would be fun to play De Soto on our
+way to school. Now, I'm De Soto."</p>
+
+<p>"No, I'm going to be De Soto," insisted
+Elizabeth.</p>
+
+<p>"You don't know how, Elizabeth Jane
+Gray, and you didn't think of it first. All
+right, though, you be De Soto if you want to.
+What are you going to do? Begin."</p>
+
+<p>"You always want to be the head one in
+everything, Marian Lee. You needn't think
+I'm Tommy Perkins!"</p>
+
+<p>"I don't, Elizabeth, I think you're that
+brave Spaniard Moscoso who was leader of
+the soldiers after De Soto died and was buried
+in the Mississippi River where the Indians
+couldn't find him. But if you want to be
+De Soto, go on, only I don't believe you
+know a thing about him except what the history
+says. Well, you're De Soto."</p>
+
+<p>"You'll have to tell me what to do,
+Marian."</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[Pg 207]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"I guess not, Miss Elizabeth, if you're
+De Soto you ought to know."</p>
+
+<p>Elizabeth walked on in silence for a few
+moments until seized by an inspiration. "I'll
+be De Soto to-morrow morning," she remarked;
+"it's your turn first, of course, because you
+thought of the game. I'm&mdash;who did you say
+I am, Marian?"</p>
+
+<p>"You're Moscoso, one of my officers, Elizabeth.
+Well, I'm De Soto and I have had
+wonderful adventures in my life. I was with
+Pizarro in the conquest of Peru and I went
+back to Spain rich, rich, rich. Now I am the
+Governor of Cuba and Florida and not long
+ago I had orders from Spain to explore
+Florida. Of course, Moscoso, you remember
+all about it, how we left Cuba with nine ships
+and landed at Tampa?"</p>
+
+<p>"I remember it, Soty, just as well as if it
+was yesterday," and Moscoso, laughing merrily,
+swung his dinner pail in a perfect circle.</p>
+
+<p>"Don't laugh, Moscoso, at serious things,"
+continued De Soto; "and I think you really
+should call me Governor and I'll call you
+General. Well, General, we sent most of our<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[Pg 208]</a></span>
+ships back to Cuba, and now we're searching
+for gold in Florida, not in our little State of
+Florida, but the big, wide, long Florida that
+used to be. Now, Elizabeth, we'll play wander
+around for three years, living in Indian villages
+winters and camping out summers and
+having fights and discovering new birds to
+write to Spain about and having all kinds of
+adventures, until we get to that big ditch at
+the four corners and that will have to be the
+Mississippi River, and we'll cross it. We can
+tie our handkerchiefs to sticks for banners.</p>
+
+<p>"Let's play all the trees are Indians and all
+the little low bushes are wild beasts. The
+fences will do for mountains and I guess we'll
+think of other things to play as we go along.
+We'll have trouble with our soldiers, of course,
+they always do when they are hunting for
+gold. All these fields and woods, no, not
+woods, forests, I mean, are what you call the
+interior. Dandelions and buttercups will be
+gold that we steal from the Indians. We'll
+be awfully disappointed because this isn't a
+gold country like Peru, but we will take all
+there is, and I think we had better talk some<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[Pg 209]</a></span>
+about going home to Spain. Of course I don't
+know I'm going to die of fever beyond the
+Mississippi and you don't know you'll have
+to go back to the coast without me. I wish
+we could talk a little bit of real Spanish, don't
+you, Elizabeth?"</p>
+
+<p>"Hush," warned the General from Spain.
+"I hear Indians. Let's play the wind in the
+trees is Indian talk, Marian."</p>
+
+<p>"Sure enough, Elizabeth, we must advance
+cautiously, General Moscoso, they always 'advance
+cautiously' in the books, or else 'beat a
+hasty retreat.' We won't dare play retreat or
+we'll never get to school. Oh, they're friendly
+Indians, General, how fortunate."</p>
+
+<p>De Soto had crossed the Mississippi when
+he grew pale as death and suddenly deserted
+his followers. The banners of Spain trailed
+in the dust. "Elizabeth Jane Gray, where's
+that letter?"</p>
+
+<p>Two little girls gazed at each other in
+dismay.</p>
+
+<p>"Have you lost it?" gasped Elizabeth.</p>
+
+<p>"If I haven't, where is it?" asked Marian.</p>
+
+<p>"Can't you remember anything about it?"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[Pg 210]</a></span>
+Elizabeth went on, "when you had it last, or
+anything?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, I can't. Let's go straight back over
+the road and hunt. I must have dropped it
+and perhaps we may find it if we look. I
+can't believe it is really lost. Oh, Elizabeth,
+what shall I do if it is? I adore Miss Smith
+and what will she think?"</p>
+
+<p>"She won't think anything if you keep
+still, Marian; the letter was only an old advertisement,
+anyway."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, dear, dear, dear!" wailed Marian.
+"This is dreadful. I don't see a thing that
+looks like a letter anywhere. I am going to
+climb a tree and look way off over the
+fields." Although the children searched
+faithfully, they could not find the letter.</p>
+
+<p>"We'll hunt at noon," suggested Elizabeth,
+deeply touched by Marian's distress, "and
+if I were you I wouldn't say a word about it."</p>
+
+<p>"But Elizabeth, what if she asks me if
+there was a letter?"</p>
+
+<p>"Fib," was the response.</p>
+
+<p>"It's enough to make anybody, Elizabeth."</p>
+
+<p>"You'll be a goose, Marian, if you own up.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[Pg 211]</a></span>
+I won't tell on you and the letter didn't
+amount to anything, anyway. Let's run for
+all we're worth and get there before school
+calls if we can. Sure's we're late she'll ask
+questions."</p>
+
+<p>Just as the bell was ringing, two breathless
+little girls joined their schoolmates. Their
+faces were flushed and their hair was tumbled.
+Miss Smith smiled when she saw them, but
+asked no questions. Noticing Marian's empty
+hands, she said evidently to herself, "No letter
+yet!"</p>
+
+<p>"You're going to get out of this as easy's
+pie, just keep your mouth shut," whispered
+Elizabeth.</p>
+
+<p>"I shall have to tell," groaned Marian.</p>
+
+<p>"Don't be silly," Elizabeth advised.</p>
+
+<p>During the morning exercises Marian determined
+to confess no matter what happened.
+When the chart class was called to the recitation
+seat she raised her hand and was given
+permission to speak to Miss Smith. Marian
+didn't glance towards Elizabeth Gray as she
+walked to the desk. Elizabeth had never
+stolen cookies. "Miss Smith," said Marian,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[Pg 212]</a></span>
+"you had a letter this morning and I lost
+it."</p>
+
+<p>"You dear child, I am so glad you told
+me," and Miss Smith who had so often insisted
+that a school-teacher must never have
+favorites, put her arms around the little girl
+and kissed the soft, brown hair. "Now tell
+me what was printed on the envelope if you
+can remember."</p>
+
+<p>Word for word Marian described the letter.</p>
+
+<p>"It is the one I was expecting," said Miss
+Smith, and while the chart class waited,
+their teacher wrote a letter, stamped it and
+sent it to the post-office by Tommy Perkins.</p>
+
+<p>Two days later, Marian carried Miss Smith
+a letter exactly like the one she had lost.
+Miss Smith read it, smiled and asked Marian
+to stay after school.</p>
+
+<p>"You're going to get your scolding at last,"
+predicted Elizabeth. "I told you not to
+tell."</p>
+
+<p>At four o'clock the children trooped out and
+flew down the road like wild birds escaped
+from a cage, leaving Marian uneasily twisting
+her handkerchief while she waited for Miss<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[Pg 213]</a></span>
+Smith to speak. Nothing was said until the
+sound of childish voices came from a distance.
+Then Miss Smith looked up and laughed.
+"Can you keep a secret for a few days,
+Marian?" she asked. "Come here, dear, and
+read the letter you brought me this morning."</p>
+
+<p>Marian read the short letter three times before
+she asked, "Are you going?"</p>
+
+<p>"Going," echoed Miss Smith; "that is the
+position I have long wished for, Marian. Only
+think how I shall enjoy teaching botany and
+English in a boarding-school. You see what
+they say, Marian, they want an immediate
+reply or it will be too late. If you hadn't
+told me about the letter you received the
+other day, I should have lost the position. I
+imagined what the letter was and sent for a
+copy. If you hadn't told me the truth,
+Marian, only think what a difference it would
+have made!"</p>
+
+<p>"I just have to tell the truth," said the little
+girl.</p>
+
+<p>"I believe you, dear, I never saw a more
+truthful child in my life."</p>
+
+<p>"Would you dare say I am the most honest<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[Pg 214]</a></span>
+child in school?" asked Marian, a sudden
+light making her face beautiful. "Will you
+write it down and sign your name?"</p>
+
+<p>"Well, you are the queerest mortal," exclaimed
+Miss Smith, but reaching for a piece
+of paper and a pen, she wrote this:</p>
+
+<p>"Marian Lee is the most truthful pupil in
+my school.</p>
+
+<p class="sig">"<span class="smcap">Virginia Smith</span>, Teacher."</p>
+
+<p>"It's for Uncle George," Marian explained.
+"He told me to try to do something better
+than anybody else and I haven't done it.
+He's coming for me Saturday and please do
+ask him to send me to your boarding-school.
+He has often talked about sending me away
+to school, but I used to be afraid to go and
+made a dreadful fuss, and then I had diphtheria."</p>
+
+<p>Uncle George arrived on Friday in time to
+have a long talk with Miss Smith before she
+left on the evening train. Had Marian
+known the nature of their conversation, she
+might not have cried so bitterly when the
+hour of parting came.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[Pg 215]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XX" id="CHAPTER_XX"></a>CHAPTER XX</h2>
+
+<p class="c">MORE CHANGES</p>
+
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Marian</span> had been home a month when
+Uncle George decided to send her to boarding-school.</p>
+
+<p>"It is a curious thing," he remarked to the
+child, "that other people find it so easy to get
+along with you, and here at home there is no
+peace in the house while you are in it."</p>
+
+<p>The man's tones were savage and Marian
+cried. Tears always angered Uncle George,
+and when Uncle George was angry with
+Marian, Aunt Amelia generally sighed and
+straightway did her duty: and Aunt Amelia's
+duty towards Marian consisted in giving a detailed
+account of the child's faults and a history
+of her sins. She never failed to mention
+cookies. When Marian was wise, she kept
+still. If she ventured a remonstrance serious
+trouble was sure to follow. Out in the fresh
+air and sunshine, the child managed to be<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[Pg 216]</a></span>
+happy in spite of everything: but within the
+four walls of Aunt Amelia's home it took
+courage to face life. She didn't know that
+her uncle had written to Miss Virginia Smith.</p>
+
+<p>"They're going to do something with you,
+I don't know what," confided Ella. "I'll let
+you know as soon's I find out." Ella was as
+good as her word. "They're going to send
+you to boarding-school," was her next secret
+announcement, "but when or where, I don't
+know."</p>
+
+<p>One morning Marian went to her room after
+breakfast and sat long by the open window,
+wondering what would become of her and why
+she had been taken from the Little Pilgrim's
+Home by an aunt who didn't want her.
+Tears splashed upon the window sill. Marian
+wiped her eyes quickly. Young as she was,
+the child realized how dangerous it is to be
+sorry for oneself. Without a backward
+glance, Marian walked from the room and
+closed the door she was never to open again.
+When she came home from school that night,
+the child played in the orchard until supper-time.
+Then she wondered why Aunt Amelia<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[Pg 217]</a></span>
+didn't send her to her room. An hour passed
+before the woman looked at the clock and
+spoke. Instead of the words Marian expected
+to hear, Aunt Amelia said calmly:</p>
+
+<p>"Your trunk is packed and the carriage is
+waiting to take you to the station. Get your
+coat and hat."</p>
+
+<p>"Where am I going and who is going with
+me?" demanded the child, beginning to
+tremble so she could scarcely stand.</p>
+
+<p>"I shall accompany you," replied Aunt
+Amelia, "and it makes no difference where
+you are going. You will know soon
+enough."</p>
+
+<p>Marian shot a grateful look towards Ella,
+who was sobbing in a corner. But for the little
+cousin's assurance, Marian would have believed
+she was about to start for the long
+dreaded reform school. Nevertheless it was a
+shocking thing to be suddenly torn from every
+familiar sight and to be going so blindly into
+the unknown. Marian looked appealingly at
+Aunt Amelia and Uncle George before she
+broke down and cried. Aunt Amelia's face
+was stony, Uncle George looked cross and an<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[Pg 218]</a></span>noyed.
+Marian's grief became wild and despairing.</p>
+
+<p>"I wish I could have my mother's picture
+to take with me," she sobbed, "I wish I
+could."</p>
+
+<p>"That's a reasonable request and you shall
+have it," said Uncle George.</p>
+
+<p>"It will be time enough when she is older,"
+Aunt Amelia put in, while Marian held her
+breath. Would she get the picture or not?
+A word might ruin her chances, so she kept
+still, trying hard to smother her sobs.</p>
+
+<p>"Are you going for the picture or shall I?"
+demanded Uncle George. Aunt Amelia went.</p>
+
+<p>Marian was disappointed when she saw the
+small photograph of her father and mother.
+She wished for the face in the oval frame.
+She would have been more disappointed had
+she never seen the photograph, because instead
+of giving it to the child or allowing her
+to look at the picture, Aunt Amelia wrapped
+it in a piece of paper and put it in her own
+satchel.</p>
+
+<p>Outside in the cool, silent night, Marian
+stopped crying. There was comfort in the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[Pg 219]</a></span>
+steadily shining stars. During the first long
+hours on the sleeping car, Marian tossed,
+tumbled and wondered where she was going.
+Asleep she dreamed of reform school: awake
+she feared dreams might come true. When
+trains rushed by in the darkness the child was
+frightened and shivered at the thought of
+wrecks. At last she raised her curtain and
+watched the stars. Repeating over and over
+one verse of the poem she had recited the last
+day of school in the country, she fell peacefully
+asleep. There were no more troubled
+dreams nor startled awakenings. When
+Marian opened her eyes in the morning, the
+verse still haunted her memory.</p>
+
+<div class="poem-container">
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"I know not where His islands</span><br />
+<span class="i2">Lift their fronded palms in air,</span><br />
+<span class="i0">I only know I cannot drift</span><br />
+<span class="i2">Beyond His love and care."</span><br />
+</div>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[Pg 220]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXI" id="CHAPTER_XXI"></a>CHAPTER XXI</h2>
+
+<p class="c">MARIAN REMEMBERS HER DIARY</p>
+
+
+<p><span class="smcap">"October</span> 15.&mdash;You might as well keep a
+diary, especially in a school where they have
+a silent hour. It is the queerest thing I ever
+heard of but every night between seven and
+eight it is so still in this building you don't
+dare sneeze. It isn't so bad when you have a
+roommate because then you have to divide the
+hour with her. You stay alone half and then
+you go to the reading-room or the library and
+read something and try not to whisper to any
+of the girls, while your roommate stays alone
+her half of the hour.</p>
+
+<p>"Perhaps the reason I don't like silent hour
+is because I used to have so many of them at
+home and now because I haven't any roommate
+I have to stay alone the whole hour. I
+don't know what to do with myself and that
+is why I am going to keep a diary again.</p>
+
+<p>"There is a good reason why I haven't any
+roommate. When my aunt brought me here<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[Pg 221]</a></span>
+the principal said they were expecting a little
+girl just my age and they were going to put
+her in this room with me. It isn't much fun
+to be a new girl in this kind of a school, especially
+when most everybody is older than you
+are. When the girls saw my aunt they stared,
+and they stared at me, too. It wasn't very
+nice and I felt uncomfortable. As long as my
+aunt stayed I didn't get acquainted. I didn't
+even dare say much to Miss Smith. I just
+moped around and wished I was out in the
+country with the happy Goldings. They said
+here, 'Poor little thing, she's homesick,' but I
+am sure I wasn't if that means I wanted to go
+back home. My aunt stayed two days and one
+night. She said she was waiting to see my
+roommate but at last she gave up and went
+home and then I felt different. I began to
+wonder what kind of a girl my roommate
+would be and when she came I was so happy
+I could scarcely breathe because she was Dolly
+Russel. We thought we were going to have
+such a good time, and we did for a few days
+until I was a big goose. I wrote home and
+told my aunt who my roommate was and that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[Pg 222]</a></span>
+ended it. Aunt Amelia wrote to the principal
+and she wrote to me, and then Dolly went to
+room with an old girl eighteen years old, from
+Kansas.</p>
+
+<p>"Dolly says her new roommate is nice, but
+she's too old and besides that she's engaged.
+Dolly told me all about it.</p>
+
+<p>"My aunt wouldn't let me room with Dolly
+because she said we would play all the time
+instead of studying our lessons. I guess she
+was afraid we would have a little fun. She
+told me in a letter that if she had known
+Dolly Russel was coming to this school she
+would have sent me somewhere else or kept
+me at home, no matter what Uncle George
+and Miss Smith said. I know why. Dolly
+has told the Kansas girl and some others
+about my aunt already, how cross she is and
+such things. I don't mind now what anybody
+says about Aunt Amelia since I have
+found out that she isn't any relation to me.
+She is just my aunt by marriage and you
+can't expect aunts by marriage to love you,
+and if your aunt doesn't love you, what's the
+use of loving your aunt.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[Pg 223]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"If I hadn't passed the entrance examinations
+here I couldn't have stayed. Dolly and
+a girl whose name is Janey somebody and I
+are the only little girls here. Janey is tall
+and wears her hair in a long, black braid.
+Mine's Dutch cut. Dolly Russel's is Dutch
+cut too. Janey calls us little kids and she
+tags around after the big girls. We don't
+care.</p>
+
+<p>"October 16.&mdash;There's another girl coming
+from way out west. Her folks are going to
+be in Chicago this winter and they want her
+in this school. The Kansas girl told Dolly
+and me.</p>
+
+<p>"October 17.&mdash;The new girl has come and
+they have put her with me. She's homesick.
+Her father brought her and then went right
+away. I didn't see him. I think I shall
+like the new girl. Her name is Florence
+Weston and she has more clothes than the
+Queen of Sheba. Miss Smith helped her unpack
+and I felt as if I would sink through
+to China when the new girl looked in our
+closet. It is a big closet and the hooks were
+nearly all empty because I haven't anything<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[Pg 224]</a></span>
+much to hang up. I'll never forget how I
+felt when the new girl said to me, 'Where are
+your dresses?' Before I could think of anything
+to say, Miss Smith sent me for the
+tack hammer and I didn't have to answer.</p>
+
+<p>"My room looked pretty lonesome after
+Dolly moved out, but now it is the nicest
+room in school because Florence Weston has
+so many beautiful things. She says this is
+horrid and I just ought to see her room at
+home. She can't talk about her home without
+crying. I know I'd cry if I had to go
+back to mine.</p>
+
+<p>"October 20.&mdash;That Janey is a queer girl.
+She won't look at me and I really think it is
+because I haven't any pretty dresses. She is
+in our room half the time, too, visiting with
+Florence. They are great chums and they
+lock arms and tell secrets and laugh and talk
+about what they are going to do next summer
+and where they are going Christmas and
+everything. I wish more than ever that I
+had Dolly for my roommate. I wouldn't be
+surprised if her father is richer'n Florence
+Weston's father.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[Pg 225]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"That Janey puts on airs. Her last name
+is Hopkins. She signs her name 'Janey C.
+Hopkins.' She never leaves out the 'C,' I
+wonder why.</p>
+
+<p>"October 21.&mdash;I like Florence Weston.
+She is not a bit like that proud Janey.</p>
+
+<p>"November 1.&mdash;Sometimes I wish I had
+never come here to school. Once in a while
+I feel more lonesome, almost&mdash;than I ever
+did at home. It is on account of that
+Janey C. Hopkins. She wants to room with
+Florence and she tried to get me to say I
+would move in with Laura Jones, the girl she
+rooms with. Janey says she's going to the
+principal. Let her go. Miss Smith told me
+not to worry, they won't let chums like
+Florence and Janey room together because
+they won't study.</p>
+
+<p>"November 2.&mdash;What did I tell you? I
+knew she'd be sorry. They won't let Janey
+room with Florence. Florence says she's
+glad of it. I suppose it is on account of
+hooks. Janey couldn't let her have more
+than half the hooks in the closet.</p>
+
+<p>"November 3.&mdash;It wasn't on account of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[Pg 226]</a></span>
+hooks. Florence told me one of Janey's
+secrets and I know now what the 'C' means
+in Janey's name and I know who Janey C.
+Hopkins is, and I should think she would remember
+me, but she doesn't. Janey told
+Florence that she is adopted and that her
+new mother took her from the Little Pilgrims'
+home before they moved out to Minnesota.
+I was so surprised I almost told
+Florence I came from that same home, but I
+am glad I didn't.</p>
+
+<p>"The only reason Florence doesn't want to
+room with Janey is because she lived in an
+orphan's home. She says you never can tell
+about adopted children and that maybe
+Janey's folks weren't nice, and anyway, that
+if she ever lived in an orphan's home she
+would keep still about it.</p>
+
+<p>"I think I shall keep still, but I could tell
+Miss Florence Weston one thing, my folks
+were nice if they did die. I could tell her
+what I read in that newspaper in the sea-chest,
+how my father just would go to South
+America with some men to make his fortune
+and how after a while my mother thought he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[Pg 227]</a></span>
+was dead and then she died suddenly and all
+about how I happened to be taken to the
+Little Pilgrims' Home in the strange city
+where my mother and I didn't know anybody
+and nobody knew us.</p>
+
+<p>"I could tell Florence Weston I guess that
+my father left my mother plenty of money
+and she wasn't poor, and after she died the
+folks she boarded with stole it all and pretty
+near everything she had and then packed up
+and went away and left me crying in the
+flat, and it just happened that some folks
+on the next floor knew what my name was
+and a few little things my mother told
+them.</p>
+
+<p>"I won't speak of the Little Pilgrims'
+Home, though, because I can't forget how Uncle
+George acted about it. It was a pleasant,
+happy home just the same, and when I grow
+up and can do what I want to I am going
+back and hunt for Mrs. Moore and I won't
+stop until I find her. I have missed her all
+my life. You can't help wondering why some
+mothers live and some mothers die, and why
+some children grow up in their own homes<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[Pg 228]</a></span>
+and other children don't have anybody to
+love them.</p>
+
+<p>"November 4.&mdash;Sunday. The queer things
+don't all happen in books. I am glad I have
+a diary to put things in that I don't want to
+tell Miss Smith nor Dolly. Just before dark
+I was in the back parlor with a lot of girls
+singing. When we were tired of singing we
+told stories about our first troubles. I kept
+still for once, I really couldn't think what my
+first one was anyway. Two or three girls said
+that when their mothers died, that was their
+first sorrow, but Florence Weston said that
+her first one was funny. She couldn't remember
+when her own father died so she
+can't count that. The father she has now is
+a step one.</p>
+
+<p>"Florence says she was a little bit of a girl
+when her mother took her one day to visit an
+orphan's home and she cried because she
+couldn't stay and have dinner with the little
+orphans. She says she remembers that one
+of the little girls wanted to go home with her
+and her mother and when she cried that little
+orphan girl cried too. They all laughed when<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[Pg 229]</a></span>
+Florence told her story, all but me. I knew
+then what my first sorrow was. What would
+Florence think if she knew I was that little
+orphan? I must never tell her though or she
+wouldn't room with me. I should think
+Florence would be the happiest girl in the
+world. I should be if I had her mother. I
+can see her now if I shut my eyes. Her
+hair was shining gold and her eyes were like
+the sky when the orchard is full of apple
+blossoms.</p>
+
+<p>"November 25.&mdash;Florence has gone to
+Chicago to stay until Monday morning because
+to-morrow is Thanksgiving day and her
+folks wanted to see her. Florence has two
+baby brothers and one little sister.</p>
+
+<p>"Dolly Russel's father and mother have
+come here to be with Dolly to-morrow and
+they have invited me to have dinner with
+them down town. I wonder what Aunt
+Amelia would say if she knew I am going to
+be with the Russels all day to-morrow. Miss
+Smith got permission for me to go, she knew
+what to say to the principal, and she kissed
+me too, right before Mrs. Russel. I am<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[Pg 230]</a></span>
+already beginning to dread going home next
+June.</p>
+
+<p>"Janey C. Hopkins is going home this
+afternoon and the Kansas girl is going with
+her. There will be ten girls all alone in the
+big dining-room here to-morrow. I guess
+they will feel queer. I know one thing, I
+would rather stay here with nobody but the
+matron Christmas, than to go home, and I am
+glad Aunt Amelia says it would be foolish for
+any one to take such a long journey so I could
+be home for the holidays.</p>
+
+<p>"Mrs. Russel is going to dress me all up to-morrow
+in one of Dolly's prettiest dresses. I
+do have some streaks of luck."</p>
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[Pg 231]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXII" id="CHAPTER_XXII"></a>CHAPTER XXII</h2>
+
+<p class="c">FLORENCE WESTON'S MOTHER</p>
+
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Marian</span> was studying Monday morning
+when Florence returned from Chicago. She
+burst into the room like a wind blown rose,
+even forgetting to close the door until she had
+hugged Marian and hugged her again.</p>
+
+<p>"Now shut your eyes tight," she commanded,
+"and don't you open them until I
+tell you to. You remember when you asked
+me if I had a picture of my mother and I said I
+hadn't anything only common photographs?
+well, you just wait."</p>
+
+<p>Marian closed her eyes while Florence
+dived into her satchel for a small package.</p>
+
+<p>"I have something in a little red leather
+case that will make you stare, Marian dear,
+you just wait."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, I am waiting," was the retort,
+"with my eyes shut so tight I can see purple
+and crimson spots by the million. Hurry up,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[Pg 232]</a></span>
+why don't you? Is it a watch with your
+mother's picture in it?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, guess again."</p>
+
+<p>"A locket?"</p>
+
+<p>"Dear me, no. It is something&mdash;three
+somethings that cost forty times as much as a
+watch or locket. Now open your eyes and
+look on the bureau."</p>
+
+<p>"Why don't you say something?" questioned
+Florence, as Marian stood speechless
+before three miniatures in gold frames.
+"That's my mother and our baby in the
+middle frame, and the girl on this side is my
+little sister and the boy in the other frame we
+call brother, just brother, since the baby
+came. Why Marian Lee! I never thought
+of it before, but you look like brother just as
+sure as the world!</p>
+
+<p>"Why, Marian! what's the matter, what
+makes you cry when you look at mamma's
+picture?"</p>
+
+<p>"Nothing, Florence, only I want a mother
+myself, I always wanted one."</p>
+
+<p>"You poor young one!" exclaimed Flor<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[Pg 233]</a></span>ence,
+"it must be dreadful not to have a
+mother."</p>
+
+<p>"It's like the Desert of Sahara!" Marian
+declared, dashing the tears from her eyes and
+making an attempt to smile. "You will see
+your mother again soon."</p>
+
+<p>"I know it, Marian, only think, three
+weeks more and then the holidays. Are you
+going home Wednesday night or Thursday
+morning?"</p>
+
+<p>"I am not going home until June," was the
+reply.</p>
+
+<p>"Can you stand it as long as that, Marian?"</p>
+
+<p>The mere thought of feeling badly about
+not being home for the holidays made the
+child laugh.</p>
+
+<p>"You are the queerest girl," exclaimed
+Florence, "you cry when I don't see anything
+to cry about and you laugh when I should
+think you would cry."</p>
+
+<p>Marian checked an impulse to explain.
+How could Florence understand? Florence,
+whose beautiful mother smiled from the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[Pg 234]</a></span>
+round, gold frame, the girl whose sister
+and brothers waited to welcome her
+home.</p>
+
+<p>"If they were mine," said Marian, gazing
+wistfully at the miniatures, "I would never
+leave them. I would rather be a dunce than
+go away to school."</p>
+
+<p>"Then my father wouldn't own you," said
+Florence, laughing. "Mamma says she's
+afraid he wouldn't have any patience if I disgraced
+him in school. You ought to belong
+to him, Marian, he would be proud of you.
+You know your lessons almost without studying
+and you have higher standings than the
+big girls. You've been highest in all your
+classes so far, haven't you?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," was the reply, "except in geometry,
+but what of it? Nobody cares."</p>
+
+<p>"Don't your folks at home? Aren't they
+proud of you?"</p>
+
+<p>"I used to hope they would be, Florence;
+but I tell you, nobody cares."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, haven't you any grandfathers or
+grandmothers or other aunts or uncles?"</p>
+
+<p>"I am not acquainted with them," said<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[Pg 235]</a></span>
+Marian. "My uncle hasn't any folks, only
+distant cousins."</p>
+
+<p>"That's just like my father," Florence interrupted.
+"His folks are all dead, though I
+have heard him mention one half brother with
+whom he wasn't friends. Mamma won't let
+me ask any questions about him. But,
+Marian, where are your mother's folks?"</p>
+
+<p>Where were they, indeed? Marian had
+never thought of them. "Well, you see," the
+child hastily suggested, "they don't live near
+us."</p>
+
+<p>The next time Florence saw Dolly Russel,
+she asked some questions that were gladly
+answered. "Go home!" exclaimed Dolly,
+"I shouldn't think she would want to go
+home! You see the St. Claires live right
+across the street from us and I have seen
+things with my own eyes that would astonish
+you. Besides that, a girl that used to work
+for the St. Claires, her name is Lala, works for
+us now, and if she didn't tell things that
+would make your eyes pop out of your head!
+Shall I tell you how they used to treat that
+poor little Marian? She's the dearest young<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[Pg 236]</a></span>
+one, too&mdash;Lala says so&mdash;only mamma has always
+told me that it's wretched taste to listen
+to folks like Lala."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, do tell me," insisted Florence, and by
+the time Dolly Russel had told all she knew,
+Florence Weston was in a high state of indignation.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, her uncle and her little cousin are all
+right," remonstrated Dolly; "they are not
+like the aunt."</p>
+
+<p>"I know what I shall do," cried Florence.
+"Oh, I know! I shall tell mamma all about
+Marian and ask if I may invite her to Chicago
+for the holidays. She would have one good
+time, I tell you. I like Marian anyway, she
+is just as sweet as she can be. I should be
+miserable if I were in her place, but she sings
+all the day long. My little sister would love
+her and so would brother and the baby. I
+am going straight to my room and write the
+letter this minute."</p>
+
+<p>"Mrs. St. Claire won't let Marian go,"
+warned Dolly; "you just wait and see. She
+doesn't want Marian to have one speck of
+fun."</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[Pg 237]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Nevertheless Florence Weston wrote the
+letter to her mother and in due time came
+the expected invitation. At first Marian was
+too overjoyed for words: then she thought of
+Aunt Amelia and hope left her countenance.
+"I know what I will do," she said at last,
+"I will ask Miss Smith to write to Uncle
+George. Maybe then he will let me go. Nobody
+knows how much I want to see your
+mother."</p>
+
+<p>Florence laughed. "I think I do," she said.
+"I have told my mother how you worship
+her miniature. I shouldn't be surprised to
+come in some day and find you on your
+knees before it. My mother is pretty and
+she is lovely and kind, but I don't see how
+anybody could care so much for her picture.
+Most of the girls just rave over brother, but
+you don't look at him. Just wait until you
+see him, Marian. I'll teach him to call you
+sister. He says 'Ta' for sister."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, I wish you would," said Marian, "I
+love babies and I never was anybody's sister
+of course. He is just as cunning as he can
+be. I am going now to ask Miss Smith to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[Pg 238]</a></span>
+write to Uncle George. She can get him to
+say yes if anybody can."</p>
+
+<p>Miss Smith wrote and rewrote the letter,
+then waited for an answer with even less patience
+than Marian. At last it came, in Aunt
+Amelia's handwriting. Marian's heart sank
+when she saw the envelope. Her fears were
+well founded. Aunt Amelia was surprised
+to find that Marian knew no better than to
+trouble Miss Smith as she had. She might
+have known that Uncle George would not
+approve of her going to a city the size of
+Chicago to pass the holidays with strangers.
+Miss Smith, Dolly and Florence were indignant.
+Even Janey did some unselfish sputtering.</p>
+
+<p>"Anything's better than going home," Marian
+reasoned at last, "and what's the use of
+crying about what you can't help. I ought
+to be glad it isn't June."</p>
+
+<p>As a matter of fact, the holidays passed
+pleasantly for Marian in the big deserted
+house. The matron and the teachers who
+were left did everything in their power to
+please the child, and on Christmas Day the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[Pg 239]</a></span>
+postman left her more gifts than she had ever
+received before. There were no potatoes in
+her stocking that year. During the holidays,
+Marian kept the photograph of her own mother
+beside the miniatures, and as the days went
+by she became convinced that her mother
+and Florence Weston's mother looked much
+alike.</p>
+
+<p>"My mother is prettier," she said aloud the
+last day of the old year, "but she is dead and
+as long as I live I never can see her. Perhaps
+I may see this other mother and perhaps
+she may love me. I shall have to put my
+picture away because it will get faded and
+spoiled, and I think I will pretend that
+Florence Weston's mother is my mother.
+Then I won't feel so lonesome. I never
+thought of pretending to have a mother before."</p>
+
+<p>When Florence returned after the holidays,
+she was unable to account for the change in
+Marian. The child was radiantly happy.
+Tears no longer filled her eyes when she
+gazed too intently upon the miniatures. Instead,
+she smiled back at the faces and some<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[Pg 240]</a></span>times
+waved her hand to them when she left
+the room. How could Florence dream that
+Marian had taken the little brothers, the sister
+and the mother for her own.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[Pg 241]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXIII" id="CHAPTER_XXIII"></a>CHAPTER XXIII</h2>
+
+<p class="c">HOW MARIAN CROSSED THE RAINBOW BRIDGE</p>
+
+
+<p><span class="smcap">June</span> sent her messengers early. Every
+blade of grass that pushed its way through
+the brown earth, every bursting lilac bud or
+ambitious maple, spoke to Marian of June.
+Returning birds warbled the story and the
+world rejoiced. Teachers and pupils alike
+talked of June until it seemed to Marian that
+all nature and educational institutions had
+but one object, and that was to welcome June.
+She dreaded it. June meant Aunt Amelia
+and the end of all happiness. Yet Marian
+was only one. Ninety-nine other girls were
+looking eagerly forward to the close of school.
+They talked of it everywhere and at all
+hours.</p>
+
+<p>It was the one subject of conversation in
+which Marian had no share, one joy beyond
+her grasp. Try hard as she would, Marian
+couldn't pretend to be glad she was going<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[Pg 242]</a></span>
+home. That was a game for which she felt
+no enthusiasm. The mother, the little sister
+and the baby brothers in the golden frames
+would soon be gone, and gone forever. "We're
+all going back West just as soon as school
+closes," Florence had told her. "Next winter
+we will be home."</p>
+
+<p>Nor was that all that Florence told Marian.
+She pictured the beautiful home in the West
+in the midst of her father's broad lands. She
+described her room, all sunshine and comfort,
+and the great house echoing with music and
+laughter. She told Marian of the gardens and
+the stables, of the horses, ponies and many
+pets. She described the river and the hills
+and the mountain peaks beyond. Florence
+almost forgot the presence of her wide eyed
+roommate in telling of the holiday celebrations
+at home and of the wondrous glory of
+the annual Christmas tree. Best of all, Florence
+spoke tenderly of her mother and her
+voice grew tender in speaking of the woman
+who never scolded but was always gentle and
+kind; the beautiful mother with the bright,
+gold hair. Florence had so much to say about<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[Pg 243]</a></span>
+the little sister, brother and the baby, that
+Marian felt as if she knew them all.</p>
+
+<p>Thus it was that Florence Weston was going
+home and Marian Lee was returning to
+Aunt Amelia. Miss Smith understood all
+about it and it grieved her. She had seen
+Aunt Amelia and that was enough. She
+didn't wonder that Marian's eyes grew sad and
+wistful as the days lengthened. At last Miss
+Virginia Smith thought of a way to win smiles
+from Marian. The botany class had been offered
+a prize. A railroad president, interested
+in the school had promised ten dollars in gold
+to the member of the botany class who made
+the best herbarium. Marian might not win
+the prize, but it would give her pleasure to
+try. She would have something more agreeable
+to think of than Aunt Amelia.</p>
+
+<p>It was with some difficulty that Miss Smith
+obtained permission from the principal for
+Marian to enter the class, and but for the experience
+in the country school, the objection
+that Marian was too young would have barred
+her out. Miss Smith was right. Marian was
+delighted and for hours at a time Aunt Amelia<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[Pg 244]</a></span>
+vanished from her thoughts. The members
+of the botany class were surprised that such a
+little girl learned hard lessons so easily, but
+Miss Smith only laughed.</p>
+
+<p>In the beginning when the spring flowers
+came and every wayside bloom suggested a
+specimen, fully half the class intended to win
+the prize, Marian among the number. One
+by one the contestants dropped out as the
+weeks passed, leaving Marian with perhaps
+half a dozen rivals. At that early day, Miss
+Virginia Smith, who had no favorites, rejoiced
+secretly in the belief that Marian would win
+the prize. The commonest weed became
+beautiful beneath her hands and the number
+of specimens she found on the school grounds
+alone, exceeded all previous records. There
+was never so much as a leaf carelessly pressed
+among Marian's specimens. At last the child
+began to believe the prize would be hers and
+for the first time, going home lost its terrors.</p>
+
+<p>If she won the prize, Uncle George would
+be proud of her and she would be happy.
+Finally Marian wrote to her uncle, telling
+him of the glories of commencement week.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[Pg 245]</a></span>
+She was to recite "The Witch's Daughter" at
+the entertainment, to take part in the operetta
+and to sing commencement morning with
+three other little girls. More than that, she
+was sure to win the prize, even her rivals admitted
+it. "Now Uncle George," the letter
+proceeded, "please be sure and come because
+I want somebody that is my relation to be
+here. Florence Weston says her father would
+come from Honolulu to see her win a prize, so
+please come, Uncle George, or maybe Florence
+will think nobody cares for me."</p>
+
+<p>Marian was scarcely prepared to receive the
+answer that came to her letter from Aunt
+Amelia. Uncle George was too busy a man
+to take so long a journey for nothing. Aunt
+Amelia would come the day after commencement
+and pack Marian's trunk. So far as
+winning the prize was concerned, Uncle George
+expected Marian to win a prize if one were
+offered. That was a small way to show her
+gratitude for all that had been done for her.
+The child lost the letter. Janey C. Hopkins
+found and read it. Before sunset every one
+of the ninety-nine knew the contents. When<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[Pg 246]</a></span>
+night settled down upon the school, one hundred
+girls were thinking of Aunt Amelia, one
+in tears, the ninety-nine with indignation.</p>
+
+<p>The following morning Marian replied to
+her aunt's letter, begging to be allowed to go
+home with Dolly Russel and her mother, and
+assuring Aunt Amelia that she could pack her
+own trunk. Even that request was denied.
+Aunt Amelia would call for Marian the day
+after commencement and she wished to hear
+nothing further on the subject. She might
+have heard more had she not been beyond
+sound of the ninety-nine voices. Marian was
+too crushed for words. That is, she was
+crushed for a day. Her spirits revived as
+commencement week drew near and Miss
+Smith and the ninety-nine did so much to
+make her forget everything unpleasant. Marian
+couldn't understand why the girls were
+so kind nor why Janey C. Hopkins took a
+sudden interest in her happiness. The Sunday
+before commencement Marian wore
+Janey's prettiest gown to church. It was
+rather large for Marian but neither she nor
+Janey found that an objection. Miss Smith<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[Pg 247]</a></span>
+approved and Sunday was a bright day for
+Aunt Amelia's little niece.</p>
+
+<p>Monday, Dolly Russel's mother came and
+thanks to her, Marian appeared in no more
+garments that had disgraced the hooks in her
+closet. She danced through the halls in the
+daintiest of Dolly's belongings, and was happy
+as Mrs. Russel wished her to be.</p>
+
+<p>Every hour brought new guests and in
+the excitement of meeting nearly all the
+friends of the ninety-nine and being kissed
+and petted by ever so many mothers, Marian
+forgot Aunt Amelia. Tuesday evening at the
+entertainment she did her part well and was
+so enthusiastically applauded, her cheeks grew
+red as the sash she wore, and that is saying a
+great deal, as Dolly's sash was a bright scarlet,
+the envy of the ninety-nine.</p>
+
+<p>Florence Weston's father and mother were
+present at the entertainment, but Marian
+looked for them in vain. "They saw you
+just the same," Florence insisted when she
+and Marian were undressing that night, "and
+mamma said if it hadn't been so late she
+would have come up to our room to-night,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[Pg 248]</a></span>
+but she thought they had better get back to
+the hotel and you and I must settle down as
+quickly as we can. I can hardly keep my eyes
+open." Florence fell asleep with a smile
+upon her face. Marian's pillow was wet with
+tears before she drifted into troubled dreams
+of Aunt Amelia.</p>
+
+<p>"Isn't it too bad!" exclaimed Florence the
+next morning. "They are going to present
+the prize in the dining-room at breakfast and
+my father and mother won't be up here until
+time for the exercises in the chapel. I wanted
+them to see you get the prize. I'm so disappointed.
+Never mind, though, you will see
+mamma all the afternoon, because she is going
+to pack my things. We leave to-morrow. I
+am going down-town with papa and mamma
+when we get through packing and stay all
+night. You will have the room all to yourself.
+What? are you crying, Marian? Why,
+I'll come back in the morning and see you
+before I go. I wouldn't cry if I were you!"</p>
+
+<p>It was easy enough for a girl who had every
+earthly blessing to talk cheerfully to a weary
+little pilgrim.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[Pg 249]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Marian experienced the bitterest moment
+of her life when the prize was presented in
+the dining-room. There were many fathers
+and mothers there, and other relatives of the
+ninety-nine who joined in cheering the little
+victor. Yet Marian wept and would not be
+comforted. Even Miss Smith had no influence.
+In spite of the sympathetic arms that
+gathered her in, Marian felt utterly forsaken.
+She had won the prize, but what could it
+mean to a motherless, fatherless, almost
+homeless child? After breakfast, Marian, slipping
+away from Miss Smith and the friendly
+strangers, sought a deserted music room on
+the fourth floor where she cried until her courage
+returned: until hope banished tears. Perhaps
+Uncle George would be pleased after all.</p>
+
+<p>"Where have you been?" demanded Florence
+when Marian returned to her room. "I
+have hunted for you everywhere. What a
+little goose you were to cry in the dining-room.
+Why, your eyes are red yet."</p>
+
+<p>The only answer was a laugh as Marian
+bathed her tear-stained face.</p>
+
+<p>"I want you to look pretty when mamma<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[Pg 250]</a></span>
+sees you," continued Florence, "so don't you
+dare be silly again."</p>
+
+<p>In spite of the warning, Marian was obliged
+to seek the obscurity of the fourth floor music
+room later in the day, before she thought of
+another refuge&mdash;Miss Smith's room. The
+sight of so many happy girls with their mothers
+was more than she could endure and Miss
+Smith understood. Even the thought of
+seeing Florence Weston's mother was a
+troubled one, for alas! she couldn't beg to go
+with the woman as she once did in the Little
+Pilgrims' Home.</p>
+
+<p>When the child was sure that Florence and
+her mother were gone and while Miss Smith
+was busy in the office, she returned to her
+room. "The trunks are here yet," observed
+Marian, "but may be they won't send for
+them until morning," and utterly worn out
+by the day's excitement, the child threw herself
+upon the bed and sobbed in an abandonment
+of grief.</p>
+
+<p>Half an hour later the door was opened by
+a woman who closed it softly when she saw
+Marian. "Poor little dear," she whispered,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[Pg 251]</a></span>
+and bending over the sleeping child, kissed
+her. Marian was dreaming of her mother.</p>
+
+<p>"Poor little dear," repeated the woman, and
+kissed her again. That kiss roused the child.
+Opening her eyes, she threw her arms around
+the woman's neck, exclaiming wildly,</p>
+
+<p>"My mother, oh, my mother!"</p>
+
+<p>"But I am not your mother, dear," remonstrated
+the woman, trying to release herself
+from the clinging arms. "I am Florence
+Weston's mother. I have come for her little
+satchel that we forgot. Cuddle down, dear,
+and go to sleep again."</p>
+
+<p>At that, Marian seemed to realize her mistake
+and cried so pitifully, Florence Weston's
+mother took her in her arms and sitting in a
+low rocker held Marian and tried to quiet her.</p>
+
+<p>The door opened and Florence entered.
+"Why mamma, what is the matter?" she began,
+but without waiting for a reply, she was
+gone, returning in a moment with her father.
+"Now what is the matter with poor Marian?"
+she repeated.</p>
+
+<p>"Nothing," explained Marian, "only everything."</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[Pg 252]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"She thought I was her mother, Florence,
+the poor little girl; there, there, dear, don't
+cry. She was only half awake and she says I
+look like her mother's picture."</p>
+
+<p>"You do, you look just like the picture,"
+sobbed Marian.</p>
+
+<p>"What picture?" asked the man; "this
+child is the image of brother. What picture,
+I say?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, she means mamma's miniature," said
+Florence.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't mean the miniature," Marian interrupted,
+"I mean my own mother's picture,"
+and the child, kneeling before her small trunk
+quickly found the photograph of her father
+and mother. "There! doesn't she look like
+my mother?"</p>
+
+<p>There was a moment of breathless silence
+as Florence Weston's father and mother gazed
+at the small card. The woman was the first
+to speak.</p>
+
+<p>"Why, Richard Lee!" she exclaimed.
+"That must be a photograph of you!"</p>
+
+<p>"It is," was the reply, "it is a picture of
+me and of my dead wife, but the baby died too."</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[Pg 253]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Well, I didn't die," cried Marian. "I was
+two months old when my father went away,
+and when my mother died, the folks wrote to
+the place where my father was the last time
+they knew anything about him, and I s'pose
+they told him I was dead, but I wasn't, and
+that's my mother. Uncle George knows
+it&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Uncle George, my brother George," for a
+moment it was the man who seemed to be
+dreaming. Then a light broke over his face
+as he snatched Marian and said, "Why, little
+girl, you are my child."</p>
+
+<p>"And my mother will be your mother,"
+Florence put in, "so what are you and mamma
+crying about now?"</p>
+
+<p>"Didn't you ever hear," said Marian, smiling
+through her tears, "that sometimes folks
+cry for joy?"</p>
+
+<p>It was unnecessary for Aunt Amelia to take
+the long journey. Marian's father telegraphed
+for Uncle George who arrived the next day
+with papers Marian knew nothing about,
+proving beyond question the identity of the
+child.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[Pg 254]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>The little girl couldn't understand the silent
+greeting between the brothers, nor why Uncle
+George was so deeply affected when she talked
+of his kindness to her and the many happy
+days she thanked him for since he found her
+in the Little Pilgrims' Home. Neither could
+she understand what her father meant when
+he spoke of a debt of gratitude too deep for
+words.</p>
+
+<p>Marian only knew that unpleasant memories
+slipped away like a dream when Uncle George
+left her with her father and mother: when he
+smiled and told her he was glad she was going
+home.</p>
+
+<hr class="r5" />
+
+<div class="transnote">
+<p class="ph2">Transcriber Notes</p>
+<p>Retained anachronistic and non-standard spellings as printed.<br />
+Free use of quotes, typical of the time, is retained.</p>
+</div>
+
+<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 55837 ***</div>
+</body>
+</html>
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+      The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Rainbow Bridge, by FRANCES MARGARET FOX.
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+
+<pre>
+
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Rainbow Bridge, by 
+Frances Margaret Fox and Frank T. Merrill
+
+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/license
+
+
+Title: The Rainbow Bridge
+
+Author: Frances Margaret Fox
+        Frank T. Merrill
+
+Release Date: October 28, 2017 [EBook #55837]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE RAINBOW BRIDGE ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Alan and the Online Distributed Proofreading
+Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from
+images generously made available by The Internet Archive)
+
+
+
+
+
+
+</pre>
+
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+    <img src="images/cover.jpg"
+         alt="Book front cover" />
+  </div>
+
+<p class="ph1"><span class="gesperrt">The Rainbow Bridge</span></p>
+
+
+<div class='box'>
+
+<p class="ph3">BOOKS BY<br />
+FRANCES MARGARET FOX</p>
+
+<hr class="r5" />
+
+<p class="ht"><b>WHAT GLADYS SAW.</b> <span class="smcap">A Nature Story of<br />
+Farm and Forest.</span> With full page illustration.<br />
+Containing 318 pages. Cloth bound. Price, $1.25.</p>
+
+<p class="ht"><b>THE RAINBOW BRIDGE.</b> <span class="smcap">A Story.</span> With<br />
+full page colored frontispiece. Containing 254<br />
+pages. Cloth bound. Price, $1.25.</p>
+
+</div>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+<img src="images/fig1.jpg" alt="" />
+<p class="caption center">MRS. MOORE ROCKED A BABY BEFORE THE NURSERY FIRE.
+</p>
+</div>
+
+<div class="newpage"></div>
+
+<h1>The Rainbow Bridge</h1>
+
+<p class="c">
+
+A Story<br />
+<br />
+By<br />
+FRANCES MARGARET FOX<br />
+<br />
+<i>Author of "What Gladys Saw," "Farmer<br />
+Brown and the Birds," etc.</i><br />
+<br />
+<span class="smcap">Illustrated by</span><br />
+FRANK T. MERRILL
+</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+<img src="images/fig2.jpg" alt="" />
+</div>
+
+<p class="c">
+W. A. WILDE COMPANY<br />
+BOSTON&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;  CHICAGO
+</p>
+
+<div class="newpage"></div>
+
+<p class="c">
+<i>Copyright, 1905</i><br />
+<span class="smcap">By W. A. Wilde Company</span><br />
+<br />
+<i>All rights reserved</i><br />
+<br />
+</p>
+
+<hr class="r5" />
+
+<div class="newpage"></div>
+
+<p class="c">
+
+<i>To<br />
+the dear friend of my childhood<br />
+and later years<br />
+Mrs. William W. Crouch</i><br />
+</p>
+
+<div class="newpage"></div>
+
+<h2>Contents</h2>
+
+
+
+
+
+<div class="center">
+<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" summary="Contents">
+<tr><td class="tdr">I.</td><td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_I"><span class="smcap">A Little Pilgrim Begins a Journey</span></a></td><td class="tdr">11</td></tr>
+<tr><td class="tdr">II.</td><td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_II"><span class="smcap">Marian's First Day in School</span></a></td><td class="tdr">19</td></tr>
+<tr><td class="tdr">III.</td><td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_III"><span class="smcap">She Goes to Church</span></a></td><td class="tdr">27</td></tr>
+<tr><td class="tdr">IV.</td><td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_IV"><span class="smcap">Aunt Amelia</span></a></td><td class="tdr">40</td></tr>
+<tr><td class="tdr">V.</td><td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_V"><span class="smcap">Marian's New Home</span></a></td><td class="tdr">48</td></tr>
+<tr><td class="tdr">VI.</td><td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_VI"><span class="smcap">That Yellow Cucumber</span></a></td><td class="tdr">58</td></tr>
+<tr><td class="tdr">VII.</td><td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_VII"><span class="smcap">An Undeserving Child</span></a></td><td class="tdr">66</td></tr>
+<tr><td class="tdr">VIII.</td><td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_VIII"><span class="smcap">In the Name of Santa Claus</span></a></td><td class="tdr">73</td></tr>
+<tr><td class="tdr">IX.</td><td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_IX"><span class="smcap">At the Rich Man's Table</span></a></td><td class="tdr">83</td></tr>
+<tr><td class="tdr">X.</td><td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_X"><span class="smcap">A Game of Sliced Birds</span></a></td><td class="tdr">94</td></tr>
+<tr><td class="tdr">XI.</td><td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XI"><span class="smcap">The Way of the Transgressor</span></a></td><td class="tdr">105</td></tr>
+<tr><td class="tdr">XII.</td><td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XII"><span class="smcap">Marian's Diary</span></a></td><td class="tdr">127</td></tr>
+<tr><td class="tdr">XIII.</td><td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIII"><span class="smcap">Diphtheria</span></a></td><td class="tdr">146</td></tr>
+<tr><td class="tdr">XIV.</td><td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIV"><span class="smcap">Musical Conversations</span></a></td><td class="tdr">163</td></tr>
+<tr><td class="tdr">XV.</td><td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XV"><span class="smcap">Little Sister to the Dandelion</span></a></td><td class="tdr">173</td></tr>
+<tr><td class="tdr">XVI.</td><td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVI"><span class="smcap">Professor Lee, Botanist</span></a></td><td class="tdr">185</td></tr>
+<tr><td class="tdr">XVII.</td><td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVII"><span class="smcap">The Composition on Wild Flowers</span></a></td><td class="tdr">192</td></tr>
+<tr><td class="tdr">XVIII.</td><td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVIII"><span class="smcap">Marian's Letter Home</span></a></td><td class="tdr">199</td></tr>
+<tr><td class="tdr">XIX.</td><td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIX"><span class="smcap">The Most Truthful Child in School</span></a></td><td class="tdr">204</td></tr>
+<tr><td class="tdr">XX.</td><td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XX"><span class="smcap">More Changes</span></a></td><td class="tdr">215</td></tr>
+<tr><td class="tdr">XXI.</td><td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXI"><span class="smcap">Marian Remembers Her Diary</span></a></td><td class="tdr">220</td></tr>
+<tr><td class="tdr">XXII.</td><td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXII"><span class="smcap">Florence Weston's Mother</span></a></td><td class="tdr">231</td></tr>
+<tr><td class="tdr">XXIII.</td><td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXIII"><span class="smcap">How Marian Crossed the Rainbow Bridge</span></a></td><td class="tdr">241</td></tr>
+</table></div>
+
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_I" id="CHAPTER_I"></a>CHAPTER I</h2>
+
+<p class="c">A LITTLE PILGRIM BEGINS A JOURNEY</p>
+
+
+<p><span class="smcap">There</span> was always room for one more in
+the Home for Little Pilgrims. Especially was
+this true of the nursery; not because the nursery
+was so large, nor because there was the
+least danger that the calico cats might be
+lonesome, but Mrs. Moore loved babies. It
+made no difference to her whether the wee
+strangers were white or black, bright or stupid,
+she treated them all alike. They were dressed,
+undressed, bathed, fed and put to sleep at exactly
+the same hours every day, that is, they
+were laid in their cribs whenever it was time
+for them to go to sleep. Little Pilgrims were
+never rocked and Mrs. Moore had no time for
+lullaby songs, whatever may have been her
+inclination.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Yet there came a night when Mrs. Moore
+rocked a baby before the nursery fire and sung
+to it all the songs she knew. That was the
+night Marian Lee entered the Home with
+bright eyes wide open. She not only had
+her eyes open when she was placed in Mrs.
+Moore's arms, but she kept them open and
+somehow compelled Mrs. Moore to break her
+own rules and do as she had never done with
+a new baby.</p>
+
+<p>To be sure, Marian Lee couldn't talk, having
+started on her pilgrimage only six months before,
+but in a way of her own, she declared
+herself well pleased with the Home and with
+the nursery in particular. She enjoyed her
+bath and said so. The warm fire in the grate
+pleased her and Mrs. Moore's face was lovely,
+if a baby's ideas were of any account. The
+trouble began when Marian was carried into
+the still room where the sleeping Pilgrims
+were, and placed in a crib. The minute her
+head touched the pillow she began to cry.
+When Mrs. Moore left her, she cried louder.
+That awakened tiny Joe in the nearest crib
+and when he began to wail, Bennie and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span>
+Johnnie, Sam and Katie, as well as half a
+dozen others joined in the chorus. Not to
+be outdone by these older Pilgrims, Marian
+screamed louder than any of them until Mrs.
+Moore took her back to the fire and quiet was
+restored.</p>
+
+<p>Now it was strictly against Mrs. Moore's
+rules to humor a baby in that fashion, and
+Mrs. Moore told Marian so, although she added
+in the next breath, "Poor little dear." The
+"poor little dear" was cooing once more and
+there really seemed nothing to do but kiss,
+and cuddle and rock the baby as her own
+mother might have done. She was so unlike
+the others in the Home; so soft, round and
+beautiful.</p>
+
+<p>"You are no ordinary baby, precious one,"
+said Mrs. Moore, whereupon Marian laughed,
+flourished her hands and seemed much pleased.
+"I think," continued Mrs. Moore, as she kissed
+the pink fists, "I think some one has talked
+to you a great deal. My babies are different,
+poor little things, they don't talk back as you
+do."</p>
+
+<p>Before long, the rows of white cribs in the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span>
+other room were forgotten and Mrs. Moore began
+singing to Marian as though she were the
+only baby in the big Home. Lullaby after
+lullaby she sang while the fire burned low,
+yet the baby would not sleep. Softly at last,
+Mrs. Moore began a lullaby long unsung:</p>
+
+<div class="poem-container">
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"All the little birdies have gone to sleep,</span><br />
+<span class="i2">Why does my pet so wide awake keep?</span><br />
+<span class="i0">Peep, peep, go to sleep, peep, peep, go to sleep.</span><br />
+</div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"All the little babies their prayers have said,</span><br />
+<span class="i2">Their mothers have tucked them up snugly in bed.</span><br />
+<span class="i0">Peep, peep, go to sleep, peep, peep, go to sleep."</span><br />
+</div>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p>When the blue eyes closed, Mrs. Moore suddenly
+realized it was but another Little Pilgrim
+that she held and not her own baby so
+often hushed to sleep by that old lullaby
+many years ago. For the sake of that baby,
+Mrs. Moore had loved all the motherless little
+ones in the Home&mdash;all the unfortunate, neglected
+waifs brought to its doors. She had
+loved them impartially until that night. She
+had never before asked who a baby was, nor
+what its surroundings had been. Its future<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span>
+was her only concern. To care for each baby
+while it was in the nursery and to be sure it
+was placed in a good home when taken away,
+was all she wished to know. No baby had
+ever crept into Mrs. Moore's innermost heart
+as Marian did that night. An hour later the
+superintendent was surprised when Mrs. Moore
+asked for the history of that latest Little Pilgrim.</p>
+
+<p>"She's a fine child," mused the superintendent,
+adding cheerfully, "we'll have no
+trouble finding a home for her; I doubt if
+she's here a month."</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Moore said nothing but she was sure
+Marian would stay more than a month.
+After she heard the superintendent's story,
+she was more sure of it. Thus it happened
+that tiny Joe, who was not a bit attractive, and
+Bennie and Johnnie, who were disagreeable
+babies if such a thing may be, and Sam and
+Katie whose fathers and mothers were drunkards,
+as well as a dozen other little waifs,
+were given away long before Marian learned
+to talk: Marian, the beautiful baby, was
+somehow always kept behind Mrs. Moore's<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span>
+skirts. As the child grew older, she was still
+kept in the background. The plainest dresses
+ever sent in to Little Pilgrims, were given to
+Marian. Her hair was kept short and when
+special visitors were expected, she was taken
+to the playground by an older girl. All this
+time a happier baby never lived than Marian.
+No one in the Home knew how tenderly Mrs.
+Moore loved her. No one knew of the caresses
+lavished upon her when the infant
+Pilgrims were busy with their blocks or
+asleep in their cribs.</p>
+
+<p>At last the superintendent questioned Mrs.
+Moore. He said it seemed strange that no
+one wished to adopt so lovely a child. Mrs.
+Moore explained. She told the superintendent
+she hoped Marian would be claimed by
+folks of her own, but if not&mdash;Mrs. Moore
+hesitated at that and the superintendent
+understood.</p>
+
+<p>"We won't give her away," he promised,
+"until we find the right kind of a mother
+for her. That child shall have a good
+home."</p>
+
+<p>Too soon to please Mrs. Moore, Marian out<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span>grew
+her crib and went to sleep in the dormitory.
+The child was pleased with the
+change, especially as Mrs. Moore tucked her
+in bed and kissed her every night just as she
+had done in the nursery. Marian was glad
+to be no longer a baby. The dormitory with
+its rows and rows of little white beds, delighted
+the child, and to be allowed to sit up
+hours after the babies were asleep was pure
+joy.</p>
+
+<p>The dining-room was another pleasure. To
+sit down to dinner with two hundred little
+girls and boys and to be given one of the two
+hundred bright bibs, filled her heart with
+pride. The bibs certainly were an attraction.
+Marian was glad hers was pink. She
+buttoned it to her chair after dinner just as
+she saw the others do.</p>
+
+<p>One thing troubled Marian. She wished
+Mrs. Moore to sit at the table beside her and
+drink milk from a big, white mug. "Do
+childrens always have dinner all alone?"
+she asked.</p>
+
+<p>Instead of answering the child, Mrs. Moore
+told her to run away and play. Then she<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span>
+looked out of the window for a long, long time.
+Perhaps she had done wrong after all in keeping
+the baby so long in a "Home with a
+capital H."</p>
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_II" id="CHAPTER_II"></a>CHAPTER II</h2>
+
+<p class="c">MARIAN'S FIRST DAY IN SCHOOL</p>
+
+
+<p><span class="smcap">There</span> was no kindergarten in the Home
+for Little Pilgrims when Marian was a baby.
+The child was scarcely five when she marched
+into the schoolroom to join the changing ranks
+of little folks who were such a puzzle to their
+teacher. Every day one or more new faces
+appeared in that schoolroom and every day
+familiar faces were gone. For that reason
+alone it was a hard school to manage.</p>
+
+<p>The teacher, who had been many years in
+the Home, smiled as she found a seat for
+Marian in the front row. Marian at least
+might be depended upon to come regularly to
+school: then, too, she would learn easily and
+be a credit to her instructor. Plain dresses
+and short hair might do their worst, the face
+of the child attracted attention. The teacher
+smiled again as Marian sat in the front seat
+before her, with hands folded, waiting to see
+what might happen next.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Roll call interested the child. She wondered
+why the little girls and boys said
+"Present" when the teacher read their
+names from a big book. Once in a while
+when a name was called, nobody answered.
+Finally the teacher, smiling once more, said,
+"Marian Lee." The little girl sat perfectly
+still with lips tightly closed.</p>
+
+<p>"You must say 'present' when your name
+is called," suggested the teacher.</p>
+
+<p>No response.</p>
+
+<p>"Say present," the teacher repeated.</p>
+
+<p>"But I don't like this kind of play,"
+Marian protested, and then wondered why
+all the children laughed and the teacher
+looked annoyed.</p>
+
+<p>"But you must say present," the young
+lady insisted and Marian obeyed, though she
+thought it a silly game.</p>
+
+<p>The things that happened in the schoolroom
+that morning were many and queer. A
+little boy had to stand on the floor in front
+of the teacher's desk because he threw a
+paper wad. Then when the teacher wasn't
+looking he aimed another at Marian and hit<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span>
+her on the nose and when Marian laughed
+aloud, the teacher, who didn't know what
+happened, shook her head and looked cross.
+It distressed Marian so to have the teacher
+look cross that she felt miserable and wondered
+what folks went to school for anyway.
+A few moments later, she knew. The primer
+class was called and Marian, being told to do
+so, followed a dozen Little Pilgrims to the
+recitation seat where she was told that children
+go to school to learn their letters.
+Marian knew her letters, having learned
+them from the blocks in the nursery.</p>
+
+<p>"You must learn to read," advised the
+teacher, and Marian stared helplessly about
+the schoolroom. She felt sure it wouldn't be
+a bit of fun to learn to read. Nor was it, if
+her first lesson was a sample.</p>
+
+<p>It wasn't long before Marian was tired of
+sitting still. She wasn't used to it. At last
+she remembered that in her pocket was a
+china doll, an inch high. On her desk was
+the new primer. The cover was pasteboard
+and of course one could chew pasteboard. The
+china doll needed a crib and as there seemed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span>
+nothing to make a crib of but the cover of
+her primer, Marian chewed a corner of it,
+flattened it out and fitted the doll in. It
+pleased her, and she showed it to the little
+girl in the next seat. Soon the teacher
+noticed that Marian was turning around
+and showing her primer to all the children
+near, and the children were smiling.</p>
+
+<p>"Marian, bring your book to me," said the
+teacher. Then there was trouble. Little Pilgrims
+had to be taught not to chew their
+books. The teacher gave Marian what one
+of the older girls called a "Lecture," and
+Marian cried.</p>
+
+<p>"I didn't have anything to do," she sobbed.</p>
+
+<p>"Nothing to do?" exclaimed the teacher,
+"why, little girl, you should study your lesson
+as you see the other children doing. That
+is why you are in school&mdash;to study."</p>
+
+<p>Marian went to her seat, but how to study
+she didn't know. She watched the other children
+bending over their books, making noises
+with their lips, so she bent over her primer
+and made so much noise the teacher told her
+she must keep still.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Why, Marian," said the young lady,
+"what makes you so naughty? I thought
+you were a good little girl!"</p>
+
+<p>Poor Marian didn't know what to think.
+Tears, however, cleared her views. She decided
+that as going to school was a thing that
+must be endured because Mrs. Moore would be
+displeased otherwise, it would do no good to
+make a fuss. She would draw pictures on her
+slate or play with the stones in her pocket&mdash;anything
+to pass the time. There was a great
+deal in knowing what one could or could not
+do safely, and Marian learned that lesson
+faster than she learned to read. When she
+was dismissed that afternoon, the little girl
+flew to the nursery to tell Mrs. Moore about
+her first school day. Soon after when Marian
+ran laughing into the hall on her way to the
+playground, she met Janey Clark who sat behind
+her in school.</p>
+
+<p>"Is Mrs. Moore your ma?" asked Janey.</p>
+
+<p>"What's a ma?" inquired Marian, seizing
+Janey's two hands.</p>
+
+<p>"A ma," was the reply, "why a ma is a
+mother. Is Mrs. Moore your mother?"</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Maybe," agreed Marian. "Oh, no, she
+isn't either. I know all about mothers, we
+sing about 'em, of course. I guess I never
+had one."</p>
+
+<p>"My mother just died," declared Janey,
+tossing her head in an important way that
+aroused Marian's envy.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, mine died too!" responded Marian.</p>
+
+<p>"Did you have a funeral?" persisted
+Janey.</p>
+
+<p>"Did you?" Marian cautiously inquired.</p>
+
+<p>"Well I should say yes," was the reply.</p>
+
+<p>"Then I did too," observed Marian.</p>
+
+<p>"Well," remarked Janey, "that's nothing
+to brag of; I don't suppose there's anybody in
+this Home that got here unless all their folks
+died dead. We are here because we don't belong
+anywhere else, and we are going to be
+given away to folks that'll take us, pretty
+soon."</p>
+
+<p>That was too much for Marian. "Why,
+Janey Clark, what a talk!" she exclaimed,
+then turning, she ran back to the nursery.</p>
+
+<p>"Nanna, Nanna!" she cried, "where's my
+mother?"</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Moore almost dropped a fretful baby
+at the question.</p>
+
+<p>"Did I ever have a mother?" continued
+the child, whose dark blue eyes looked black
+she was so much in earnest. "I thought
+mothers were just only in singing, but Janey
+Clark had a mother and she died, and if Janey
+Clark had a mother, I guess I had one too that
+died."</p>
+
+<p>The fretful baby was given to an assistant
+and Mrs. Moore took Marian in her lap.
+"What else did Janey tell you?" she
+asked.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, Janey said that all of us childrens
+are going to be gived away to folks. Mrs.
+Moore, did all the childrens that live here
+have mothers that died?"</p>
+
+<p>"Not all of them, Marian, some of the
+mothers are living and the children will go
+back to them: but your mother, little girl,
+will never come back for you. God took her
+away when He sent you to us. We keep little
+children here in our home until we find
+new fathers and mothers for them. Sometimes
+lovely mothers come here for little girls<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span>
+like you. How is it, Marian, do you want a
+mother?"</p>
+
+<p>The child nodded her head and looked
+so pleased Mrs. Moore was disappointed. It
+would be hard enough to part with the child
+anyway, but to think she wished to go was
+surprising.</p>
+
+<p>Two soft arms stole around Mrs. Moore's
+neck. "I'm going to have you for my
+mother," Marian explained, "and I'm going
+to live here always. I don't want to be gived
+away."</p>
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_III" id="CHAPTER_III"></a>CHAPTER III</h2>
+
+<p class="c">SHE GOES TO CHURCH</p>
+
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Janey Clark</span> was taken ill one day and
+was carried to the hospital. When she returned
+months afterward, she had something
+to tell Marian.</p>
+
+<p>"You want to get yourself adopted," was
+her advice. "I'm going to, first chance I get.
+When I was too well to stay in the hospital
+and not enough well to come home, a pretty
+lady came and said would I like to go to her
+house and stay until I was all better."</p>
+
+<p>"Did she 'dopt you?" questioned Marian.</p>
+
+<p>"No, of course not, or I could have stayed
+at her house and she would be my mother.
+She didn't want to keep me but only to borrow
+me so the children she is aunt to would
+know about Little Pilgrims and how lucky it
+is not to be one their own selves. And at
+her house," continued Janey, "if you liked
+something they had for dinner pretty well,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span>
+you could have a second helping, if you would
+say please. You better believe I said it when
+there was ice cream. And the children she
+was aunt to took turns dividing chocolate
+candy with me, and the only trouble was they
+gave me too much and made me sick most all
+the time. What do you think! One day a
+girl said she wished I was a little cripple like
+a boy that was there once, because she liked
+to be kind to little cripples and wash their
+faces. Wasn't she just lovely? Oh, Marian,
+I want to be adopted and have a mother like
+that lady and a room all my own and everything."</p>
+
+<p>"But I would rather live with Mrs. Moore,"
+objected Marian. "I've picked her out for my
+mother."</p>
+
+<p>"All right for you, stay here if you want
+to," agreed Janey, "but I'm not, you just wait
+and see."</p>
+
+<p>Janey Clark was adopted soon after and
+when Marian was invited to visit her, she
+changed her mind about living forever in the
+Home for Little Pilgrims. Mrs. Moore promised
+to choose a mother for her from the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span>
+many visitors to the Home, yet she and
+Marian proved hard to suit.</p>
+
+<p>"I want a mother just like my Nanna,"
+said Marian to the superintendent, who
+agreed to do all he could to find one. In
+spite of his help Marian seemed likely to
+stay in the Home, not because no one wanted
+her but because the child objected to the
+mothers who offered themselves. All these
+months the little girl was so happy and contented
+the superintendent said she was like a
+sunbeam among the Little Pilgrims and if
+the school-teacher had some ideas that he
+and Mrs. Moore didn't share, she smiled and
+said nothing.</p>
+
+<p>In time, Marian talked of the mother she
+wished to have as she did of heaven&mdash;of
+something beautiful but too indefinite and far
+away to be more than a dream. One never-to-be-forgotten
+morning, the dream took shape.
+A woman visited the Home, leading a little
+girl by the hand. A woman so lovely the
+face of the dullest Little Pilgrim lighted as
+she passed. It was not so much the bright
+gold of her hair, nor the blue eyes that at<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span>tracted
+the children, but the way she smiled
+and the way she spoke won them all.</p>
+
+<p>She was the mother for whom Marian had
+waited. It didn't occur to the child that the
+woman might not want her.</p>
+
+<p>It was noon before the strangers were
+through visiting the chapel, the schoolroom,
+the nursery and the dormitories.
+Like a shadow Marian had followed them
+over the building, fearing to lose sight of her
+chosen mother. On reaching the dining-room
+the woman and child, with the superintendent,
+stood outside the door where they watched the
+Little Pilgrims march in to dinner. Noticing
+Marian, the superintendent asked her why she
+didn't go to the table, and Marian tried to tell
+him but couldn't speak a word. The man was
+about to send her in the dining-room when he
+caught the appealing look on the child's face.
+At that moment the stranger turned. Marian
+seized her dress and the woman, glancing
+down, saw the dear little one and stooping,
+kissed her.</p>
+
+<p>The superintendent smiled but Marian began
+to cry as the woman tried ever so gently<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span>
+to release her dress from the small, clinging
+fingers.</p>
+
+<p>"We must go now," the stranger said, "so
+good-bye, dear child."</p>
+
+<p>"I'm going with you," announced Marian.
+"I want you for my mother."</p>
+
+<p>"But, don't you see, I have a little girl?
+What could I do with two?" remonstrated
+the woman. "There, there," she continued,
+as Marian began to sob piteously, "run in
+to dinner and some day I will come to see
+you again. Perhaps they may let you visit
+my little girl and me before long. Would
+you like that?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, no," wailed Marian, "I want you for
+my mother."</p>
+
+<p>"Come, Marian, sweetheart, let's go find
+Mrs. Moore," suggested the superintendent,
+taking her by force from the visitor, whose
+eyes filled with tears at the sight of little outstretched
+arms. For years afterwards there
+were times when that woman seemed to feel
+the clinging fingers of the Little Pilgrim
+who chose her for her mother. She might
+have taken her home. The next time she<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span>
+called to inquire for the child, Marian was
+gone.</p>
+
+<p>An unexpected thing happened as Marian
+was borne away to the nursery. The stranger's
+little girl cried and would not be comforted
+because she couldn't stay and have
+dinner with the Little Pilgrims. She was
+still grieving over her first sorrow after Mrs.
+Moore had succeeded in winning back the
+smiles to the face of her precious Marian.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, I know one sure thing," declared
+the Little Pilgrim as she raised her head
+from Mrs. Moore's shoulder and brushed away
+the tears. "I know that same mother will
+come and get me some time and take me home
+and then you will come and live with me&mdash;and
+won't it be lovely! Let's have some
+dinner, I'm hungry!"</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Moore smiled and sighed at the same
+time, but she ordered a luncheon for two
+served in the nursery and Marian's troubles
+vanished: also the luncheon.</p>
+
+<p>The next time the superintendent saw the
+child, she was sitting on the nursery floor
+singing to the babies. He was surprised and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span>
+pleased when he heard the sweet, clear voice
+and straightway sought Mrs. Moore.</p>
+
+<p>"Let me take her Sunday," he suggested.
+"I didn't know our Marian was a singer."</p>
+
+<p>"Are you going into the country?" asked
+the nurse.</p>
+
+<p>"No, Mrs. Moore, not this time. We expect
+to have services in one of the largest
+churches right here in the city. We have
+made special arrangements and I shall take
+twenty-five of the best singers in the Home
+with me. Marian will have plenty of company."</p>
+
+<p>"She is young," objected Mrs. Moore.</p>
+
+<p>The superintendent laughed. "Petey
+Ross," said he, "was two years old when
+he made his first public appearance on the
+platform; Marian is nearly six."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," agreed Mrs. Moore, "that is true and
+I remember that Petey Ross was adopted and
+in less than a week after that first appearance.
+Marian," she continued, "come here, darling.
+Do you want to go to a big church with the
+children next Sunday and sing one of the
+songs you and I sing to the babies?"</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Yes, Nanna, what for?"</p>
+
+<p>"Because the superintendent wishes you to.
+Every Sunday he takes some of our little
+boys and girls away to sing in the different
+churches, where he tells the people all about
+the Home for Little Pilgrims."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, yes, now I know," declared Marian.
+"Janey Clark used to go and sing. She said
+that was the way to get yourself adopted. I'd
+like to go if I don't have to get adopted and
+if Nanna may go too."</p>
+
+<p>"All right, Marian, I will go," assented
+Mrs. Moore, "and nobody shall adopt you
+unless you wish it. Now run back to the
+babies. Little Ned and Jakey are quarreling
+over the elephant. Hurry, Marian, or its ears
+will be gone."</p>
+
+<p>"She'll demand a salary in another year,"
+remarked the superintendent, watching the
+little girl's successful management of the
+babies.</p>
+
+<p>"I shouldn't know how to get along without
+her," said Mrs. Moore, "and yet it isn't
+right to let her grow up here."</p>
+
+<p>Sunday morning it would have been hard<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span>
+to find a happier child than Marian anywhere
+in the big city. She had never been in a
+church before and quickly forgot her pretty
+white dress and curls in the wonder of it all.
+She sat on the platform, a radiant little Pilgrim
+among the twenty-five waifs. Soon the
+church was filled. After the opening exercises
+the service was turned over to the superintendent
+of the Home for Little Pilgrims.
+He made a few remarks, and then asked
+Marian to sing. Pleased by the friendly faces
+in the pews and encouraged by Mrs. Moore's
+presence, Marian sang timidly at first, then
+joyously as to the babies in the nursery.</p>
+
+<div class="poem-container">
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"'I am Jesus' little lamb</span><br />
+<span class="i0">Happy all the day I am,</span><br />
+<span class="i0">Jesus loves me this I know</span><br />
+<span class="i0">For I'm His lamb.'"</span><br />
+</div>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p>As she went on with the song, the little girl
+was surprised to see many of the audience in
+tears. Even Mrs. Moore was wiping her eyes,
+although she smiled bravely and Marian knew
+she was not displeased. What could be the
+matter with the folks that bright Sunday morn<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span>ing?
+Janey Clark said everybody always cried
+at funerals. Perhaps it was a funeral. At the
+close of her song Marian sat down, much
+puzzled. After Johnnie Otis recited the poem
+he always recited on Visitors' Day at school,
+"The Orphan's Prayer," all the Little Pilgrims,
+Marian included, were asked to sing
+their chapel song. What was there sad about
+that, Marian wondered. She always sang it
+over and over to the babies to make them
+stop crying.</p>
+
+<div class="poem-container">
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"It is all for the best, oh, my Father,</span><br />
+<span class="i2">All for the best, all for the best."</span><br />
+</div>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p>When the Little Pilgrims were seated, the
+superintendent made a speech to which
+Marian listened. For the first time in her
+life she knew the meaning of the Home for
+Little Pilgrims. She understood at last all
+that Janey Clark had tried to tell her. No
+wonder the people cried. Marian stared at
+the superintendent, longing and dreading to
+hear more. Story after story he told of
+wrecked homes and scattered families; of
+little children, homeless and friendless left
+to their fate upon the street.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Whatever may be the causes which bring
+these waifs to our doors, remember," said he,
+"the children themselves are not to blame.
+It is through no fault of theirs their young
+lives have been saddened and trouble has
+come upon them while your little ones are
+loved and cared for in comfortable homes."</p>
+
+<p>The superintendent grew eloquent as he
+went on. How could it be, Marian wondered,
+that she had never known before what a sad,
+sad place was the Little Pilgrims' Home?
+Where did her mother die and where was her
+father? Perhaps he was in the dreadful prison
+mentioned by the superintendent. It was
+such a pitiful thing to be a Little Pilgrim.
+Marian wondered how she had ever lived so
+long. Oh, if she could change places with
+one of the fortunate little ones in the pews.
+The superintendent was right. Every little
+girl needed a father and mother of her own.
+She wanted the lovely mother who had passed
+her by. What was the superintendent saying?
+something about her? The next thing
+Marian knew the man had taken her in his
+arms and placed her upon the little table<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span>
+beside him. She thought he said "'For of
+such is the Kingdom of Heaven,'"&mdash;she
+wasn't sure.</p>
+
+<p>In the quiet moment that followed, Marian
+looked all over the church for the mother of
+her dreams. Maybe she was there and perhaps
+she would take her home. If she could
+only see that one face for a moment.</p>
+
+<p>"I am going to ask our little girl for
+another song," the superintendent said, telling
+Marian what to sing. The child hesitated,
+then looked appealing towards Mrs.
+Moore. She had forgotten her during the
+speech&mdash;dear, kind Mrs. Moore.</p>
+
+<p>"Don't be frightened," whispered the superintendent,
+whereupon to the surprise of every
+one in the church, Marian put her head upon
+his shoulder and sobbed aloud, "I don't want
+to be a Little Pilgrim any more! Oh, I don't
+want to be a Little Pilgrim any more!"</p>
+
+<p>Another second and Mrs. Moore's arms were
+around the child and the superintendent was
+alone on the platform with the twenty-five.</p>
+
+<p>"He told me to take you for a walk in the
+park," whispered Mrs. Moore, "so don't cry,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span>
+Marian, and we will leave the church quickly
+as we can. We will talk about the Little
+Pilgrims out in the sunshine where the birds
+are singing and we can see the blue sky."</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Moore would have been tempted to
+have stayed in the church had she known the
+superintendent's reason for wishing her to
+take the child away; nor would the good man
+have done as he did, could he have guessed
+the immediate consequences. When Marian
+was gone, the superintendent told her story
+effectively. She might have had her choice
+of many homes within a week had it not been
+for the appearance of Aunt Amelia.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IV" id="CHAPTER_IV"></a>CHAPTER IV</h2>
+
+<p class="c">AUNT AMELIA</p>
+
+
+<p><span class="smcap">There</span> was no question about it. Aunt
+Amelia had a perfect right to claim the child.
+The superintendent was sorry to admit it, but
+what could he do? Mrs. Moore was heartbroken,
+but she was powerless. The proofs
+were positive. Aunt Amelia's husband and
+Marian Lee's father were half-brothers and
+here was Aunt Amelia insisting upon her
+right to do her duty by the child.</p>
+
+<p>Marian never heard of Aunt Amelia until
+it was all over and the superintendent sent for
+her. She came dancing into the office, her
+face aglow until she saw Aunt Amelia. Then
+the sunshine faded from her eyes and she
+shrank past the stranger, scarcely breathing
+until the superintendent's arms were about
+her. From that safe shelter she surveyed
+Aunt Amelia.</p>
+
+<p>There was nothing in the woman's appearance
+to inspire confidence in a little child.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span>
+She was tall, thin, bloodless. One felt conscious
+of the bones in her very forehead.
+She wore her scant, black hair in wiry crimps
+parted in the middle. Her eyes were the
+color of stone, while her lips formed a thin,
+pale lone line closing over projecting front
+teeth. There was a brittle look about her
+ears and nose as though a blow might shatter
+them. Angles completed the picture.</p>
+
+<p>"You say you have a child of your own,
+Mrs. St. Claire?" The superintendent asked
+the question doubtfully. It seemed probable
+that his ears had deceived him.</p>
+
+<p>"I have," was the reply.</p>
+
+<p>"Then Marian will be sure of a playmate."
+The man seemed talking to himself.</p>
+
+<p>"If she behaves herself&mdash;perhaps," was the
+response.</p>
+
+<p>"What do you mean?" demanded the superintendent.</p>
+
+<p>"I think I expressed myself clearly," said
+Mrs. St. Claire. "If Marian behaves and is
+worthy of my little daughter's companionship,
+we may allow them to play together
+occasionally."</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Does she want to 'dopt me?" whispered
+Marian; "tell her no, quick&mdash;I got to go back
+to the nursery. Put me down."</p>
+
+<p>"I am your Aunt Amelia," announced
+the woman, "and I have come to take you
+to Michigan to live with your Uncle George
+and me."</p>
+
+<p>"Where did I get any Uncle George?"
+asked Marian, turning to the superintendent.</p>
+
+<p>"It isn't necessary to give a mere child
+too much information," put in Mrs. St. Claire;
+"it is enough for her to know that she has
+relatives who are willing to take her and do
+their duty by her."</p>
+
+<p>Regardless of this the man answered one of
+the questions he saw in Marian's solemn blue
+eyes.</p>
+
+<p>"Your uncle and aunt," he explained, "are
+visiting in the city; they were in church last
+Sunday when you sang. When relatives come
+for Little Pilgrims, Marian, we have to let
+them go."</p>
+
+<p>"You will not send me away with&mdash;her!"
+exclaimed the child, terror and entreaty expressed
+in the uplifted face.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Dear child, we must."</p>
+
+<p>"But I won't go, I won't go," cried Marian,
+clinging to the superintendent for protection.
+"Oh, you won't send me away, Mrs. Moore
+won't let them take me&mdash;I won't go! Please
+let me stay until the pretty mother comes
+again and I will ask her to take me and I
+know she will. Oh, if you love me, don't
+send me away with her!"</p>
+
+<p>"It is just as I told my husband Sunday
+morning," remarked Mrs. St. Claire as the
+superintendent tried to soothe Marian's violent
+grief. "I said the child was subject to
+tantrums. It is sad to see such traits cropping
+out in one so young. Lack of training
+may have much to do with it. Other influences&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Pardon me, madam," interrupted the superintendent,
+"you forget that this little one
+has been with us since she was six months
+old. Mrs. Moore has been a mother to her in
+every sense of the word. It is only natural
+that she dreads going among strangers. She
+is a good little girl and we all love her.
+Hush, sweetheart," he whispered to the sob<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span>bing,
+trembling child, "perhaps your aunt
+may decide to leave you with us."</p>
+
+<p>"I&mdash;I&mdash;I won't&mdash;won't go," protested Marian,
+"I&mdash;I won't go, I won't go!"</p>
+
+<p>"Are you willing, madam, to give this
+child to us?" continued the superintendent;
+"perhaps you may wish to relinquish your
+claim, under the circumstances."</p>
+
+<p>"I never shrink from my duty," declared
+the woman, rising as she spoke, grim determination
+in every line of her purple gown; "my
+husband feels it a disgrace to find his brother's
+child in an orphan asylum. She cannot
+be left in a charitable institution while we
+have a crust to bestow upon her. She will
+take nothing from this place except the articles
+which belonged to her mother. I will
+call for the child at eight this evening. Good-morning,
+sir."</p>
+
+<p>"I&mdash;I won't go&mdash;I&mdash;won't go! You&mdash;you
+needn't come for me!" Marian had the last
+word that time.</p>
+
+<p>The babies were left to the care of assistant
+nurses that afternoon. Mrs. Moore held
+Marian and rocked her as on that night so<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span>
+long before when she became a little Pilgrim.
+For some time neither of them spoke and
+tears fell like rain above the brown head
+nestled in Mrs. Moore's arms. Marian was the
+first to break the silence. "I&mdash;I won't go, I
+won't go," she repeated between choking sobs,
+"I&mdash;I won't go, I won't go, she'll find out she
+won't get me!"</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Moore tried to think of something to
+say. Just then a merry voice was heard singing
+in the hall outside,</p>
+
+<div class="poem-container">
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"It is all for the best, oh, my Father,</span><br />
+<span class="i2">All for the best, all for the best."</span><br />
+</div>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p>"Will they let me come to see you every
+day?" asked Marian when the singer was beyond
+hearing. "Will they?" she repeated as
+Mrs. Moore made no answer. "Where is
+Michigan, anyway? What street car goes out
+there?"</p>
+
+<p>It was some time before Mrs. Moore could
+speak. Her strongest impulse was to hide
+the precious baby. What would become of
+her darling among unloving strangers? Who<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span>
+would teach her right from wrong? Suddenly
+Mrs. Moore realized that in days to come there
+might be time enough for tears. There were
+yet a few hours left her with the little girl
+which she must improve.</p>
+
+<p>Gently and tenderly she told Marian the
+truth. Michigan was far, far away. She
+must go alone, to live among strangers&mdash;yet
+not alone, for there was One in heaven who
+would be with her and who would watch over
+her and love her always, as He had in the
+Home. Poor Marian heard the voice but the
+words meant nothing to her until long afterwards.
+Mrs. Moore herself could never recall
+just what she said that sad day. She knew
+she tried to tell Marian to be brave, to be
+good; to tell the truth and do right: but more
+than once she broke down and wept with her
+darling.</p>
+
+<p>When Mrs. St. Claire called at eight, she
+was greeted by a quiet, submissive child who
+said she was ready to go. More than that,
+the little thing tried to smile as she promised
+to be a good girl. Perhaps the smile wouldn't
+have been so easily discouraged if Mrs. St.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span>
+Claire had kissed the swollen, tear-stained
+face, or had said one comforting word.</p>
+
+<p>The time of parting came. When it was
+over, Mrs. Moore lifted the sobbing child into
+the carriage. Then she knew that in spite of
+the stars the night was dark.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_V" id="CHAPTER_V"></a>CHAPTER V</h2>
+
+<p class="c">MARIAN'S NEW HOME</p>
+
+
+<p><span class="smcap">The</span> second day of the journey to the new
+home, Marian laughed aloud. She had slept
+well the night before and had taken a lively
+interest in everything she saw from the time
+she was awakened by the first glimpse of daylight
+through the sleeper windows. Not that
+she was happy, far from it, but it was something
+that she wasn't utterly miserable.</p>
+
+<p>Uncle George was pleasanter than his wife,
+and although he said little from behind his
+newspaper, that little was encouraging: his
+tones were kind.</p>
+
+<p>Ella St. Claire, the cousin, three years
+younger than Marian, was inclined to be
+friendly. Left to themselves the children
+might have had a delightful time, but Mrs.
+St. Claire had no intention of leaving the two
+to themselves; it was not part of her plan.
+Marian made several attempts to get acquainted<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span>
+and Ella kept edging away from her mother,
+until in the middle of the forenoon, Mrs. St.
+Claire remarked that if she wished to have
+any peace she must separate the children.
+Accordingly she took Ella by the hand and
+went several seats back, leaving Marian alone.
+As she left, Ella begged for a cooky.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm hungry, too," added Marian.</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. St. Claire gave Ella the cooky and
+passed a bit of dry bread to Marian.</p>
+
+<p>"If you please," suggested Marian, "I like
+cookies, too."</p>
+
+<p>"You will take what I give you or go without,"
+said Mrs. St. Claire; "you can't be starving
+after the breakfast you ate in Buffalo."</p>
+
+<p>Marian, sorry she had spoken, dropped from
+sight in the high-backed seat. There was a
+lump in her throat and so deep a longing for
+the Home she had left it was hard to keep the
+tears back. Just then an old man began snoring
+so loud the passengers smiled and Marian
+laughed in spite of herself. Having laughed
+once she grew more cheerful. There were
+green fields and bits of woodland to be seen
+from the car windows, cows, sheep, bright<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span>
+flowers growing along the track, country roads
+and little children playing in their yards, sitting
+on fences and waving their hands to the
+passing train. Wonderful sights for a child
+straight from the Little Pilgrims' Home in a
+big city.</p>
+
+<p>Uncle George, growing tired of his paper,
+crossed the aisle and sat down beside his niece.
+Marian looked up with a happy smile. "I
+wish the cars would stop where the flowers
+grow," she said, "I'd like to pick some."</p>
+
+<p>"The cars will stop where the flowers grow,"
+answered the man. "When we get home you
+will live among the flowers; Marian, will you
+like that?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, goody!" the child exclaimed. "Oh,
+I am so glad! May I pick some flowers?"</p>
+
+<p>"Indeed you may, and we'll go to the
+woods where the wild flowers are. Were you
+ever in the woods?"</p>
+
+<p>Marian shook her head. "I've been in the
+Public Gardens and on the Common, though,
+and I know all about woods."</p>
+
+<p>"Who told you about the woods?"</p>
+
+<p>"Nanna&mdash;Mrs. Moore."</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Was she your nurse?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, Uncle George, she was my everybody.
+I love her more than anybody else in the
+world. She is the prettiest, nicest one in the
+Home."</p>
+
+<p>"See here, little girl," interrupted the man,
+"will you promise me something?"</p>
+
+<p>"Why, yes, what is it?"</p>
+
+<p>"I want you to do me this one favor.
+Don't tell any one you were ever in an orphan's
+home."</p>
+
+<p>The child was silent. "What will I talk
+about?" she finally asked.</p>
+
+<p>Uncle George laughed. "Take my advice
+and don't say much about anything," was his
+suggestion. "You'll find it the easiest way to
+get along. But whatever you talk about,
+don't mention that Home."</p>
+
+<p>Later, Aunt Amelia added a word on the
+same subject, but in a manner so harsh Marian
+became convinced that to have lived in an
+orphan asylum was a disgrace equal perhaps
+to a prison record. She determined never to
+mention the Home for Little Pilgrims. Janey
+Clark must have known what she was talking<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span>
+about and even Mrs. Moore, when questioned,
+had admitted that if she had a little girl it
+would make her feel sad to know she lived in
+a Home. Before the journey was ended
+Marian was thankful that relatives had claimed
+her. Perhaps if she tried hard, she might be
+able to win Aunt Amelia's love. She would
+be a good little girl and do her best.</p>
+
+<p>One thing Marian learned before she had
+lived ten days with Aunt Amelia. The part of
+the house where she was welcome was the outside.
+Fortunately it was summer and the new
+home was in a country town where streets
+were wide and the yards were large. Back of
+Aunt Amelia's garden was an orchard, and
+there or in the locust grove near by, Marian
+passed untroubled hours. The front lawn,
+bordered with shrubs and flower beds, was
+pleasing enough, but it wasn't the place for
+Marian who was not allowed to pick a blossom,
+although the pansies begged for more
+chance to bloom. She could look at the pansies
+though, and feel of the roses if Aunt
+Amelia was out of sight. How Marian loved
+the roses&mdash;especially the velvety pink ones.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span>
+She told them how much she loved them, and
+if the roses made no response to the endearing
+terms lavished upon them, at least they never
+turned away, nor said unkind, hard things to
+make her cry and long for Mrs. Moore.</p>
+
+<p>When Marian had been with the St. Claires
+a week, Aunt Amelia told her she could never
+hope to hear from Mrs. Moore, partly because
+Mrs. Moore didn't know where she lived, and
+also because Mrs. Moore would gladly forget
+such a bad tempered, ungrateful little girl.</p>
+
+<p>The pink roses under the blue sky were a
+comfort then. So were the birds. Day after
+day Marian gave them messages to carry to
+Mrs. Moore. She talked to them in the orchard
+and in the locust grove, and many a
+wild bird listened, with its head on one side,
+to the loving words of the little girl and then
+flew straight away over the tree-tops and the
+house-tops, away and away out of sight. Several
+weeks passed before Marian knew that she
+might pick dandelions and clover blossoms,
+Bouncing Bet and all the roadside blooms, to
+her heart's content. That was joy!</p>
+
+<p>Under a wide-spreading apple-tree, Marian<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span>
+made a collection of treasures she found in
+the yard. Curious stones were chief among
+them. Bits of moss, pretty twigs, bright
+leaves, broken china, colored glass&mdash;there was
+no end to the resources of that yard. One
+morning she found a fragile cup of blue. It
+looked like a tiny bit of painted egg shell, but
+how could an egg be so small, and who could
+have painted it? She carried the wonder to
+Uncle George who told her it was part of a
+robin's egg.</p>
+
+<p>"Who ate it?" asked Marian, whereupon
+Uncle George explained to her what the
+merest babies knew in the world outside the
+city. More than that, he went to the orchard,
+found a robin's nest on the low branch of an
+apple-tree, and lifted her on his shoulder so
+that she might see it. There were four blue
+eggs in the nest. Marian wanted to break
+them to see the baby birds inside, but Uncle
+George cautioned her to wait and let the
+mother bird take care of her own round
+cradle.</p>
+
+<p>In the meantime Madam Robin scolded
+Uncle George and Marian until they left the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span>
+tree to watch her from a distance. That
+robin's nest filled Marian's every thought for
+days and days. When the baby birds were
+hatched she was so anxious to see them oftener
+than Uncle George had time to lift her on his
+shoulder, she learned to climb the tree. After
+that Marian was oftener in the apple-trees than
+under them. Had there been no rainy days
+and had the summer lasted all the year, Marian
+would have been a fortunate child. Aunt
+Amelia called her a tomboy and said no one
+would ever catch Ella St. Claire climbing trees
+and running like a wild child across the yard
+and through the locust grove.</p>
+
+<p>The two children admired each other. Had
+it been possible they would have played together
+all the time. Marian, who became a
+sun-browned romp, thought there never was
+such a dainty creature as her delicate, white-skinned
+cousin Ella, whose long black curls
+were never tumbled by the wind or play: and
+Ella never missed a chance to talk with her
+laughing, joyous cousin, who could always
+think of something new.</p>
+
+<p>Aunt Amelia said that Ella wasn't the same<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span>
+child when she was left with Marian for half
+an hour, and she could not allow the children
+to play together for her little daughter's sake.
+It was her duty as a mother to guard that little
+daughter from harmful influences.</p>
+
+<p>This was the talk to which Marian listened
+day after day. It grieved her to the quick.
+Again and again, especially on rainy days, she
+promised Aunt Amelia that she would be
+good, and each time Aunt Amelia sent her to
+her room to think over the bad things she had
+done and what an ungrateful child she was.
+Although Marian became convinced that she
+was a bad child, she couldn't sit down and
+think of her sins long at a time, and her penitent
+spells usually ended in a concert. Uncle
+George took her to one early in the summer,
+and ever after, playing concert was one of
+Marian's favorite games. She had committed
+"Bingen on the Rhine" to memory from
+hearing it often read in school at the Home,
+and on rainy days when sent to her room, she
+chanted it, wailed it and recited it until poor
+Ella was unhappy and discontented because
+she could have no part in the fun.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Ella had a toy piano kept as an ornament.
+Marian's piano was a chair, her stool was a
+box and her sheet music, an almanac: but in
+her soul was joy.</p>
+
+<p>"What can you do with such a child?" demanded
+Aunt Amelia.</p>
+
+<p>"Let her alone," counseled Uncle George.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VI" id="CHAPTER_VI"></a>CHAPTER VI</h2>
+
+<p class="c">THAT YELLOW CUCUMBER</p>
+
+
+<p><span class="smcap">One</span> summer day the St. Claires were the
+guests of a farmer who lived a few miles from
+town. Ella stayed in the house with her
+mother and the farmer's wife, but Marian
+saw the farm; the cows and the sheep and the
+fields of grain. She asked more questions that
+day than the hired man ever answered at one
+time in his life before, and when night came
+he and Marian were tired.</p>
+
+<p>"She knows as much about farming as I
+do," the man said with a laugh as he put the
+sleepy child on the back seat of the carriage
+when the family were ready to go home.</p>
+
+<p>"I've had a lovely time, Mr. Hired Man,"
+Marian roused herself to remark, "and to-morrow
+I'm going to play farm."</p>
+
+<p>"Good haying weather," the man suggested
+with a smile; "better get your barns up quick's
+you can."</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"I'm going to," was the response; "it's a
+lovely game."</p>
+
+<p>Whatever Marian saw or heard that pleased
+her fancy, she played. Stories that were read
+to the little Ella were enacted again and again
+in Marian's room if the day was rainy, out in
+the orchard or the locust grove if the day was
+fair. Farming promised to be the most interesting
+game of all.</p>
+
+<p>Early the next morning Marian visited
+what she called the yarrow jungle ever since
+Uncle George read jungle stories to Ella.
+More than one queer looking creature tried to
+keep out of sight when her footsteps were
+heard. The old black beetle scampered away
+as fast as his six legs would carry him, though
+it can't be possible he remembered the time
+when Marian captured him for her museum.
+Crickets gathered up their fiddles, seeking
+safety beyond the fence. Perhaps they
+thought Marian wanted them to play in the
+orchestra at another snail wedding. Even
+the ants hastened to the hills beyond the
+jungle, leaving only the old toad to wink and
+blink at the happy one of whom he had no fear.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Well, Mr. Toad," said she, "why don't
+you hop along? I've come to make my farm
+out here where the yarrow grows. Why don't
+you live in the garden land? I would if I
+were you. Don't you know about the cool
+tomato groves and the cabbage tents? I've
+got to clear away this jungle so the sun may
+shine upon my farm the way the country
+man said. You really must go, so hop along
+and stop winking and blinking at me." The
+old toad wouldn't stir, so for his sake Marian
+spared the yarrow jungle.</p>
+
+<p>"After all, I'll make my farm here on the
+border-land," said she, while the daisies
+nodded and the buttercups shone brighter
+than before. "Only, I'll tell you one thing,
+Mr. Toad, that maybe you won't like. If you
+will stay there, you'll have to be an elephant
+in the jungle. There, now, I s'pose you are
+sorry. I say&mdash;be an elephant and now you
+are one." The toad didn't mind a bit. He
+was so used to being changed into all sorts of
+animals that he never seemed to notice whether
+he was an elephant or a kangaroo.</p>
+
+<p>Day after day Marian worked upon her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span>
+farm, enclosing fields and meadows with high
+stone walls, clearing roads and planting trees.
+Whatever she touched became what she wished
+it to be. Pasteboard match-boxes became
+houses and barns. Sticks became men working
+upon the farm and spools were wagons
+bearing loads of hay from place to place. At
+a word from her, green apples, standing upon
+four twigs, were instantly changed, becoming
+pigs, cows, sheep and horses. Kernels of
+yellow corn were chickens. It was a wonderful
+farm and for many a sunny hour Marian
+was happy. Even the old toad, winking and
+blinking beneath the shadow of the yarrow
+jungle, must have known it.</p>
+
+<p>At last there came a morning when the
+child went strolling through the garden.
+Suddenly, while singing her usual merry
+song, the joyous look faded from her face.
+She no longer saw the butterflies floating
+about nor cared that the bumble-bee wore his
+best velvet coat. There were tiny green
+cucumbers in that garden, just the right size
+for horses on the little girl's farm. There were
+a great many cucumbers, so many that Marian<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span>
+felt sure no one would ever miss a few. She
+picked a handful and knew that she was
+stealing. The sun went under a cloud. A
+blue jay mocked at her and a wren scolded.
+Though far from happy, Marian hurried
+away to her farm. The old toad saw her
+sticking twigs in the cucumbers. Then she
+placed them in a row.</p>
+
+<p>"Now be animals!" she commanded, but
+the spell was broken&mdash;she was no longer a
+farmer with magic power, but a pink-faced
+little girl who had done what she knew was
+wrong. And the cucumbers refused to be
+anything but cucumbers.</p>
+
+<p>Again the little girl went to the garden, returning
+with one big yellow cucumber that
+had gone to seed. "Now I guess I'll have a
+cucumber animal," she said, in tones so cross
+the daisies seemed to tremble. "You bad old
+cucumber, you're no good anyway, nobody
+could eat you, nor make a pickle of you, so
+you may just turn yourself into a giant cow
+right off this minute! There you are, standing
+on four sticks. Now be a cow, I say."</p>
+
+<p>The old cucumber wouldn't be a cow.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span>
+There it stood, big and yellow, spoiling the
+looks of the farm.</p>
+
+<p>"What's the matter with you, old toad?"
+went on the little girl. "I tell you that's a
+cow, and if you don't believe it you can just
+get off my farm quick's you can hop. You're
+homely anyway, and you turned yourself back
+into a toad when I said be an elephant."</p>
+
+<p>How surprised the toad was when the little
+girl took a stick and poked him along ahead
+of her. The poor old fellow had never been
+treated like that in his life. When he reached
+the garden he hid beneath the nearest cabbage
+plant. The little girl went on but came back
+in a short time with her apron full of cucumbers.</p>
+
+<p>"I guess I'll sit down here and put the
+sticks in them," she said: but instead of
+touching the cucumbers the child sat on the
+ground beside the toad forever so long, looking
+cross, oh, so cross. The toad kept perfectly
+still and by and by he and the little
+girl heard a man whistling. In a few minutes
+there was a long whistle and then no sound in
+the jungle save the buzzing of flies and the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span>
+chirping of birds. The little girl was afraid
+of her uncle who had been her one friend in
+that land of strangers. Soon she heard them
+calling and with her apron full of cucumbers,
+Marian rose to meet him.</p>
+
+<p>It may be that the old toad, as he hopped
+back to the yarrow jungle, thought that he
+should never again see the little girl: but the
+next morning in the midst of brightest sunshine,
+Marian returned, her head drooping.
+With her little feet she destroyed the farm
+and then, throwing herself face downward
+among the ruins, wept bitterly. When she
+raised her head the old toad was staring solemnly
+at her, causing fresh tears to overflow
+upon the round cheeks.</p>
+
+<p>"Don't look at me, toad, nobody does," she
+wailed. "I'm dreadfully bad and it doesn't
+do a bit of good to be sorry. Nobody loves
+me and nobody ever will. Aunt Amelia says
+that Nanna wouldn't love me now. Uncle
+George doesn't love me, he says he's disappointed
+in me! Oh, dear, oh, dear! Nobody
+in this world loves me, toad, and oh,
+dear, I've got to eat all alone in the kitchen<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span>
+for two weeks, and even the housemaid doesn't
+love me and can't talk to me! Oh, dear,
+what made me do it!"</p>
+
+<p>What could an old toad do but hide in the
+yarrow jungle: yet when he turned away
+Marian felt utterly deserted. It was dreadful
+to be so bad that even a toad wouldn't look
+at her.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VII" id="CHAPTER_VII"></a>CHAPTER VII</h2>
+
+<p class="c">AN UNDESERVING CHILD</p>
+
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Try</span> as hard as she would, Marian could
+not fit into Aunt Amelia's home. Everywhere
+within its walls, she was Marian the
+unwanted. Saddest of all, the child annoyed
+Uncle George. Not at first, to be sure; he
+liked his little niece in the beginning, but
+when Aunt Amelia and the little Ella were
+rendered unhappy by her presence, that made
+a difference.</p>
+
+<p>Early in the summer Uncle George insisted
+upon taking Marian wherever Ella and her
+mother went, to picnics, to the circus and
+other places of amusement, but as something
+disagreeable was sure to happen and trouble
+seemed to follow little Marian, she was finally
+left at home where her gay talk and merriment
+could not reach the ears of Aunt Amelia,
+who called her talk "clatter" and her laughter
+"cackle."</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"It's cucumbers," sobbed Marian, the first
+time she was left with the sympathetic housemaid.</p>
+
+<p>"What do you mean, you poor little
+thing?" asked the girl.</p>
+
+<p>The child looked up in astonishment.
+"Don't you remember about the cucumbers?"
+she asked reproachfully.</p>
+
+<p>"Cucumbers," sniffed the girl. "Never
+mind, you poor, sweet darling, we'll have a
+tea-party this afternoon, you and I,&mdash;that old
+pelican!"</p>
+
+<p>Marian knew no better than to tell about the
+tea-party, what a jolly time she had and how
+happy she was, closing her story by asking
+Uncle George if a pelican was a chicken.</p>
+
+<p>"Because," she added, "we had a little dish
+of cream chicken and I didn't see any pelican,
+but Annie did say two or three times, 'that
+old pelican!'"</p>
+
+<p>Aunt Amelia was prejudiced against pelicans
+and she objected to tea-parties, so Annie
+packed her trunk and left. Lala took her
+place. Lala was equally kind but far too wise.
+She befriended the little girl every way in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span>
+her power but cautioned her to keep her
+mouth shut. She went so far as to instruct
+the child in the art of lying and had there
+not been deep in Marian's nature a love of
+truth, Lala's influence might have been more
+effective. Marian turned from her without
+knowing why, nor would she accept any
+favors from the girl unless she believed Aunt
+Amelia approved.</p>
+
+<p>Lala called Marian a "Little fool," Aunt
+Amelia called her an undeserving, ungrateful
+child who would steal if she were not watched,
+a saucy, bold "young one" who had disappointed
+her Uncle George, and Uncle George
+plainly didn't love her. What wonder that
+Marian had a small opinion of herself and
+dreaded the first Monday in September, the
+beginning of her school-days among strangers.</p>
+
+<p>The schoolhouse was so far from where
+Aunt Amelia lived, Marian carried her
+luncheon in a tin pail. The child left
+home that Monday, a timid, shrinking
+little mortal, afraid to speak to any one.
+She returned, happy as a lark, swinging her
+dinner pail and singing a new song until<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span>
+within sight of the St. Claire home. Then
+she walked more slowly and entered the gate
+like a weary pilgrim. She expected trouble,
+poor little Marian, but there happened to be
+callers, giving her a chance to escape unnoticed
+to the locust grove where she made a
+jumping rope of a wild grape vine and played
+until the shadows were long and the day was
+done.</p>
+
+<p>That evening Uncle George questioned Marian
+about her teacher and how she liked
+school. "I hope," said he, when he had
+listened to the account so gladly given, "I
+hope you will be a credit to your uncle and
+that you will behave yourself and get to the
+head of your class and stay there. Don't give
+your Uncle George any cause to be ashamed
+of his niece. I want to be proud of you."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, do you!" exclaimed the child. "Oh,
+I'll try so hard to be good and learn my lessons
+best of anybody. Then will you love
+me?"</p>
+
+<p>"Good children are always loved," put in
+Aunt Amelia. "Doesn't your Uncle George
+love Ella?"</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"She's his little girl," ventured Marian,
+longing for a place beside Ella in her uncle's
+lap. He certainly did love Ella.</p>
+
+<p>"Sit down, child," said Uncle George,
+"you're my brother's little girl, aren't you,
+and you are Ella's cousin, aren't you?"</p>
+
+<p>"I am sure she ought to be grateful," interrupted
+Aunt Amelia, "with all she has done
+for her and such a home provided for
+her&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, I am, I am," protested Marian earnestly.
+"I'm so glad I've got a home I don't
+know what to do, and I'm gratefuller'n anything&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Queer way of showing your gratitude," exclaimed
+Aunt Amelia; "a more undeserving
+child I never saw."</p>
+
+<p>Uncle George bit his lip. "Now don't cry,
+Marian," he cautioned, as the child's eyes
+filled with tears. "I have a story to read
+you and Ella, so sit down and be quiet."</p>
+
+<p>"Don't expect her to be quiet," Aunt
+Amelia persisted. "If she would listen to
+stories as Ella does, I wouldn't send her to
+bed. You know as well as I do that she in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span>terrupts
+and asks questions and gets in a perfect
+fever of excitement. Ella behaves like a
+lady. You never catch her squirming and
+fidgeting about, acting like a perfect jumping-jack&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"No," remarked Uncle George, opening
+the book in his hand, "she goes to sleep.
+Don't you, pet?"</p>
+
+<p>"Go to bed, Marian," Aunt Amelia commanded.
+"Not a word. I shall not allow you
+to add sauciness to disobedience. Go!"</p>
+
+<p>Uncle George frowned, put away the book
+and reached for his newspaper: then, touched
+by the pathetic figure in the doorway he
+called the child back. "That's right," he
+said, "be a good girl and obey your aunt
+promptly. She has your interest at heart,
+child. Come, kiss Uncle George good-night."</p>
+
+<p>Marian was surprised because her natural
+tendency to kiss every one in the family before
+going to bed had been severely checked
+and she had been obliged to whisper her good-nights
+to the cat. If she sometimes kissed
+its soft fur, what difference did it make, if
+the cat had no objection.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Now kiss little cousin Ella," suggested
+Uncle George, but Ella covered her face, saying
+her mother had told her never to let Marian
+touch her.</p>
+
+<p>Uncle George looked so angry Marian didn't
+know what was going to happen. He put
+little Ella in her mother's lap and then taking
+Marian in his arms, carried her to her
+room. After the child had said her prayers
+and was in bed, Uncle George sat beside her
+and talked a long, long while. He told her
+to try and be a good child and do her best in
+school.</p>
+
+<p>Marian dreamed that night of Mrs. Moore
+and the little stranger's mother. When she
+awoke in the starlight she was not afraid as
+usual. She thought of Uncle George and
+how she would try to please him in school
+that he might be proud of her and love her as
+she loved him, and so fell peacefully asleep.</p>
+
+<p>When the man was looking over his papers
+the next morning before breakfast he felt a
+touch upon his arm. He smiled when he saw
+Marian. "I want to tell you," she said, "I'm
+awful sorry about the cucumbers."</p>
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VIII" id="CHAPTER_VIII"></a>CHAPTER VIII</h2>
+
+<p class="c">IN THE NAME OF SANTA CLAUS</p>
+
+
+<p><span class="smcap">In</span> November Ella and her mother began
+making plans for Christmas. Aunt Amelia
+invited seven little girls to tea one night
+when Uncle George was away, and Marian ate
+in the kitchen with Lala. The seven were
+all older than Ella and one of them, little
+Ruth Higgins, knowing no better, asked for
+Marian. Lala overheard the answer and was
+indignant.</p>
+
+<p>"You poor little lamb," she sputtered, upon
+returning to the kitchen, "I'd run away if I
+were you."</p>
+
+<p>"Where would I run to?" questioned Marian.</p>
+
+<p>"Anywhere'd be better than here," the
+girl replied, "and that woman calls herself a
+Christian!"</p>
+
+<p>"She's a awful cross Christian," Marian admitted
+in a whisper, brushing away the tears<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span>
+that came when she heard the peals of laughter
+from the dining-room.</p>
+
+<p>"I wouldn't cry if I were you," advised the
+girl. "You'll only spoil your pretty eyes and
+it will do them good to see you cry, you poor
+baby. The idea of having a party and making
+you stay out here!"</p>
+
+<p>"It's a Club," corrected Marian, "I've heard
+'em talking about it. Dorothy Avery and Ruth
+Higgins belong. I've tried so hard to be good
+so I could be in it. They are going to sew
+presents for poor children and give them toys
+and everything they don't want their own
+selves, and then when Christmas day comes
+they're going to have a sleigh ride and take
+the things to the poor children. If I was
+good like Ella, I could be in it. I used to be
+good, Lala, truly, I did."</p>
+
+<p>"There, there, don't cry," begged Lala.
+"Look a-here! did you ever see anybody
+dance the lame man's jig?"</p>
+
+<p>Marian shook her head, whereupon Lala
+performed the act to the music of a mournful
+tune she hummed, while Marian laughed
+until the Club was forgotten. There was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span>
+plenty of fun in the kitchen after that. In
+the midst of the hilarity Ella appeared to tell
+Marian it was her bedtime.</p>
+
+<p>"Are you ever afraid, Lala, when you wake
+up all alone in the night?" asked Marian as
+she started up the back stairs.</p>
+
+<p>"I never wake up," said Lala. "Do you,
+Marian?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, and I'm lonesome without all the
+little girls. Sometimes I'm so frightened I
+pretty nearly die when I'm all alone and it's
+dark."</p>
+
+<p>"Little girls," echoed Lala, "what little
+girls? Where did you live before you came
+here?"</p>
+
+<p>"When I was good I lived in a big city,
+Lala."</p>
+
+<p>"Tell me about it," the girl insisted.</p>
+
+<p>"If you'll promise you won't ever tell, I
+will," declared Marian. "I'll have to whisper
+it. I lived in a beautiful orphan's home,
+Lala."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh!" exclaimed Lala. "Oh, you poor
+baby."</p>
+
+<p>"Of course it's dreadful," Marian hastened<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span>
+to say, "but I couldn't help it, Lala, truly I
+couldn't; they took me there when I was a
+baby and it was a lovely place, only, it was a
+Home."</p>
+
+<p>"Do you know anything about your father
+and mother?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, I guess they're dead&mdash;my mother is
+anyway, and I'm 'fraid about my father."</p>
+
+<p>"What do you mean?"</p>
+
+<p>"Well, Lala, Aunt Amelia always says,
+what can you expect when you think what
+my father was. I guess may be he was a
+stealer because Aunt Amelia won't stop talking
+about the cucumbers and what could you
+expect. Maybe he is in prison."</p>
+
+<p>"No, your father is not in prison, Marion
+Lee!" Lala exclaimed. "Listen. It was your
+father I heard them talking about with some
+callers the other day. I'm sure of it now, because
+they said the man was a great deal
+younger than your uncle&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, tell me, do tell me what you know
+about my father?" besought Marian, walking
+back into the kitchen on tiptoes.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, I don't know much," said the girl,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span>
+"but he isn't in prison, that's one sure thing.
+He went away to South America years ago to
+make his fortune, and they know that all the
+men who went with him were killed, and as
+your father never came back they know he
+must be dead."</p>
+
+<p>"What was there bad about that?" questioned
+the small daughter.</p>
+
+<p>"Nothing," was the reply, "only he and
+your Uncle George had a quarrel. Your
+uncle didn't want him to go because he said
+your father had plenty of money anyway, and
+it all came out as he said it would."</p>
+
+<p>At that moment, Ella returned. Seeing
+Marian, she forgot that she was after a drink
+of water. "Oh, Marian Lee!" she exclaimed.
+"I'm going straight back and tell mamma you
+didn't go to bed when I told you to. You'll
+be sorry."</p>
+
+<p>Marian, the guilty, flew up the back stairs,
+expecting swift punishment. She was sure
+she deserved it, and what would Uncle George
+say? It was so hard to be good. Retribution
+was left to Santa Claus. How could a disobedient,
+ungrateful child expect to be re<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span>membered
+by that friend of good children?
+How could Marian hope for a single gift?
+Aunt Amelia didn't know. Nevertheless the
+little girl pinned her faith to Santa Claus.
+He had never forgotten her nor the two hundred
+waifs at the Home. Teddy Daniels once
+made a face at the superintendent the very
+day before Christmas, yet Santa Claus gave
+him a drum.</p>
+
+<p>Marian wasn't the least surprised Christmas
+morning when she found her stockings hanging
+by the sitting-room grate filled to the
+brim, exactly as Ella's were. She was delighted
+beyond expression.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, oh, oh!" she cried. "Both my
+stockings are full of things for me. Oh, see
+the packages! Oh, I am so happy! Just
+only look at the presents!" Uncle George
+left the room and Marian sat upon the rug to
+examine her treasures.</p>
+
+<p>"Why don't you look in your stockings,
+Ella?" she suggested. "Let's undo our presents
+together."</p>
+
+<p>"No, I'd rather wait and see what you'll
+say when you know what you've got!" Ella<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span>
+replied. "Mamma and I know something."</p>
+
+<p>"Hush!" cautioned Aunt Amelia. "Let's
+see what Santa Claus has brought Marian.
+She knows whether she's been a deserving,
+grateful child or not."</p>
+
+<p>Why would Aunt Amelia remind one of
+disagreeable things on Christmas morning?
+Marian's chin quivered before she took a
+thing from her stocking, whereupon Aunt
+Amelia smiled. In the meantime, Ella, becoming
+impatient, emptied one of her stockings
+in her mother's lap and began a series
+of squeals as toys, games and dolls tumbled out.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, what fun!" cried Marian, laughing
+and clapping her hands as she witnessed
+Ella's delight. A pitiful expression stole
+over her face as she turned to her own stockings.
+How she longed for a mother to share
+her joy. How she wished Aunt Amelia would
+smile kindly and be pleased with her gifts.
+The child quickly removed the paper from a
+round package.</p>
+
+<p>"I've got a ball," she ventured. "I'll let
+you play with it, Ella."</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Got one of my own," said Ella, exhibiting
+a big rubber ball.</p>
+
+<p>An exclamation of dismay burst from
+Marian's lips. "Why, why&mdash;it's a potato!"
+she cried.</p>
+
+<p>"What did you expect?" inquired Aunt
+Amelia in chilling tones.</p>
+
+<p>"I guess that was just for a joke." The
+little girl smiled cheerfully as she said it, at the
+same time untying a box wrapped in tissue
+paper. Potatoes again. Marian shut her lips
+tight together and tried another package.
+More potatoes. Still she kept the tears back
+and reached for a long bundle. Removing
+the paper she found switches. Aunt Amelia
+and Ella watched silently as Marian, her eyes
+blazing and her cheeks growing a deeper red
+every second, emptied the stocking in which
+there was nothing but potatoes. Then the
+child rose, straightened her small figure to its
+full height and made this statement:</p>
+
+<p>"That wasn't never Santa Claus that did
+that!"</p>
+
+<p>"Look in the other stocking," Ella advised,
+"there are real presents in that one. I guess<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span>
+you will be a good girl now, won't you,
+Marian? Take the other stocking down,
+quick."</p>
+
+<p>"No," declared Marian, "I don't want any
+more potatoes. Nobody loves me and I don't
+care if they don't." Then she broke down
+and cried so hard, Ella cried too.</p>
+
+<p>"What's all the trouble?" asked Uncle
+George, entering the room at that moment.</p>
+
+<p>"Marian is making a scene and distressing
+both Ella and me," explained Aunt Amelia.
+"She has been highly impertinent and ungrateful.
+Ella, you may have the other
+stocking yourself."</p>
+
+<p>"But I don't want it," sobbed Ella. "I
+want Marian to have it."</p>
+
+<p>"Then we'll take it to the poor children
+this afternoon," said her mother. "They'll
+be glad to get it. Marian, don't drop what's
+in your apron. Now go to your room and
+think over how you've spoiled the peace of a
+family on Christmas morning. I'll bring
+your breakfast to you myself."</p>
+
+<p>"I don't want any breakfast," sobbed Marian,
+walking away with her apron full of potatoes.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Come back," called Uncle George. "You
+tell your aunt you are sorry you were so
+naughty, and you may come to breakfast with
+us. It's Christmas morning, child, why can't
+you behave?"</p>
+
+<p>"I wasn't naughty," sobbed Marian.
+"I&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Not another word," put in Aunt Amelia.
+"Go to your room, stubborn, bad child. I
+can't have such an example continually before
+my little Ella. We'll have to put her in
+a reform school, George, if she doesn't improve."</p>
+
+<p>This remark fell upon unheeding ears so
+far as Marian was concerned. The minute
+the door of her little room closed behind her
+she dropped the potatoes upon the floor and
+throwing herself beside them cried as if her
+heart would break.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, Nanna, Nanna, I want you," she
+sobbed. "Oh, where are you, oh, my Mrs.
+Moore?"</p>
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IX" id="CHAPTER_IX"></a>CHAPTER IX</h2>
+
+<p class="c">AT THE RICH MAN'S TABLE</p>
+
+
+<p><span class="smcap">True</span> to her word, Aunt Amelia carried
+Marian's breakfast to her room. But for the
+interference of Uncle George his little niece
+would have been given bread and water; it
+was all an impertinent child deserved. Uncle
+George, however, insisted that the One who
+was born on Christmas Day was a friend to
+sinners great and small. Out of respect to His
+memory, Marian should have her breakfast.
+Lala offered to take the tray up-stairs when it
+was ready, but Aunt Amelia said it was her
+duty to take it herself: so there was no one to
+speak a word of comfort to the little black
+sheep outside the fold.</p>
+
+<p>It had been a dark, cloudy morning, but
+curiously enough, the moment the door closed
+behind Aunt Amelia, the sun came out bright
+and warm, and shone straight through Marian's
+window. The child raised her head, wiped<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</a></span>
+her eyes and finally sat up. She wouldn't eat
+any breakfast of course, how could she? No
+one loved her and what was the use of eating?
+The tray looked tempting though and the
+breakfast smelled good. The big orange
+seemed rolling toward her and Uncle George
+must have poured the cream on her oatmeal.
+No one else would have given her so much.
+The omelet was steaming, and even Lala never
+made finer looking rolls.</p>
+
+<p>Marian moved a little nearer and a little
+nearer to the tray until the next thing she
+knew she was sitting in a chair, eating breakfast.
+Everything tasted good, and in a little
+while Marian felt better. Out of doors, the
+icy trees sparkled in the sunshine and all the
+world looked clean and new. Oh, how the
+little girl longed for a mother that Christmas
+morning. Some one who would love her and
+say "Dear little Marian," as Nanna once did.</p>
+
+<p>Thinking of Mrs. Moore brought back to
+the child's memory that last day in the Home.
+Mrs. Moore had said, "Be brave, be good and
+never forget the Father in heaven." Marian
+had not been brave nor good; and she had for<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span>gotten
+the Father in heaven. Suddenly the
+child looked around the room, under the bed
+everywhere. She was certainly alone. It
+seemed strange to say one's prayers in the daytime,
+but Marian folded her hands and kneeling
+in the flood of sunshine beneath the window,
+confessed her sins. She felt like a new
+born soul after that. The despairing, rebellious
+little Marian was gone, and in her place was a
+child at peace with herself and the world.
+Without putting it in words, Marian forgave
+Aunt Amelia: more than that, she felt positively
+tender towards her. She would tell her
+she was sorry for her impertinence and promise
+to be a good child. It would be so easy to
+do right. She would set Ella a good example.
+Not for anything would Marian ever again do
+what was wrong. In time Uncle George and
+Aunt Amelia would love her dearly.</p>
+
+<p>Marian smiled thoughtfully as she gazed
+down the straight and perfect path her little
+feet would travel from thenceforth forevermore.
+The child's meditations were interrupted
+by a remembrance of the potatoes.
+There they were, her Christmas presents, try<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span>ing
+to hide under the bed, under the chairs,
+beneath the bureau. She stared at them but
+a moment when a happy smile broke over
+her face.</p>
+
+<p>Marian was a saint no longer; only a little
+girl about to play a new game.</p>
+
+<p>"Why, it's a circus!" she exclaimed, and
+straightway seizing the potatoes and breaking
+the switches into little sticks, she transformed
+the unwelcome gift into a circus parade. The
+elephant came first. His trunk was a trifle
+too stiff as the switches were not limber. The
+camel came next and if his humps were not
+exactly in the right place, he was all the more
+of a curiosity. Then followed the giraffe with
+sloping back and no head worth mentioning
+because there was nothing to stick on the
+piece of switch that formed his long neck.
+Marian did wish she had a bit of gum to use
+for a head. The giraffe would look more
+finished. The lion and the tiger were perfect.
+Marian could almost hear them roar. Nobody
+could have found any fault with the kangaroo
+except that he would fall on his front feet.
+The hippopotamus was a sight worth going to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span>
+see. So was the rhinoceros. The zebras almost
+ran away, they were so natural.</p>
+
+<p>Marian searched eagerly for more potatoes.
+A peck would have been none too many.
+"I'll have to play the rest of the animals are
+in cages," she said with a sigh. "Too bad I
+didn't get more potatoes. Wish I had the
+other stocking."</p>
+
+<p>When Marian was tired of circus, she played
+concert. Bingen on the Rhine came in for
+its share of attention, but school songs were
+just as good and had ready-made tunes.</p>
+
+<p>Lala in the kitchen, heard the operatic
+singing and laughed. Aunt Amelia caught a
+few strains, frowned and closed the hall doors.
+Uncle George smiled behind his newspaper:
+but Ella, tired of her toys, pouted and said
+she wished she could ever have any fun.
+Marian always had a good time. Mrs. St.
+Claire reminded her of the sleigh ride with
+the seven little girls in the afternoon and
+Ella managed to get through the morning
+somehow, even if it was dull and Christmas
+joy was nowhere in the house except in the
+little room off the back hall up-stairs.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>At one o'clock Lala was sent to tell Marian
+she might come down to dinner if she would
+apologize to Aunt Amelia for her impertinence.
+Lala was forbidden to say more, but
+nobody thought to caution her not to laugh,
+and what did Lala do when she saw Marian
+playing the piano beside the circus parade, but
+laugh until the tears ran down her cheeks.
+Worst of all she waited on table with a broad
+smile on her face that made Aunt Amelia
+quite as uncomfortable as the mention of a
+pelican. Nor was it possible for Aunt Amelia
+to understand how a child who had been in
+disgrace all the forenoon, could be cheerful
+and ready to laugh on the slightest provocation.
+She thought it poor taste.</p>
+
+<p>After dinner Ella thrust a repentant looking
+stocking in Marian's hand. "Papa says
+the things are yours and you must have
+them," she explained.</p>
+
+<p>"What makes the stocking look so floppy?"
+asked Marian.</p>
+
+<p>"Because," Ella went on, "papa made me
+take all the potatoes out and there wasn't
+much left. You've got a handkerchief in the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span>
+stocking from me and one from mamma,
+and&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Please don't tell me," protested Marian.
+"I want to be s'prised."</p>
+
+<p>"Like the selfish child you are," put in
+Aunt Amelia, "unwilling to give your cousin
+a bit of pleasure."</p>
+
+<p>"And a box of dominoes from papa and
+a doll's tea set Lala gave you," finished
+Ella.</p>
+
+<p>"She'll expect a doll next," observed Aunt
+Amelia.</p>
+
+<p>"I did think Santa Claus would give me
+one," admitted the child, "but I had rather
+have the beautiful tea set. Help me set the
+table on this chair, Ella, and we'll play Christmas
+dinner. I'll let you pour the tea
+and&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Ella has no time to play," her mother
+interrupted. "Come, little one, help mamma
+finish packing the baskets of presents for the
+poor children."</p>
+
+<p>"But I had rather play with Marian's tea
+set," pouted Ella.</p>
+
+<p>"You have one of your own, dearest."</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"It isn't as nice as Marian's, though, and I
+want to stay here and play."</p>
+
+<p>"Now you see, George," and Mrs. St. Claire
+turned to her husband, "now you see why I
+cannot allow these children to play together.
+You can see for yourself what an influence
+Marian has over our little Ella. Come, darling,
+have you forgotten the sleigh ride? It
+is time to get ready."</p>
+
+<p>"Me too?" questioned Marian, springing to
+her feet, "shall I get ready?"</p>
+
+<p>The child knew her mistake in less than a
+minute, but forgetting the uselessness of protest,
+she begged so earnestly to be taken with
+the children Aunt Amelia called her saucy,
+and as a punishment, the Christmas gifts, tea
+set and all, were put on a high shelf out of
+sight.</p>
+
+<p>Marian was allowed to stand in the parlor
+by the window to see the sleigh-load of noisy
+children drive away. When they were gone,
+the parlor seemed bigger than usual and
+strangely quiet. Uncle George, with a frown
+on his face, was reading in the sitting-room.
+He didn't look talkative and the clock ticked<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span>
+loud. Marian turned again to the parlor
+window. Across the street was the rich man's
+house, and in the front window of the rich
+man's house was a poor little girl looking out&mdash;a
+sad little girl with big eyes and a pale
+face. Marian waved her hand and the little
+girl waved hers&mdash;such a tiny, white hand. A
+new idea flashed into Marian's mind. She
+had often seen the little girl across the way
+and wondered why she never played with
+Ella. At last she thought she knew. The
+rich man's wife probably went to a hospital
+after the little girl, and took her home to get
+well just as Janey Clark was taken home,
+only Janey was never thin and delicate and
+Janey never stared quietly at everything as
+the little girl did who lived in the rich man's
+house.</p>
+
+<p>Marian wondered why Aunt Amelia didn't
+leave her some of the presents in the baskets.
+Perhaps nobody loved the little girl: maybe
+her father and mother were dead and Santa
+Claus didn't know where to find her. Marian
+wished she had something to take to the poor
+thing. She would have given away her tea<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span>
+set that minute had it been within reach.
+Just then a long-legged horse went by, a horse
+that looked so queer it reminded Marian of
+her potato menagerie. The child smiled at
+the thought. Perhaps the little girl in the
+rich man's house never saw a potato animal
+and would like to see one. Perhaps she
+would like two or three for a Christmas present.
+Why not? It was all Marian had to
+give and the animals were funny enough to
+make any poor little girl laugh. Up-stairs
+Marian flew, returning with the elephant, the
+rhinoceros, the hippopotamus and two zebras
+packed in a pasteboard box.</p>
+
+<p>"Please, Uncle George," she asked, "may I
+go and visit the poor little girl that lives in
+the rich man's house? I want to say 'Wish
+you a merry Christmas' to her, and&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Run along, child," interrupted Uncle
+George, the frown smoothing out as he spoke,
+"go where you will and have a good time if
+it is possible&mdash;bless your sunny face."</p>
+
+<p>Uncle George had heard of the rich man's
+house and he smiled a broad smile of amusement
+as he watched Marian climb the steps<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span>
+and ring the bell. "What next?" he inquired
+as the door closed behind the child.
+In a short time he knew "What next." One
+of the rich man's servants came over with a
+note from the neighbor's wife, begging Uncle
+George to allow Marian to stay and help them
+enjoy their Christmas dinner at six. The permission
+was gladly given and at eight o'clock
+Marian came home hugging an immense wax
+doll and fairly bubbling over with excitement.</p>
+
+<p>"I never had such a good time at the table
+in my life," she began, "as I did at the rich
+man's house. They asked me to talk, just
+think of it&mdash;asked me to, and I did and they
+did and we all laughed. And the poor little
+girl isn't poor, only just sick and she belongs
+to the folks. The rich man is her father and
+her name is Dolly Russel and she was gladder
+to see me than she ever was to see anybody in
+her life and she wants me to come again,
+and&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"And I suppose you told all you knew,"
+snapped Aunt Amelia.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, most, 'specially at the table," admitted
+the child.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_X" id="CHAPTER_X"></a>CHAPTER X</h2>
+
+<p class="c">A GAME OF SLICED BIRDS</p>
+
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Marian</span> was so happy with her doll and
+teaset the following day she was blind and
+deaf to all that happened in the house outside
+her little room. She didn't know that
+Mrs. Russel made her first call upon Aunt
+Amelia in the afternoon, nor that company
+was expected in the evening. Ella's mysterious
+airs were lost upon her. The child was
+accordingly surprised when she met the company
+at breakfast.</p>
+
+<p>Aunt Hester, Mrs. St. Claire's younger
+sister, was a pleasant surprise because she
+was good-looking and agreeable. She returned
+Marian's smile of greeting with interest.
+Marian hoped she had found a friend
+and hovered near the welcome stranger until
+sent to her room. During the rest of the week
+she and Aunt Hester exchanged smiles when
+they met at the table, and to win a few kind<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span>
+words from her became Marian's dream. New
+Year's Day brought an opportunity. Mrs.
+Russel sent a box of sliced birds to Marian
+and her cousin, and as the gift came while
+the family were at breakfast, Marian knew all
+about it. At last she and Ella owned something
+in common and might perhaps be allowed
+to play together. She could hardly
+wait to finish her breakfast.</p>
+
+<p>"What are sliced birds and how do you
+play with them?" she asked Aunt Hester,
+who carried the box into the sitting-room.</p>
+
+<p>"Well," began Aunt Hester, "can you read,
+Marian?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, auntie, I can read pretty near anything
+I try to, but I can't write very good,
+not a bit good. Do you have to write in
+sliced birds?"</p>
+
+<p>"No," was the laughing reply, "if you can
+spell a little that is all that is necessary.
+Here is a paper with a list of birds on it we
+can put together. Now here is the word jay.
+A picture of a jay is cut in three pieces, on
+one piece is 'J,' on another is 'A' and on the
+third is 'Y.' Now hunt for 'J.'"</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Ella knows her letters," Marian suggested.
+"Come, Ella, hunt for 'J,' that piece would
+have a blue jay's head on it, I guess." Marian
+waited until Ella found the letter and together
+they finished the blue jay. Both children
+were delighted with the result.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, what fun!" cried Marian. "We'll
+make all the birds, Ella. I'll read a name
+and tell you what letters to hunt for."</p>
+
+<p>A shadow fell across the bright scene, caused
+by the entrance of Aunt Amelia. "Go over
+there and sit down," she said to Marian. "I
+came in to help Hester divide the game."</p>
+
+<p>"Divide the game!" echoed both children.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, don't do it, please don't," besought
+Marian, "we want to play with all the birds
+together."</p>
+
+<p>"It seems a pity," began Aunt Hester, but
+she gathered Ella in her arms and helped
+form all the birds in two straight lines upon
+the floor as her sister desired.</p>
+
+<p>Marian watched with eager interest. She
+hoped when the birds were divided a few of
+the pretty ones might be given to her. If
+she had her choice she couldn't tell whether<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</a></span>
+she would take the peacock or the bird of
+paradise&mdash;they were both gorgeous. The
+scarlet tanager and the red-headed woodpecker
+were beautiful but of course it wasn't
+fair to wish for all the brightest birds. It
+was Aunt Hester who suggested a way to
+divide the game.</p>
+
+<p>"Let them take turns choosing," she said.
+"It seems to me that will be perfectly fair.
+The children might draw cuts for first
+choice."</p>
+
+<p>At that, Marian saw her opportunity.
+"Ella may be the first chooser," she declared,
+and was rewarded by a smile from
+Aunt Hester. Which would Ella take? the
+bird of paradise or the peacock? Either
+would please Marian, so it really made no
+difference which was left. Ella wanted them
+both and said so.</p>
+
+<p>"Hush," whispered her mother, "if you
+keep still Marian won't know which birds
+are the prettiest. Aunt Hester and I will
+help you choose."</p>
+
+<p>"I guess I'll take that," Ella decided, pointing
+towards the bird of paradise.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Marian was about to choose the peacock
+when a whispered word from Aunt Hester
+caught her ear.</p>
+
+<p>"I hope, Ella dear, that she won't take the
+peacock."</p>
+
+<p>Marian hesitated a moment. She wanted
+the peacock with its gay, spreading tail, but
+if Aunt Hester wished Ella to have it perhaps
+she would love whoever helped her get it.
+"I'll take the turkey," said the child, whereupon
+Ella gave a shout.</p>
+
+<p>"She don't know much, she took an old
+brown turkey. I'll have the peacock and I
+want the red bird and the redhead."</p>
+
+<p>Aunt Amelia laughed. "One at a time,
+you dear, impulsive child," said she, but
+Aunt Hester smiled across at Marian. "Your
+turn," she said.</p>
+
+<p>"I'll take the owl," Marian quietly replied.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, ho! an old owl!" laughed Ella, clapping
+her hands for joy. "Now I'll have the
+redhead! goody! And next time&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Hush," warned her mother. "You
+mustn't let Marian know what you want or
+she'll take it."</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"I choose the wren," came in low tones
+from Marian.</p>
+
+<p>"My turn," Ella called. "Give me the
+redhead."</p>
+
+<p>"Choose the flicker next," advised her
+mother, so Marian, still hoping to be loved,
+chose the robin.</p>
+
+<p>Aunt Hester smiled again, but the smile
+was for Ella. "Take the parrot next," she
+whispered, so Marian chose the crow.</p>
+
+<p>"Now, Ella, darling," whispered her mother,
+"the oriole, after Marian has her turn," and
+Marian, taking the hint, motioned for the jay.</p>
+
+<p>It was over at last and Marian was told to
+go to her room. As she was leaving, Aunt
+Hester gave Ella a rapturous hug and said,
+"Our baby has all the prettiest birds." Aunt
+Hester didn't know Marian heard the remark
+until she saw the tears that could not be kept
+back, wetting the rosy cheeks. "Oh, you
+poor young one!" she exclaimed, and but for
+the presence of Aunt Amelia, she would have
+taken the sad little mortal in her arms.</p>
+
+<p>"She's crying 'cause her birds are all
+homely," said Ella.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Of course, she always wants the best,"
+remarked Mrs. St. Claire, but Aunt Hester
+and Ella both gazed after the retreating figure
+of little Marian, with conscience-stricken faces.
+They had been three against one, and that one
+didn't know enough to take the choicest birds
+when she had the chance. They hadn't played
+fair.</p>
+
+<p>Marian, blinded by tears, stumbled over a
+rug at the door of her room and the sliced
+birds slipped almost unheeded from her apron.
+The nearest seat was the box she called her
+piano stool. She dropped upon it and buried
+her face in her arms on the piano. The
+sheet music tumbled forward upon her head,
+perhaps fearing it might be but an old almanac
+forever after. Bitter thoughts filled the little
+soul. Why would no one love her? Why did
+the sound of her voice annoy every one so
+she feared to speak? What was the trouble?
+Was she so bad or so homely that no one
+might love her? She had tried to be good
+and tried to do right, but what difference had
+it made? Aunt Hester thought her stupid
+because she allowed Ella to take what birds<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</a></span>
+she would. Surely Aunt Hester was the stupid
+one.</p>
+
+<p>It was impossible for Marian to feel miserable
+long at a time. In a few minutes she sat
+up and straightened her sheet music, whereupon
+the almanac became a hymn-book. She
+turned the leaves slowly as did the young lady
+who played the organ prayer-meeting nights.
+Then, addressing the wax doll and the bed
+posts she announced in solemn tones, "We'll
+sing nineteen verses of number 'leventy 'leven."</p>
+
+<p>"Number 'leventy 'leven" happened to be
+"Come Ye Disconsolate," a hymn Marian
+was familiar with, as it was Aunt Amelia's
+favorite. The tune began dismally enough,
+but the disconsolate one took courage on the
+third line and sang out triumphantly at last,
+with a great flourish upon the piano, "'Earth
+has no sorrow that Heaven cannot heal.'"
+"Twenty Froggies Went to School" came
+next, and Marian was herself once more,
+which is to say, she became at a moment's
+notice, a famous musician, a school-teacher, a
+princess, a queen or whatever the occasion
+required, while the little room was easily<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</a></span>
+changed into anything from the Desert of
+Sahara to a palace.</p>
+
+<p>The extent of Marian's knowledge was the
+only limit to the games she played. Pictures
+in the family Bible had given her many an
+hour of entertainment in the little room,
+thanks to the fact that Uncle George allowed
+Marian to look at the pictures on an occasional
+Sunday afternoon. The doll almost broke her
+nose the day before playing "Rebecca at the
+Well." The "Marriage at Cana" was a safer
+game for a wax doll that could not stand,
+especially as the doll made a beautiful bride.
+Turning from her piano, Marian saw something
+that made her laugh. The robin's head
+and the duck's feet had fallen one above the
+other.</p>
+
+<p>"Poor robin," she said, "I guess you would
+rather have your own feet. R-o-b-i-n, I know
+how to spell you, and I'll put you on your
+own feet and I'll give the duck his own head
+so he can quack." When the robin was put
+together it looked like an old friend. "You're
+nicer than the bird of paradise, after all," declared
+Marian, "because I know you so well.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</a></span>
+You and I used to be chums because I didn't
+have any little girls to play with."</p>
+
+<p>It was something of a puzzle to put all of
+the birds together, but when the work was
+finished Marian was pleased. "You're all so
+nice and common looking," she said. "I
+never saw the owl bird, but we used to hear
+him in the woods at night, didn't we, blue
+jay? He used to go, 'Who&mdash;who&mdash;whoo&mdash;whoo!'
+We used to see you, old black crow,
+you always said 'Caw&mdash;caw&mdash;caw,' and you
+dear little wren, how I would like to hear you
+sing once more. Where are you all now?
+Somewhere way down South, because our
+teacher says so and when the snow is gone,
+you'll come flying back.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, now we'll play something. It is
+autumn over here on the rug, the rug's the
+orchard, and the leaves are falling and all the
+flowers are fading and winter is coming. You
+see that sunshiny spot on the floor over there
+under the windows, birdies? Well, that is
+down South where you are going. I don't
+remember who goes first but I guess the little
+wren better fly away now, and we'll have lots<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</a></span>
+of fun." One by one the birds went south,
+owl and all, and one by one they flew back to
+the orchard in the spring-time, where the wax
+doll welcomed them, listened to their songs
+and scattered strings about for them to use in
+building their nests.</p>
+
+<p>It was a pleasant game and Marian was
+called to the dining-room before she thought
+of putting the birds away.</p>
+
+<p>"I wonder if I didn't get the best half of
+the game after all," she suggested to the wax
+doll as she threw it a parting kiss.</p>
+
+<p>Had Marian known that the bird of paradise,
+the peacock and the other bright ones
+were laid upon a shelf as birds of no consequence
+and that Ella had complained all the
+forenoon of having nothing to do, she would
+have understood why Aunt Hester not only
+greeted her with a smile, but said at the same
+time, "You dear, happy child."</p>
+
+<p>It was enough that Aunt Hester said it and
+smiled, without puzzling for a reason. Surely
+Marian had chosen the better half of the game
+when such loving tones were meant for her.
+It was wonderful.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XI" id="CHAPTER_XI"></a>CHAPTER XI</h2>
+
+<p class="c">THE WAY OF THE TRANSGRESSOR</p>
+
+
+<p><span class="smcap">A year</span> passed away, in which time Marian
+was kept more and more outside of the family
+and more and more apart from all ordinary
+pleasures of childhood, but in spite of everything
+she was happy, ever hoping to win the
+approval of her aunt and uncle.</p>
+
+<p>Going to school was a never-failing joy because
+at noon-times and recess there were
+girls and boys to play with, and the long
+walks to and from school were always a delight
+to a child who was interested in everything
+from a blade of grass to the clouds.</p>
+
+<p>Ella attended a private school near home
+and was scarcely allowed to speak to Marian.
+She had many playmates, but all of them put
+together were not half so attractive from her
+point of view as the little cousin who played
+alone. One winter morning Ella told Marian
+behind the dining-room door that her grand<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</a></span>mother
+and Uncle Robert were coming to stay
+all the spring-time and that Uncle Robert was
+a little boy only a few years older than Marian.
+Ella was delighted, but Marian wished Uncle
+Robert was a girl. She had reason for the
+wish before summer.</p>
+
+<p>Marian was prejudiced against boys for as
+much as a year after Ella's uncle went away.
+He believed it was his privilege to tease little
+girls, though in all his life he never had such
+a chance to torment any one as he had that
+spring. It was useless to play tricks on Ella,
+because she ran crying to her mother and that
+made trouble for Robert: but Marian could
+appeal to no one and teasing her was safe and
+interesting. To hold her doll by the hair
+while Marian begged and screamed, was daily
+amusement until the child learned to leave
+the doll in her room. To hide her few books
+was another pleasure and to frighten her on
+every possible occasion until her eyes seemed
+fairly popping out of her head, was a victory.</p>
+
+<p>Marian was glad to have some one to play
+with if that some one was a tyrant and often
+before her tears were dry, she was ready to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</a></span>
+forgive Robert for teasing her and to join in
+any game he proposed. One day he suggested
+something that shocked Marian. He asked
+her to steal sugar. He didn't say steal, he
+said "Hook," and at first Marian didn't understand.
+Robert told her to sneak into the
+pantry after Lala was through work in the
+afternoon, take a lump of sugar from the
+barrel and give it to him. She wouldn't listen
+in the beginning, but by dint of persuasion
+and threats, Robert succeeded in getting his
+lump of sugar: not only one, but many, for
+stealing sugar became easier as the days
+went by and no one caught the small
+culprit.</p>
+
+<p>Robert's ambition was to be a railroad engineer,
+and soon after the sugar stealing began,
+he made an engine of boxes and barrels in the
+locust grove. When it was finished and in
+running order, he allowed Marian to be his
+fireman. At first the child thought it was
+fun, but when she had shoveled air with a
+stick for five minutes without stopping, while
+Robert rang the bell, blew the whistle and
+ran the engine, she threw down her shovel.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</a></span>
+"It's my turn to be engineer now," she declared.</p>
+
+<p>"Girls don't know enough to run engines,"
+was the reply.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm not a girl," protested Marian, "I'm a
+fireman."</p>
+
+<p>"Then tend to your job, why don't you?"
+was the retort. "I wouldn't ring the bell for
+my fireman if I didn't think he was a good
+one. Come, coal up, tend to business."</p>
+
+<p>Somewhat flattered, the fireman smiled,
+shoveled coal until his arms ached, and then
+rebelled. "I say," she declared, "you've got
+to let me be engineer now! I won't be fireman
+another minute!"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, you won't?" taunted the engineer.
+"We'll see about that! Of course you needn't
+shovel coal for me if you don't want to, but you
+had better make up your mind pretty quick, because
+if you won't be my fireman, I'll go and
+tell my sister Amelia that you steal sugar!"</p>
+
+<p>Marian was too stunned for words until
+Robert laughed. Then her face grew scarlet,
+and her eyes had a look in them the boy had
+never seen before.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"You dare not tell!" she screamed, leaning
+towards Robert, anger and defiance in every
+line of her slight figure. "I say you dare
+not!"</p>
+
+<p>"I wonder why?" sniffed the boy.</p>
+
+<p>"You know why; you told me to take the
+sugar, and I got it for you and I never tasted
+a bit of it. You were such an old pig you
+wouldn't give me back a crumb&mdash;old rhinoceros&mdash;hippopotamus&mdash;I'd
+call you an elephant
+too, only elephants are so much nicer'n
+you."</p>
+
+<p>Again the boy laughed. "You hooked the
+sugar, didn't you?" he demanded.</p>
+
+<p>"What if I did, didn't I do it 'cause you
+told me to, and didn't you eat it, you old
+gorilla?"</p>
+
+<p>"What if I did, Miss Marian Spitfire? I'll
+say it's one of your lies, and no one will believe
+what you say. You know you can't look
+my sister in the face and tell her you didn't
+take the sugar, but I can stand up and cross
+my heart and hope to die if I ever saw any
+sugar, and they'll believe me and they won't
+believe you. Now will you shovel coal?<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</a></span>
+Toot-toot-toot&mdash;chew-chew-chew&mdash;ding-a-ling-a-ling&mdash;engine's
+going to start! Ha, ha, ha!"</p>
+
+<p>"You mean thing, you horrid boy! I hate
+you!" sputtered Marian, but she shoveled
+coal. In fact the child shoveled coal the rest
+of the spring whenever Robert chose to play
+engine, until the day his taunts proved too
+much and she kicked his engine to pieces,
+threatening to "give it to him," if he didn't
+keep out of the way.</p>
+
+<p>"Now tell," she screamed from the midst
+of the wreck, "tell anything you're a mind
+to, I don't care what you do."</p>
+
+<p>Robert walked away whistling "Yankee
+Doodle." "I'm tired of playing engine," he
+called over his shoulder, "and I'm much
+obliged to you for saving me the trouble of
+taking it to pieces. I don't wonder nobody
+likes you. My sister Amelia knows what
+she's talking about when she says you've got
+the worst temper ever was! I bet you'll die
+in prison&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"You'll die before you get to prison if you
+don't get out of my sight," was the retort.</p>
+
+<p>Robert walked away so fast Marian was cer<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</a></span>tain
+he was going to tell about the sugar and
+she waited, defiantly at first, then tremblingly.
+What would become of her? What would
+they do? For reasons best known to himself,
+Robert didn't mention sugar, and after a few
+days of suspense, Marian breathed easier, although
+she wasn't thoroughly comfortable until
+Robert and his mother were on their way
+home.</p>
+
+<p>A few weeks later Aunt Amelia made a jar
+of cookies for Ella's birthday party. She
+made them herself and put them on a low
+shelf in the pantry. Marian asked for a cookie
+and was refused. She didn't expect to get it.
+The more she thought of the cookies, the more
+she wanted one. She remembered the sugar.
+No one but Robert knew about that sugar, and
+if she helped herself to a cooky that would be
+her own secret. Marian took a cooky and ate
+it back of the orchard. Her old friends, the
+chipping sparrows, flew down for the crumbs
+that fell at her feet. The little birds were surprised
+when Marian frightened them away.
+She had been so kind to them they had lost
+all fear of her.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>The second cooky Marian took she ate in
+the locust grove where she was much annoyed
+by the curiosity of a chipmunk. He asked
+her questions with his head on one side and
+his hand on his heart. His chatter made her
+angry. What was it to him if she happened
+to be eating a cooky? She did wish folks
+would mind their own business. From that
+day, Marian grew reckless. She carried away
+cookies two or three at a time and talked back
+to the birds and the squirrels and all the inhabitants
+of the orchard and the locust grove
+who were not polite enough to hide their inquisitiveness.</p>
+
+<p>For once in her life, Marian had all the
+cookies she wished, although they agreed with
+neither her stomach nor her conscience. She
+didn't feel well and she was cross and unhappy.
+At last Marian knew that the day
+of reckoning was near at hand. She could
+almost touch the bottom of the cooky jar
+when she realized that the cookies had been
+made for Ella's party and had not been used
+upon the table. No one had lifted the cover
+of the jar but herself since the day they were<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</a></span>
+baked. It was a frightful thought. There
+was no more peace for Marian. Awake or
+dreaming, the cookies were ever before her.
+In school and at home they haunted her.
+What should she do, what could she do?</p>
+
+<p>Quietly the child went about the house.
+She no longer sang nor laughed. Uncle
+George wondered, Aunt Amelia rejoiced. She
+thought Marian's usual high spirits unbecoming
+a child dependent upon charity, as Marian
+had often heard her remark.</p>
+
+<p>"She may be working too hard in school,"
+suggested Uncle George.</p>
+
+<p>"Whatever is the cause she has behaved so
+well lately, I shall allow her in the sitting-room
+with the children when Ella has her
+party," conceded Aunt Amelia.</p>
+
+<p>Even a shadow of kindness touched Marian's
+heart. Oh, why had she done wrong? From
+the depths of her soul, the child repented.
+Why had she been called bad in the days
+when she tried to be good, and at last when
+she was so bad, why would Aunt Amelia declare
+that there was a great improvement in
+her behavior, and why would Uncle George<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</a></span>
+speak to her almost as pleasantly as he did to
+Ella? If only she had remembered the words
+of Mrs. Moore before it was too late; to "Be
+good and to do right." Mrs. Moore also said,
+"Be brave." It would be brave to go to Aunt
+Amelia and tell her the truth about the cookies.
+Marian had not been good, she had not
+done right and she could not be brave.</p>
+
+<p>Many and many a time the child studied
+the grim face of Aunt Amelia, repeating over
+and over to herself "Be brave." It seemed
+to Marian that if she attempted telling Aunt
+Amelia of her sin, she would die on the spot,
+choke to death, perhaps, trying to get the
+words out. Her throat closed tight together
+at the very thought. It might, under some
+circumstances, be possible to tell Uncle George,
+although to confess was to be forever an outcast.
+Neither Uncle George nor Aunt Amelia
+would ever love her, nor would she ever be
+allowed to play with Ella. All the golden
+texts Marian had ever learned, haunted her
+memory. "The way of the transgressor is
+hard." "Be sure your sin will find you out."
+"Enter not into the path of the wicked."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span>
+"Evil pursueth sinners." There were many
+others, so many, the child was sorry she had
+ever gone to Sunday-school.</p>
+
+<p>The day of the party was bright and beautiful.
+All the little girls came who were invited,
+Ruth Higgins, Dorothy Avery and
+Dolly Russel among the number. Marian
+went into the sitting-room with drooping
+head and misery in her soul, until joining in
+the games and merriment, she forgot the
+cookies and had a good time. Not a thought
+of trouble disturbed her pleasure even though
+she heard Lala setting the table in the dining-room.</p>
+
+<p>Her conscience awoke only when Aunt
+Amelia appeared to summon her into the
+kitchen. Every bit of color left the child's
+face. She could hear nothing clearly because
+of the ringing in her ears. As she followed
+Aunt Amelia through the dining-room the
+floor seemed rising up at every step and the
+candles on the birthday cake danced before her
+eyes. On the table in the kitchen was the
+empty cooky jar, the eloquent witness of her
+guilt. On a rosebud plate beside it were less<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</a></span>
+than a dozen cookies. Marian gazed stupidly
+at the jar and at the plate of cookies.</p>
+
+<p>"What have you to say for yourself, Marian
+Lee?" Aunt Amelia's voice sounded far
+away. There were such lumps in Marian's
+throat she couldn't speak.</p>
+
+<p>"Answer me," commanded Aunt Amelia,
+"what have you to say?"</p>
+
+<p>Marian's tongue felt paralyzed. Perhaps it
+was unwilling to do its owner's bidding. It
+was certainly hard for that truthful little
+tongue to say the one word "Nothing." Aunt
+Amelia's face was terrible. "Do you mean
+to tell me that you haven't touched those
+cookies?"</p>
+
+<p>There was no retreat. Marian nodded her
+head.</p>
+
+<p>"Speak!" continued Aunt Amelia, "say
+yes or no? Do you dare to tell me that you
+didn't take the cookies?"</p>
+
+<p>It was all Marian did dare to do and her
+reply was "Yes."</p>
+
+<p>Aunt Amelia raised a long forefinger as
+she said, "Don't stand there and lie, Marian
+Lee, you took those cookies."</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"I did not." Lala grew pale when she
+heard that answer and saw the terrified eyes
+of the child.</p>
+
+<p>"Own up," she whispered as she passed
+the trembling sinner on her way to the dining-room.</p>
+
+<p>Marian looked beseechingly at Aunt Amelia,
+but her face was hard and pitiless. The child
+dared not "Be brave." "I did not touch the
+cookies," she repeated again and again.</p>
+
+<p>"How do you account for the disappearance
+of a whole jar of cookies, Marian, if you
+didn't eat them?" asked Uncle George upon
+his arrival.</p>
+
+<p>Marian had not thought of accounting for
+the loss of the cookies, but she took a deep
+breath and made a suggestion. "I s'pose a
+hungry tramp took 'em."</p>
+
+<p>The reply wasn't satisfactory. Uncle George
+frowned and Aunt Amelia smiled. The smile
+wasn't the kind she was in the habit of bestowing
+upon Ella. It was the sort that
+froze the blood in Marian's veins. She sank
+in a miserable little heap upon the floor and
+cried and cried.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Reform school is the place for children
+who steal and lie," said Aunt Amelia.</p>
+
+<p>Uncle George tried to make the child confess,
+but his efforts were vain. She would
+not. Threats were powerless. The more
+frightened Marian became the more vehemently
+she denied her guilt. Although it
+was Ella's birthday, and shouts of laughter
+could be heard from the sitting-room, Aunt
+Amelia produced a certain strap Marian was
+familiar with through past experience.
+"Spare the rod, spoil the child," was Mrs.
+St. Claire's favorite motto so far as her husband's
+small relative was concerned.</p>
+
+<p>"You can whip me till I die," sobbed
+Marian when she saw the strap, "but I can't
+say I took the cookies, because I didn't. How
+can I say I did, when I didn't?" Nor could
+Aunt Amelia nor Uncle George compel the
+child to say anything different.</p>
+
+<p>"You can whip me till I die," she insisted
+over and over, "but I can't say I took
+those cookies," and they finally believed
+her.</p>
+
+<p>"Go to bed," commanded Aunt Amelia. "I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</a></span>
+don't want to see a child who could die easier
+than she could tell the truth. Go!"</p>
+
+<p>A smothered sob caught Marian's ear.
+Lala was crying; and because Lala cried and
+was soon after found in Marian's room trying
+to quiet her, she was sent away the next day.
+Tilly was her successor. Before she had been
+in the house a week, she openly befriended
+Marian. "Poor little thing," she said, "if
+you had stolen a barrel of cookies from a
+baker you wouldn't have deserved half of the
+punishment you get. There isn't anything
+left they can do to you, is there?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, they can send me to the reform
+school," was the reply, "and, oh, dear, I'm
+afraid to go. What will become of me?"</p>
+
+<p>"If I were you," Tilly advised, "and I
+took the cookies, I would own up. They
+can't any more than kill you and I guess
+they'll do that anyway."</p>
+
+<p>Marian shook her head. The time to own
+up was long passed. She stayed in her room
+and ate bread and water a week without protest.
+On Sunday afternoon she listened to
+the story of Ananias and Sapphira with teet<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</a></span>h
+and fists tightly closed. She heard long
+speeches on the fearful consequences of stealing
+and lying, without a word. Only when
+questioned would she say in low spiritless
+tones, "I did not touch the cookies."</p>
+
+<p>When it was all over, and Aunt Amelia
+and Uncle George gave up trying to wring a
+confession from her and the child was simply
+in disgrace, her own conscience began its
+work. It gave her no peace. Marian had
+said her prayers every night as Mrs. Moore
+had taught her when she was a baby; but she
+had repeated them quickly with her back
+turned towards heaven and had made no
+mention of cookies. At last, troubled by her
+conscience, and not knowing where to turn
+for comfort, Marian knelt by her bedside one
+night and tried an experiment.</p>
+
+<p>"O Lord," she began, "I am not going to
+lie to you about the cookies. Thou knowest
+I took them. That is why I haven't said any
+made up prayers for so long. I knew Thou
+knewest how wicked I am and I know what
+the Bible says about lying lips. I am afraid
+of Aunt Amelia or I would own up. She<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</a></span>
+says I won't go to heaven when I die because
+I am too bad to live there. Now, O Lord, I
+know I could be good in heaven, but it has
+been hard work on earth, and after I took the
+cookies I got wickeder and wickeder, but
+honest and truth I'll never do anything wrong
+again and I'll never tell another lie. Thou
+knowest I could be good in heaven. Please,
+O Lord, forgive me and take me straight up
+to heaven when I die. Amen."</p>
+
+<p>That prayer didn't help Marian a bit. She
+could scarcely get off her knees when she had
+said "Amen." Her head seemed bowed down
+beneath a weight of cookies.</p>
+
+<p>"You know what you must do," insisted
+her conscience, "you must go to your Uncle
+George and your Aunt Amelia first, first, I say."</p>
+
+<p>"But I can't do that, and I'm so unhappy,"
+sobbed Marian, but her conscience was pitiless.
+It would allow no compromise. "Oh, if I
+could see Nanna," whispered Marian as she
+crept into bed. No one had ever kissed her
+good-night but once since she had left the
+Home, and now, no one ever would again.
+The Father in heaven had turned away His<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</a></span>
+face. Marian cried herself to sleep as she had
+many a night before.</p>
+
+<p>In the middle of the night she awoke and
+sat up in bed, cold and trembling. Thunder
+was rolling through the sky and an occasional
+flash of lightning made the little room bright
+one minute and inky black the next. Perhaps
+the end of the world was coming when
+the graves would give up their dead and the
+terrible Judge would descend to deal with the
+wicked. A crash of thunder shook the house.
+Marian dived beneath the blankets, but a horrible
+thought caused her to sit bolt upright
+again. Aunt Amelia had told her that sinners,
+on the last day, would call for the rocks
+and mountains to fall upon them. Perhaps
+hiding beneath blankets meant the same thing.
+Another crash came and a blinding flash
+of lightning. Then another and another.
+Springing from her bed, Marian ran down
+the hall to Mrs. St. Claire's room. The
+door was closed but the room was lighted.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, let me come in," she cried, knocking
+frantically at the door and keeping her eye
+upon the crack of light at the bottom.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>The response was immediate. Aunt Amelia
+stepped into the hall and closed the door behind
+her. "Go back to your room," she said,
+"and don't you dare leave it again. I should
+think you would expect the lightning to
+strike you!"</p>
+
+<p>Marian shrank back as a flash of lightning
+illumined the hall. For one moment she
+saw Aunt Amelia, tall and terrible in her
+white night-dress, her voice more fearful than
+the thunder, and her form seeming to stretch
+upward and upward, growing thinner and thinner
+until it vanished in the awful darkness.</p>
+
+<p>Marian fled, closing the door of her little
+room and placing a chair against it. Kneeling
+by the window, she closed her eyes to
+shut out glimpses of the unnatural garden below
+and the angry sky above. The thought
+of sudden death filled her with terror. What
+would become of her soul if she died with her
+sins unconfessed? "Dear Father in heaven,"
+she cried, "if you have to kill me with lightning,
+forgive me and take me to heaven.
+I'll be good there. I'll never steal anything
+there nor ever lie again. I was going to own<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</a></span>
+up to Aunt Amelia, but O Lord, I was so
+afraid of her I didn't dare. If you'll let me
+live through this night, I'll go and tell her in
+the morning and then I'll never do wrong
+again. O Lord, I'm so sorry, and I'm awful
+afraid of lightning. I don't want to die by
+it, but if I have to, please take me up to
+heaven. Amen."</p>
+
+<p>Then Marian went back to bed. Her conscience
+didn't say a word that time and she
+went to sleep before the storm was over, long
+before Ella was quieted or ever Aunt Amelia
+closed her eyes.</p>
+
+<p>Marian's first waking thought when she
+looked out on the fresh brightness of another
+day was one of thankfulness. It was good to
+be alive. Another second and she groaned.
+Perhaps she would have been dead but for
+that midnight promise, the promise she must
+keep. Marian dressed quickly and sought
+Aunt Amelia before she lost courage. She
+wasn't gone long. Back she flew to the little
+room where her prayer was short although
+her sobs were long.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, Lord, I couldn't, I just couldn't."</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>There were many thunder-storms that
+summer and for a while every one of
+them frightened Marian. In the night,
+she would resolve to confess, but daylight
+took away her courage. "If I should be
+sick a long time," Marian argued, "perhaps
+then Aunt Amelia would like me some and
+just before I died I could shut my eyes and
+tell her about the cookies. Then God would
+surely forgive me and I would go straight up
+to heaven and it would be all right. But if
+I should die suddenly, before I had any time
+to say any last words, what would become of
+me?" she asked herself. After thinking of it
+some time, Marian hit upon a plan that
+brought her peace of mind. She wrote the
+following confession:</p>
+
+<p>"Nobody knows how much I have suffered
+on account of some cookies. I used to like
+cookies but not now. It began by sugar. I
+took lumps of sugar out of a barrel for a boy.
+I thought if I could take sugar I could take
+cookies, too, and I did, but I said I didn't.
+I did take the cookies. I hope my folks will
+forgive me now I am dead. I suffered awful<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</a></span>
+before I died on account of cookies. Give
+my wax doll and all my things to Ella. The
+doll is good if I wasn't. I tried but it is hard
+for some children on earth. I am awful sorry
+on account of being so much trouble to everybody.
+I took those cookies. Marian Lee."</p>
+
+<p>Having folded this paper, Marian was happier
+than she had been for weeks. She felt
+that she had saved her soul.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XII" id="CHAPTER_XII"></a>CHAPTER XII</h2>
+
+<p class="c">MARIAN'S DIARY</p>
+
+
+<p>"<span class="smcap">June</span> 20.&mdash;It is hard to begin a diary.
+You don't know what to say first. Bernice
+Jones says a diary is a book to put the weather
+in. She ought to know on account of her
+grandmother keeping one. Leonore Whiting,
+the girl that sits behind me and wears the
+prettiest ribbons in school, says a diary is to
+put your feelings in. Leonore thinks she
+ought to know because her sister is a poetry
+writer.</p>
+
+<p>"When I asked Uncle George for an empty
+diary and what you write in it, he laughed
+and said he would give me all the paper I
+wanted to write things in and I had better
+put down everything. He said it would be a
+good thing for me to write more and talk less,
+so I guess I will have the fullest diary of any
+of the Diary Club. That's our name. Maud
+Brown was the one that got up the name.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</a></span>
+She says everybody belongs to a Club. Her
+mother does and her father and her brothers
+too. Maud says she has got to be in a Club
+or she never will be happy. She is only going
+to keep weather because she doesn't like to
+write. Leonore and a lot of the other girls
+are just going to keep a few feelings, but I am
+going to write down weather and feelings and
+everything.</p>
+
+<p>"The weather is all right to-day.</p>
+
+<p>"It is too bad about vacation. It is almost
+here and then I won't have anybody to play
+with. Uncle George says he never saw a little
+girl like to go to school as well as I do. It
+really isn't school I like to go to, it is recesses.
+I guess he had some other boys to play with
+when he was little or he would know. I
+would like to play with Dolly Russel but my
+aunt never will let me go over there and she
+tells Dolly's mother 'No,' about everything
+she wants me to do. She did let Ella go, only
+they don't invite Ella any more. I wonder if
+she talked too much, or broke anything, or
+why? Lala works over there now, but my
+aunt told me not to talk to Lala so I don't dare.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"I found out something to-day at school.
+The children that live in houses don't all go
+to bed in the dark. I cried and cried when I
+first had to go to bed in the dark because
+where I used to live, we didn't have to. I
+wish I could sit up late at night.</p>
+
+<p>"Another thing about a diary is how nice it
+will be for your grandchildren to know what
+you used to think about and what you used
+to do. I can hardly believe that I am the
+grandmother of my own grandchildren, but
+of course it is so.</p>
+
+<p>"June 21.&mdash;We took our diaries to school.
+I had the most written of anybody, but I
+don't think it is nice to read your diary out
+loud because they ask questions. The girls
+wanted to know where I used to live and I
+wanted to tell them but I didn't dare to, and
+now I wonder about things. Louise Fisher
+said that Dolly Russel's mother told her
+mother that my aunt is not good to me, and
+a good many more things, and they are all
+sorry for me and they say it is too bad I can't
+have pretty clothes like Ella. I didn't say
+much because I don't want everybody in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</a></span>
+school to know how bad I am and that nobody
+can love me, and about the cookies. I
+guess I would die if they knew it all. Their
+mothers wouldn't let them play with me at
+recess.</p>
+
+<p>"I wish I had a white dress to wear the
+last day of school when I sing a song alone
+and speak my piece. I don't like to sing and
+speak pieces because I am afraid. I am not
+going to take my diary to school any more.</p>
+
+<p>"June 22.&mdash;I don't know what to think.
+I heard some more things about me at school
+to-day. Folks wonder who I am and where I
+came from, and Louise Fisher says she knows
+Uncle George is not my own uncle and if she
+was me she would run away. I can't run
+away because I don't know where to run to
+and I am afraid. Ella knows things about
+me and if she ever gets a chance I guess she
+will tell me, but her mother won't let her
+speak to me if she can help it. I guess her
+mother doesn't know how hard I try to set
+Ella a good example of being polite and not
+slamming doors and speak when you're spoken
+to, and children should be seen and not heard,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</a></span>
+and if you behave as well as you look you'll
+be all right.</p>
+
+<p>"I know it was bad about the cookies, but
+Ella never can do a cooky sin because her
+mother always says to her, 'Help yourself,
+darling,' and that's different. Besides that,
+Ella thinks a tramp did take the cookies. I
+will tell her some time because she cried and
+was sorry I had so much trouble. Then she
+will never speak to me again, but it is better
+to tell the truth than to do any other way.
+When I think I am going to die, sure, then I
+will tell my aunt if it kills me.</p>
+
+<p>"I wonder if Uncle George is my uncle or
+what?</p>
+
+<p>"June 23.&mdash;It was the last day of school
+to-day. I sung my song and spoke my piece
+and Dolly Russel's mother kissed me. I wish
+she was my mother. I wish I had a mother.
+I am glad she kissed me. Aunt Amelia
+wasn't there. Ella cried because she couldn't
+go. It didn't rain. You don't think about
+weather when it is nice.</p>
+
+<p>"September 5.&mdash;The queerest thing happened.
+I thought I would be the one that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</a></span>
+would write the most in my diary this summer,
+but I wasn't, and good reason why. It
+was just a little after daylight the day after
+the last day of school, that Aunt Amelia came
+and called me and told me to get dressed
+quick, and she gave me all clean clothes to
+put on and I was frightened. I said what had
+I done and she said I had done enough. I
+was scared worse than ever. She told me to
+go down in the kitchen and I would find
+some breakfast ready. I thought I couldn't
+eat, everything was so queer and early, but I
+did, and then I had to put on my hat and
+Uncle George said, 'Are you ready?' I said
+where am I going, is it reform school, and
+Aunt Amelia said it ought to be, and then I
+got in a carriage with Uncle George and the
+driver put a little new trunk on behind and
+we drove to the depot.</p>
+
+<p>"It was awful early and the grass and the
+trees looked queer and the birds were singing
+like everything. Uncle George told me to
+cheer up, I was going to a nice place where I
+would have a good time, and he told me to
+write to him every week and he would write<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</a></span>
+to me. He said I mustn't tell the folks where
+I was going that I was ever bad. He said he
+thought I was a pretty good little girl, and
+when he put me on the train and told the
+conductor where I was going and to take care
+of me, because I was his little girl, I put my
+arms around his neck and kissed him good-bye.
+He is a good man. I hope he is my
+uncle, but I don't know.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, I had a nice time in that village
+where I went and Uncle George came after
+me yesterday. I was glad to see him, but I
+didn't want to come home. I wanted to stay
+and go to the country school, but he said that
+my grandchildren would want their grandmother
+to know something.</p>
+
+<p>"Then he told me he found my diary and
+that he put it away where nobody could see it
+until I got back. He said he thought he had
+better tell me to keep my diary out of sight,
+because that was the style among diary-writing
+folks. So I will hide my diary now.
+I wonder if he read it. Anyway, I know
+Aunt Amelia didn't get a chance, because he
+told me most particular about how he found<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</a></span>
+it first thing and put it where it wouldn't get
+dusty. He says he is my Uncle George. I
+was afraid maybe I was just adopted for a
+niece, and I am not sure yet. He didn't say
+he wasn't my adopted Uncle George, and
+maybe he thought I was his brother's little
+girl when I wasn't. The folks I stayed with
+told Uncle George I am a lovely child. He
+didn't look surprised, only glad.</p>
+
+<p>"September 6.&mdash;All the girls had new
+dresses at school. I am in the fourth grade
+this term. I am in fractions and on the map
+of South America. We played London Bridge
+and King William at recess.</p>
+
+<p>"September 7.&mdash;Too many things to play
+after school. Can't write. Aunt Amelia
+makes me get straight to bed after I come to
+my room at night. It doesn't seem like
+night, though. I don't like to go to bed in
+the afternoon very well, but after all, I am
+glad it doesn't get dark early. I go to sleep
+in the daytime and wake up in the daytime
+and the birds are always singing.</p>
+
+<p>"September 8.&mdash;Nothing happened in school
+to-day. It rains and I can't go out in the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</a></span>
+orchard. I was going to play 'Landing of
+the Pilgrims,' but I guess I will write in my
+diary. Where I was this summer they had a
+library, not a big one like the one down-stairs,
+but the shelves were low so I could
+reach the books, and the folks let me read all
+I wanted to. I was pretty glad of it, rainy
+days and Sundays.</p>
+
+<p>"The book I liked best was full of stories
+about the Norsemen. They gave me the book
+to keep. I take it way up in the top of my
+favorite apple-tree and read and read. Sometimes
+I play I'm Odin and sometimes I am
+Thor. I am not so afraid of thunder since I
+read about Thor. When it thunders and lightens
+I play I am an old Norseman and that I
+really believe Thor is pounding with his big
+hammer and that he is scaring the bad frost
+giants. I am glad Aunt Amelia says she
+never read Norse stories. If she had, she
+would call me Loki, so there's somebody that's
+bad she can't say I am.</p>
+
+<p>"What I like best is to sit in the top of the
+apple-tree and shut the book and think about
+the Rainbow Bridge that stretched from earth<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</a></span>
+to heaven. Every one couldn't cross, but if
+my father and my mother were on the other
+side of the shining bridge, I would look
+straight towards them and I wouldn't look
+down and my mother would hold out her
+arms and I wouldn't be afraid. May be the
+Rainbow Bridge is wide. I am sure it is
+when I stop to think, because the gods used
+to drive over it when they came to visit the
+earth. Perhaps they would let me cross if
+they saw me coming because it was only the
+bad giants they tried to keep out of heaven.
+Oh, dear, I guess I am a bad giant myself,
+even if I am little, because the book says,
+'The giants in old Norse times were not easy
+to conquer: but generally it was when they
+hid themselves behind lies and appeared to be
+what they were not that they succeeded for a
+time.' I hid myself behind lies.</p>
+
+<p>"September 9.&mdash;One sure thing, I will always
+tell the truth as long as I live. I didn't
+come straight home from school to-night. A
+lot of us girls went in the old cemetery and
+read what's on the tombstones, and I didn't
+get home early. I tried to get through the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</a></span>
+gate when my aunt wasn't looking, but that
+would have been what you call good luck.
+She took me in and said, 'Where have you
+been?' I said, 'In the graveyard.' She said,
+'Why didn't you stay there?' I didn't know
+what to answer so I kept still. Then my aunt
+said, 'You can't go out to play,' and that was
+all. So I am always going to tell the truth
+and feel comfortable inside, no matter what
+happens. I was more afraid of how I would
+feel when it was time to say my prayers if I
+told a lie, than I was of my aunt.</p>
+
+<p>"September 10.&mdash;I didn't get home early
+to-night because I walked around the pond
+with Louise Fisher and Maud Brown. I
+owned up when I got home. I am not going
+to write down what happened, but it was
+worse than just being sent to your room. I
+don't want my little grandchildren to read
+about it. I am coming straight home next
+Monday night.</p>
+
+<p>"September 11.&mdash;Aunt Amelia says I act
+worse all the time. I don't know what I did
+that was bad to-day, but I got scolded all the
+time.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"September 12.&mdash;Went to church and Sunday-school
+and the boys made fun of my
+shoes. They couldn't make me cry. I should
+think I would get used to being made fun of
+because I have to wear a sunbonnet to school
+and all the other little girls wear hats. I wear
+my sunbonnet as far as my aunt can see and
+then I take it off and swing it by the strings.
+She would be angry if she knew. I would almost
+rather be baldheaded than wear a sunbonnet
+when all the other girls wear hats. I
+wish I could have pretty shoes for Sundays,
+but I won't let the boys know I care.</p>
+
+<p>"September 13.&mdash;I came straight home to-night.
+I wish school began at daylight and
+didn't let out till dark, there is so much
+trouble at home. Uncle George says it is all
+on account of me.</p>
+
+<p>"September 14.&mdash;I came straight home and
+got scolded.</p>
+
+<p>"September 15.&mdash;Got scolded again.</p>
+
+<p>"September 16.&mdash;Got scolded some more.</p>
+
+<p>"September 17.&mdash;Got put to bed without
+any supper on account of sitting down by the
+side of the pond to watch a frog. It was a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</a></span>
+funny frog and when I had to go to bed, I
+went to sleep thinking about it. When it was
+almost dark Uncle George came and woke me
+up to give me something to eat. He didn't
+scold. I am writing this the next morning
+for yesterday.</p>
+
+<p>"September 18.&mdash;It was a beautiful Saturday.
+My aunt had company and I played out
+in the orchard all day long. Ella and my
+aunt and the company went to drive in the
+afternoon so there wasn't anybody to scold me.
+I saw the mole to-day. He came out and
+walked around a little. I guess he knew my
+aunt was gone. Everything was happy in the
+orchard. I watched a caterpillar a long time.
+He went so fast he made me laugh. I guess
+he was going home from school and wanted to
+get there in time.</p>
+
+<p>"September 19.&mdash;This is Sunday. Uncle
+George called me in the parlor to sing for the
+company and some other folks that came.
+Aunt Amelia played on the piano and when she
+couldn't play any more on account of a cramp
+in her wrist, they told me to sing without any
+music and I did. The company wiped away<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</a></span>
+some tears, and she said I could sing just the
+way my father did when he was a little boy,
+and then she took me in her lap and said she
+thought I looked like my mother. I was going
+to ask some questions, but my aunt said
+not to talk about some things, and then the
+company said it was going to rain, she guessed,
+and would I sing another song. I did and
+then my aunt sent me to my room, cross. I
+mean she was cross. I felt pretty bad at first
+but I got over it.</p>
+
+<p>"September 20.&mdash;Ella says there is a picture
+of my father in the album, and she will show
+it to me first chance she gets.</p>
+
+<p>"September 21.&mdash;My aunt was away when
+I got home from school so Ella said, 'Now's
+your chance,' and we went into the parlor and
+she showed me the picture. I smiled back at
+the face because it smiled at me. My father is
+pleasant and kind.</p>
+
+<p>"September 22.&mdash;I went in the parlor and
+looked at the picture again. I was afraid my
+aunt would come in and find me.</p>
+
+<p>"September 23.&mdash;It happened to-day. I
+was looking at the picture and my aunt came<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</a></span>
+in still and caught me. She said dreadful
+things, and I cried and I don't know what I
+did, but she said I was saucy and she didn't
+know what to do with me. Uncle George
+heard the noise and came in and he scolded,
+too. I never saw him so cross. I almost
+thought he was angry with Aunt Amelia, but
+of course that was not so. At last he took my
+father's picture out of the album and gave it
+to me, and told me to keep it, and he told me
+not to go in my aunt's parlor because she
+didn't want me there. I knew that before, because
+I wanted to take lessons on the piano
+same as Ella, and she wouldn't let me.</p>
+
+<p>"I am so glad I have my father's picture.
+It is like having folks of your own to
+have a picture of somebody that was yours.
+I haven't missed a single question in
+school on the map of South America. I
+guess that is one map I can't forget. I wish
+I knew where my father went in South
+America. I don't dare ask Uncle George.
+He says I am the trial of his life, and he
+doesn't see why I don't behave like other
+children.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"October 1.&mdash;I am getting so I don't care
+what happens to me. I don't come straight
+home from school any more. I always think
+I will until I get started home, and then I
+dread to come because nobody loves me and I
+will get scoldings and things anyway, so I stop
+and look at toads and frogs and have a good
+time before I get home, and sometimes nothing
+happens. My aunt says I tell things, but
+I don't. What would I tell for? I don't
+even write sad things in my diary because I
+don't want to make my grandchildren cry. It
+would make me feel pretty bad if I found out
+that nobody loved my grandmother.</p>
+
+<p>"October 2.&mdash;Had a lovely time playing
+Pocahontas in the grove.</p>
+
+<p>"October 3.&mdash;I tried to count the stars last
+night, but I couldn't. I wonder why we don't
+fall off the earth when China's on top?
+Aunt Amelia says I ought to know better than
+to ask her questions. I do.</p>
+
+<p>"October 20.&mdash;I listened to what the minister
+said to-day. It was about heaven. I've
+got to try to be awful good on earth so I can
+surely go there. Then I guess somebody will<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</a></span>
+love me and when I walk in through one of
+the pearly gates, the angels won't look cross.</p>
+
+<p>"October 21.&mdash;You get tired of keeping
+your diary. I am going to write a book.
+Its name will be 'The Little Daughter of
+Thor.' I guess Thor never had a little girl,
+but I am going to write it in a book that he
+did, and one day when the little girl was a
+baby and she was playing with the golden apples,
+she fell right through the sky on to the
+earth. Then I am going to write about how
+the little girl watched for the Rainbow Bridge.
+She was a little stray child on earth, and even
+the giants were kind to her. Of course Thor's
+little daughter would know enough to know
+that the only way home was over the blue and
+golden Rainbow Bridge that she couldn't see
+only sometimes.</p>
+
+<p>"At the end of the story, Thor himself will
+find the little girl and will take her in his
+chariot across the Rainbow Bridge to the
+shining bright city in the clouds where her
+mother will hug her pretty near to pieces.
+Maybe when I get the book done, I will
+write another about what Thor's little daugh<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</a></span>ter
+did when she got home. About the songs
+she used to sing with her mother, and the
+flowers they used to pick and about everything
+that is happiness. It will be nicer to
+do than keeping an old diary about real
+things.</p>
+
+<p>"The nicest looking man's picture I ever
+saw is my father, so I am going to have him
+for Thor. My father looks kind and smiling,
+but he looks, too, as if he would know how to
+use Thor's big hammer if the bad giants tried
+to cross the Rainbow Bridge. I think it is
+queer that I like the god of thunder so well
+that I will let him have my father's face in my
+book.</p>
+
+<p>"October 22.&mdash;I am going to put some last
+words in my diary, just to say that it is a
+good thing to write a book. Something
+dreadful happened after school to-night. I
+felt dreadful, nobody knows. I got over it
+though, and then because I had to stay in
+my room and have dry bread and water for
+my supper, I started my book and it was lots
+of fun. It is the best thing there is to do
+when you want to forget you are a little girl<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</a></span>
+that nobody loves. If I live here until I am
+an old lady I presume I will turn into an
+author.</p>
+
+<p>"If it wasn't for the orchard and the locust
+grove and the way home from school, and
+recesses and my doll and my books, and the
+birds and the wild flowers and the lovely
+blue sky I can see from my window this
+minute, and a good many other things, I
+would wish I had died when I was a baby.
+That makes me laugh. It is a nice world to
+live in after all. A beautiful world."</p>
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIII" id="CHAPTER_XIII"></a>CHAPTER XIII</h2>
+
+<p class="c">DIPHTHERIA</p>
+
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Early</span> in the winter, diphtheria broke out
+in the schools. Marian said little about it at
+home, fearing she might not be allowed to go,
+though the daily paper told the whole story.
+Why the schools were not closed was a question
+even in the long ago days when Marian
+was a child. Uncle George was indignant,
+but influenced by his wife's arguments, he
+allowed Marian to have her way. Mrs. St.
+Claire said Marian was better off in school
+than at home, and in no more danger of
+catching diphtheria than she would be hanging
+over the fence talking to passing children.
+Marian didn't tell her Uncle George that she
+was never allowed to speak to passing children.
+He might have kept her home.</p>
+
+<p>Weeks passed and many little ones died.
+The schoolroom became a solemn place to
+Marian. It seemed strange to look at empty<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</a></span>
+seats and know that the ones who used to sit
+in them would never come to school again.
+Even the boys were quieter than ever before.
+There were no longer paper wads flying the
+minute the teacher's back was turned, perhaps
+because the chief mischief maker's curly
+head was missing. He was Tommy Jewel,
+and he made things lively at the beginning
+of the term.</p>
+
+<p>Marian felt that it was something to have
+known so many girls and boys who died. At
+recess in the basement she used to ask children
+from the other rooms how many of
+their number were missing. Marian felt so
+well and full of life it never entered her head
+that she might be taken ill herself, and the
+thought of death was impossible, although
+she often closed her eyes and folded her
+hands, trying to imagine her school-days
+were over.</p>
+
+<p>At home the children met but seldom after
+the outbreak of diphtheria. Marian ate her
+breakfast alone and Ella had hers when the
+little cousin had gone to school. It was
+easily possible for Mrs. St. Claire to keep the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</a></span>
+children entirely separate. To guard Ella
+from all danger of contagion was her daily
+care and the smell of burning sulphur was
+ever present in the house.</p>
+
+<p>One morning Marian's throat was sore and
+she felt ill. The child dressed quickly and
+went down to tell Uncle George. Tilly the
+maid was at her home on a short visit, and
+Uncle George was building the kitchen
+fire.</p>
+
+<p>"I've got the diphtheria," announced
+Marian, and there was terror in her face.</p>
+
+<p>"Let me look in your throat," said Uncle
+George. "Why it looks all right, Marian,
+just a little red."</p>
+
+<p>"I don't care, I feel sick all over," insisted
+the child, "and I tell you now and then, I
+know I've got it."</p>
+
+<p>When Aunt Amelia was called she said
+Marian imagined that her throat was sore and
+as Marian ate breakfast, she was sent to
+school. The child went away crying. She
+didn't swing her little dinner pail around
+and around that morning just to show that
+she could do it and keep the cover on. Uncle<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</a></span>
+George was inclined to call her back, but
+Aunt Amelia laughed at him.</p>
+
+<p>"Any child," argued Mrs. St. Claire, "that
+could eat the breakfast she did, isn't at death's
+door, now you mark my words. She has let
+her imagination run away with her. Our
+darling Ella is far more apt to have diphtheria
+than that child. She would be willing to
+have the disease to get a little sympathy."</p>
+
+<p>Marian felt better out in the fresh air and
+as she met Ellen Day soon after leaving home,
+the way to school seemed short. The chief
+ambition of Marian's school life was to sit on
+a back seat, yet from the beginning, it had
+been her lot to belong to the front row. The
+teachers had a way of putting her there and
+Marian knew the reason. It wasn't because
+she was the smallest child in the room, although
+that was the truth. Tommy Jewel
+used to sit on a front seat, too, and once
+Marian had to share the platform with him.
+The teacher said they were a good pair and
+the other children laughed. Possibly the
+memory of Tommy's mischievous face caused
+the teacher to notice how quiet Marian was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</a></span>
+the morning her throat was sore. The child
+sat with her elbows on her desk, her face in
+her hands, staring solemnly into space.</p>
+
+<p>"Are you ill, Marian?" asked the teacher.</p>
+
+<p>"No, Miss Beck," the child answered, recalling
+her aunt's remarks.</p>
+
+<p>At last, conscious of pathetic eyes following
+her about the room and having heard of Aunt
+Amelia, the teacher again questioned Marian.
+"What is the trouble, little girl? Is there
+anything you would like to do? Would you
+like to write on the blackboard?"</p>
+
+<p>Marian's face lighted. "I wish I could sit
+in that empty back seat all day," she eagerly
+suggested.</p>
+
+<p>The teacher smiled. "You may pack your
+books, Marian, and sit there until I miss you
+so much I shall need you down here again."</p>
+
+<p>Marian knew what that meant. "I'll be
+awful good," she promised. "I mean, I'll be
+ever so good."</p>
+
+<p>So Marian sat in a back seat that last day
+and in spite of her sore throat and headache,
+she was happy. It was triumph to sit in a
+back seat. She was glad the children looked<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</a></span>
+around and smiled. They might get bad marks
+for turning their heads, to be sure, but what
+of it? At recess Marian walked across the
+schoolroom once or twice, then returned
+to her seat. At noon she refused to go to
+the basement with the children to eat her
+luncheon. In fact, she couldn't eat. Marian
+wondered why time seemed so long.</p>
+
+<p>When the history class was called to the
+recitation seat early in the afternoon, one
+little girl was motionless when the signals
+were given.</p>
+
+<p>"Marian Lee's asleep," volunteered the
+child who sat in front of her.</p>
+
+<p>At that, Marian raised her head and stumbled
+to her class.</p>
+
+<p>"Don't you feel well?" asked the teacher.</p>
+
+<p>Marian shook her head. Her cheeks were
+crimson. She had never felt so wretched.</p>
+
+<p>"Don't you think you had better go
+home?" continued Miss Beck.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, no," answered the child in tones of
+alarm. "Oh, she wouldn't let me come home
+before school is out."</p>
+
+<p>"There, there, don't cry," begged the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</a></span>
+teacher. "You may go back to your seat if
+you wish."</p>
+
+<p>Marian did so and was soon asleep again.
+At recess she awoke to find herself alone in
+the room with Miss Beck.</p>
+
+<p>"You had better go home, dear," the teacher
+urged. "I am sure you are ill. Let me help
+you put on your coat and hood."</p>
+
+<p>"I can't go home until school is out," and
+Marian began to cry.</p>
+
+<p>"Why not?"</p>
+
+<p>"Because on account of my aunt. She
+wouldn't let me come home."</p>
+
+<p>"But you are ill, Marian."</p>
+
+<p>"She won't let me be sick," was the sobbing
+reply, "and I don't dare go home. You don't
+know my aunt. I guess I feel better. I want
+to go where it isn't so hot."</p>
+
+<p>The teacher was young and hopeful. "Perhaps
+you will feel better if you go out to
+play," was her reply.</p>
+
+<p>Instead of going out of doors, Marian went
+into the basement and joined in a game of
+blind man's buff. Only a few minutes and
+she fell upon the floor in a dead faint. When<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</a></span>
+the child opened her eyes she found herself
+the centre of attraction. The basement was
+quiet as though the command had been given
+to "Form lines." A strange teacher was
+holding Marian and Miss Beck was bathing
+her face with a damp handkerchief. Her
+playmates stood about in little groups, whispering
+the dread word "Diphtheria." Miss
+Beck came to her senses and ordered the children
+into the fresh air. How to send Marian
+home was the next question. The child listened
+to the various suggestions and then,
+struggling to her feet declared that she would
+walk home alone. She couldn't imagine what
+her aunt might say if she did anything else.</p>
+
+<p>The child had her way. Through the gate
+and down the road she went alone. The journey
+was long and the wind was cold. The
+little feet were never so weary as that December
+day. It seemed to Marian that she
+could never reach home. Finally she passed
+the church. Seven more houses after that,
+then a turn to the right and two more houses.
+If she dared sit down on the edge of the sidewalk
+and rest by the way, but that wouldn't<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</a></span>
+do. "I could never stir again," she thought
+and plodded on.</p>
+
+<p>At last she reached her own gate and saw
+Ella at the window. Would Aunt Amelia
+scold? It would be good to get in where it
+was warm, anyway. Oh, if Aunt Amelia
+would open the front door and say, "Come in
+this way, Marian," but she didn't and the
+child stumbled along a few more steps to the
+back entrance. She was feeling her way
+through the house when Aunt Amelia stopped
+her in the dining-room.</p>
+
+<p>"Don't come any further," said she. "I
+have callers in the parlor. What are you
+home in the middle of the afternoon for?"</p>
+
+<p>"I've got the diphtheria," the child replied,
+and her voice was thick.</p>
+
+<p>Aunt Amelia made no reply but returned
+immediately through the sitting-room to the
+parlor.</p>
+
+<p>"I guess she knows I'm sick now," Marian
+whispered as she sank into a chair by the
+table and pushed her dinner pail back to make
+room for her aching head. The callers left.
+Marian heard the front door open and close.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</a></span>
+Then Aunt Amelia hastily entered the dining-room,
+threw a quantity of sulphur upon
+the stove and went back, closing the door behind
+her. Another door closed and Marian
+knew that her aunt was in the parlor with
+Ella.</p>
+
+<p>The child choked and strangled and called
+to her aunt. She tried to walk and couldn't
+stand. The fumes of burning sulphur grew
+stronger and stronger. The air was blue.
+Marian became terrified as no one replied to
+her calls, but in time a merciful feeling of rest
+and quiet stole over her and her head fell forward
+upon the table.</p>
+
+<p>For a long time she knew nothing. Then
+came dreams and visions. Part of the time
+Marian recalled that she was home from school
+early and that she had not taken off her hood
+and coat. Again she wondered where she was
+and why it was so still. Then came an awful
+dread of death. Where was everybody and
+what would become of her? The thought of
+death aroused Marian as nothing else had
+done. Would she be left to die alone? She
+remembered that some of her schoolmates<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</a></span>
+were ill with diphtheria but a few hours before
+the end came. Where was Aunt Amelia?
+Had she gone away from the house? Marian
+could not lift her head and when she tried to
+call her aunt her voice was a smothered whisper.
+What she suffered before her uncle came
+was a story long untold. Things happened
+when Uncle George walked into the house.
+He aired the room and there was wrath in his
+voice as he demanded explanations.</p>
+
+<p>"Have patience a minute more, little girl,
+and it will be all right," he said to Marian, as
+he brought a cot into the room and quickly
+made a bed. Then he undressed her, put her
+in bed and grabbed his hat.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, don't leave me," begged Marian,
+"please don't, Uncle George, I'm awful sick
+and I'm afraid when I'm alone."</p>
+
+<p>"I'm going for the doctor," was the reply;
+"lie still and trust Uncle George."</p>
+
+<p>The man was gone but a moment and soon
+after he returned, the doctor came. It was
+no easy matter to look in Marian's throat. It
+needed more than the handle of a spoon to
+hold down the poor little tongue.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Am I going to die right off?" demanded
+the child. "Oh, if I can only live I'll be so
+good. I'll never do anything bad again. Tell
+me quick, have I got to die to-night?"</p>
+
+<p>For a time it seemed useless to try to quiet
+the little girl. "Oh, I'm afraid to die," she
+moaned, "I don't dare to die. Aunt Amelia
+says I won't go to heaven and I'm afraid. I
+don't want to tell what she does say. Oh,
+Uncle George, don't let me die. Tell the doctor
+you want me to get well. Tell him I'll
+be good."</p>
+
+<p>Uncle George sat down and covered his
+face with his hands when Marian told him
+she couldn't hear what he said, that it was
+dark and she wanted more light so she could
+see his face that she might know if he was
+angry. Then she called for Aunt Amelia,
+and Aunt Amelia would not come; she was
+afraid of the diphtheria.</p>
+
+<p>"But if I'm going to die, I've got to tell
+her," cried the child, clutching at the air, and
+it was some time before Uncle George understood.</p>
+
+<p>"Child, child, don't speak of cookies," he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</a></span>
+begged, "that was all right long ago;" but
+the assurance fell upon unheeding ears.</p>
+
+<p>The nurse came and went up-stairs to prepare
+a room for Marian. The woman's appearance
+convinced the child that there was
+no hope&mdash;she was surely going to die. Uncle
+George groaned as he listened to her ravings.</p>
+
+<p>At last the doctor put down his medicine
+case and drew a chair close beside the cot.
+He was a big man with a face that little children
+trusted. He took both of Marian's small,
+burning hands in one of his and told her she
+must look at him and listen to what he had
+to tell her. Uncle George moved uneasily.
+He thought the doctor was about to explain
+to Marian that unless she kept more quiet,
+nothing would save her, she would have to
+die. The man was surprised when he heard
+what the kind physician said. He talked to
+Marian of the friend of little children and of
+the beautiful home beyond the skies. Nor
+would he allow her to interrupt, but patiently
+and quietly told her over and over that the
+One who took little children up in His arms
+and blessed them, didn't ask whether they<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</a></span>
+were good or bad. He loved them all. The
+sins of little children were surely forgiven.</p>
+
+<p>The troubled brain of the child grasped the
+meaning at last. There was nothing to fear.
+She closed her eyes and was quiet for a few
+moments. When she began to talk again, it
+was of summer mornings and apple-blossoms,
+of the wild birds and the chipmunk that lived
+in the locust grove. Many days passed before
+Marian realized anything more: then she
+knew that Uncle George took care of her
+nights and the nurse came every morning.</p>
+
+<p>"Where is my aunt?" asked the child.
+"Doesn't she come up here?"</p>
+
+<p>"Your aunt and little cousin," replied the
+nurse, "stay by themselves in the front part
+of the house down-stairs. They are afraid of
+the diphtheria."</p>
+
+<p>Marian stared at the wall. She was glad to
+know there was no danger that Aunt Amelia
+might walk in, but somehow it seemed better
+not to tell the nurse.</p>
+
+<p>"Am I going to die?" she asked.</p>
+
+<p>The question came so suddenly the nurse<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</a></span>
+was taken by surprise. "Why&mdash;why we hope
+not," was the reply.</p>
+
+<p>Something in the tones of the woman's
+voice impressed the truth upon Marian's mind.
+She was far more likely to die than to live.
+"I only wanted to know," she remarked,
+"I'm not afraid any more. I only hope I
+won't be a grown up angel the first thing. I
+should like to be a little girl with a mother
+and live in one of the many mansions for a
+while, like other children. I'd pick flowers in
+the front yard."</p>
+
+<p>Soon after, the child fell asleep. When she
+awoke she was delirious, talking continually
+about the Rainbow Bridge. The doctor came,
+but it was hours before the Rainbow Bridge
+faded away and Marian was quiet. That was
+the day the little pilgrim seemed near the
+journey's end. Until sunset, Uncle George
+watched each fluttering breath. In the silent
+room below, Ella wept bitterly and Aunt
+Amelia waited to hear that the little soul was
+gone. She waited calmly, declaring that she
+had done her duty by the child up-stairs.</p>
+
+<p>Marian lived. A few weeks more and Aunt<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</a></span>
+Amelia heard her ringing laugh and knew
+that she was happy. At last Marian was well
+enough to leave her room but it was days and
+days after the house was fumigated before she
+was allowed to see Ella or sit at the table with
+the family. Everything seemed changed.
+The rooms were brighter and more cheerful.
+The pictures on the walls had a different
+meaning. The very chairs looked new.
+Nothing appeared just as Marian left it.
+Even Aunt Amelia was better looking and
+spoke more kindly to the child. Nothing was
+ever the same after Marian had diphtheria.
+She never returned to the little back room
+where she was away from all the family at
+night, nor did she ever again doubt that Uncle
+George was her own uncle.</p>
+
+<p>Many bright days crowded one upon another
+during the remaining weeks of winter.
+The neighbors invited Marian to their homes
+and took her driving with them. Dolly
+Russel's mother gave a house party for her, inviting
+little girls from the country for a week
+in town. That was the time Marian was so
+happy she almost believed herself a princess<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</a></span>
+in a fairy tale. When she was home again,
+the child added a line to her diary.</p>
+
+<p>"February 29.&mdash;I had diphtheria this
+winter and it was a good thing. I got well
+and now I am having the best time that ever
+was written down in a diary. I have changed
+my mind about being an author. I won't
+have time to write books. There is too much
+fun in the world."</p>
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIV" id="CHAPTER_XIV"></a>CHAPTER XIV</h2>
+
+<p class="c">MUSICAL CONVERSATIONS</p>
+
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Once</span> in a great while Marian and Ella had
+a chance to play together. These rare occasions
+were times of joy.</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. St. Claire usually took Ella with her
+wherever she went, but sometimes she was
+compelled to leave the child at home with her
+father or Tilly, and there was merriment in
+the house. The little cousins had gay times
+and their only regret was that such hours of
+happiness were few. At last Marian thought
+of a plan. Her new room was opposite Ella's.
+As Aunt Amelia insisted upon sending Marian
+to bed at seven, Uncle George declared that
+early hours were necessary for Ella's welfare.
+Accordingly, both children went to their
+rooms at the same time with instructions not
+to talk. No one cautioned them not to sing
+and singing was one of Marian's habits. After
+listening to the solos a few nights, Ella tried<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</a></span>
+a song of her own and that gave Marian an
+idea. She listened until Ella stopped for
+breath and then expressed a few thoughts to
+the tune of "Home, Sweet Home."</p>
+
+<div class="poem-container">
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"O-oh, I know what will be great fun</span><br />
+<span class="i0">And I'll tell you what it is,</span><br />
+<span class="i0">We will play go to gay old concerts,</span><br />
+<span class="i0">And take our children too.</span><br />
+</div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"First the other lady</span><br />
+<span class="i0">Can sing a good long song,</span><br />
+<span class="i0">And then it will be my turn next,</span><br />
+<span class="i0">And I'll sing a song myself.</span><br />
+</div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Fun fu-un-fun, fun-fun,</span><br />
+<span class="i0">I guess it will be fun-fun,</span><br />
+<span class="i0">I guess it will be fun."</span><br />
+</div>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p>It was fun. The other lady took the hint
+quickly. She and her children went to
+the concert without waiting to get ready.
+Furthermore she left herself sitting beside her
+children in the best seat in the hall and at the
+same time took her place on the stage. She
+even went so far as to become a colored man
+while she sang</p>
+
+<div class="poem-container">
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Way down upon the Suwanee River."</span><br />
+</div>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Ella's mother came up-stairs for something
+as the gentleman was rendering this selection
+with deep feeling, but she had no idea that
+her little daughter was singing on the stage,
+nor did she know that the greatest soprano in
+America was the next performer, although she
+did hear Marian begin in tragic tones,
+"'There is a happy land, far, far away.'"
+"Far, far away" was tremulous with emotion.</p>
+
+<p>From that hour dated many a concert, and
+after the concerts, the ladies continued to sing
+everything they had wished to talk over during
+the day. Often the musical conversations
+were cut short by an admonition from the
+hall below, but even Tilly never learned the
+nature of those evening songs. As the children
+disturbed nobody and were put to bed
+long before they were sleepy, Uncle George
+said, "Let them sing." In this way Marian
+and Ella became well acquainted.</p>
+
+<p>One night Marian asked Ella if she knew
+anything about how she happened to be taken
+to the Little Pilgrim's Home when she was a
+baby.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="poem-container">
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+
+<span class="i0">"No-o-o," replied Ella in shrill soprano,</span><br />
+<span class="i0">"They won't tell-ell me-e a thing now-ow days</span><br />
+<span class="i0">But a long time ago-go</span><br />
+<span class="i0">They used to talk about everything</span><br />
+<span class="i0">Right before me-e, only the trouble is-s,</span><br />
+<span class="i0">I was such a little goo-oose</span><br />
+<span class="i0">I didn't think much about it."</span><br />
+</div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Do you know anything about my mother-other-other?"</span><br />
+<span class="i0">Chanted the musician across the hall.</span><br />
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"No-o-o," was the response,</span><br />
+<span class="i0">"I only know-o that my mother-other</span><br />
+<span class="i0">Didn't know your mother-other, ever in her li-ife,</span><br />
+<span class="i0">But I do-oo remember-ember that the folks at that Ho-o-me</span><br />
+<span class="i0">Had some things that used to belong-long</span><br />
+<span class="i0">To your mother-other.</span><br />
+<span class="i0">And they are packed away-way somewhere in the house.</span><br />
+<span class="i0">I guess they are in the attic-attic,</span><br />
+<span class="i0">But of course I don't know-o.</span><br />
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Once I saw-aw a picture of your mother-other</span><br />
+<span class="i0">But I don't remember-ember</span><br />
+<span class="i0">What she looked like, looked like-looked like.</span><br />
+<span class="i0">Don't you wi-ish your mother wasn't dead?</span><br />
+<span class="i0">If you had a mother-other</span><br />
+<span class="i0">I could go to your hou-ouse</span><br />
+<span class="i0">And your mother-other</span><br />
+<span class="i0">Would let us play together-ether."</span><br />
+</div>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</a></span><br />
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Yes, yes, she would," Marian's voice chimed in,</span><br />
+<span class="i0">"She would let us play-ay</span><br />
+<span class="i0">All the day-ay.</span><br />
+<span class="i0">And sometimes I thi-ink my mother is ali-ive,</span><br />
+<span class="i0">And if she is, won't I be gla-ad.</span><br />
+<span class="i0">If I do find my mother-other</span><br />
+<span class="i0">And I go to live with her-er,</span><br />
+<span class="i0">Why, may be your mother-other will die-i</span><br />
+<span class="i0">And then you can come and live with u-us</span><br />
+<span class="i0">And won't that be gay-ay.</span><br />
+<span class="i0">You never know what's going to happen in this world."</span><br />
+</div>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p>"What kind of a song are you singing?"
+called Aunt Amelia.</p>
+
+<p>"Opera house music," replied Marian, who
+feared that concerts were over for the season
+when she heard the question.</p>
+
+<p>"I thought," responded Aunt Amelia,
+"that a lunatic asylum was turned loose.
+Don't let me hear another sound to-night."</p>
+
+<p>The musicians laughed softly, and there
+were no more solos that evening.</p>
+
+<p>The following day Ella and Aunt Amelia
+went visiting and in the middle of the forenoon,
+when Tilly was busily working in the
+kitchen, Marian climbed the attic stairs with
+determination in her eye. An old portrait of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</a></span>
+George Washington on the wall at the landing
+seemed to question her motives. "Don't
+worry, Mr. Washington," remarked the child,
+"I'm not going to tell a lie, but sir, I'm looking
+for my mother and I'm going to find her
+if she's here." Marian gazed steadily at the
+face in the old oaken frame, and meeting with
+no disapproval there, passed on, leaving the
+Father of her Country to guard the stairway.</p>
+
+<p>There were numerous trunks, boxes, barrels
+and an old sea-chest in the attic. Marian
+hesitated a moment before deciding to try the
+yellow chest. Her knees shook as she lifted
+the cover. At first she was disappointed;
+there seemed to be nothing but blankets in
+the chest. Then a bit of blue silk peeping
+from beneath the blankets caught her eye and
+Marian knew she was searching in the right
+place. From the depths of the chest she drew
+forth a bundle, unfolded it and beheld a beautiful
+gown of pale blue silk, trimmed with
+exquisite lace. Tears filled her eyes as she
+touched the shimmering wonder. She had
+never seen anything like it.</p>
+
+<p>"This was my mother's," she whispered, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</a></span>
+kissed the round neck as she held the waist
+close in her arms. "She wore it once, my
+mother." Marian would gladly have looked
+at the dress longer but time was precious and
+there was much to see. Embroidered gowns
+of purest white, bright sashes and ribbons
+were there, and many another dainty belonging
+of the woman whose name was never
+mentioned in the presence of her child. In a
+carved ivory box, were jewels. Marian closed
+it quickly, attracted by a bundle at the bottom
+of the chest. She had found it at last. The
+picture of her mother. It was in an oval
+frame, wrapped in a shawl of white wool.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, if I had her, if she could only come
+to me," cried Marian, as the lovely face became
+her own. Though the child might
+never again see the picture, yet would it be
+ever before her.</p>
+
+<p>When she dared stay in the attic no longer,
+Marian kissed the picture, wrapped it in the
+white shawl and laid it tenderly away. As
+she did so she noticed for the first time a
+folded newspaper on the bottom of the chest.
+Inside the paper was a small photograph.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</a></span>
+Marian tiptoed to the attic stairs and listened
+a moment before she looked at the photograph.
+Then she uttered a low exclamation
+of delight. There was no doubt that the face
+in the oval frame was her mother's, for the
+small picture was a photograph of Marian's
+father and a beautiful woman. "It's the same
+head," whispered the child, "and oh, how
+pretty she is. I am so glad she is my mother!</p>
+
+<p>"I wonder what they saved an old newspaper
+so carefully for?" continued Marian.
+"Maybe I had better look at it. What does
+this mean? 'Claimed by Relatives,' who was
+claimed, I wonder? Oh! I was! Now I'll
+find out all I want to know because, only see
+how much it tells!"</p>
+
+<p>Marian laid the photograph down and read
+the article from beginning to end. She didn't
+see George Washington when she passed him
+on the landing on the way down-stairs and
+for the rest of the day the child was so quiet
+every one in the house marveled. There were
+no concerts that evening. The leading soprano
+had too much on her mind. The following
+morning Marian sharpened her lead<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</a></span>
+pencil and opened her diary. After looking
+for a moment at the white page she closed the
+book.</p>
+
+<p>"No use writing down what you are sure to
+remember," she remarked, "and besides that,
+it is all too sad and finished. I am going outdoors
+and have some fun." Marian was in the
+back yard watching a cricket, when Ella sauntered
+down the path singing, "Good-morning,
+Merry Sunshine."</p>
+
+<p>"Where are you going, sweetheart?" called
+her mother from the kitchen window.</p>
+
+<p>"Just down here by the fence to get some
+myrtle leaves," Ella replied and went on singing.</p>
+
+<p>Marian bent over the cricket nor did she
+look up although Ella gave her surprising information
+as she passed.</p>
+
+<div class="poem-container">
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+
+<span class="i0">"If I were you, Miss Marian Lee,</span><br />
+<span class="i0">I'll tell you what I'd do,</span><br />
+<span class="i0">I'd pack my doll and everything I wanted to take with me,</span><br />
+<span class="i0">Because in the very early morning,</span><br />
+<span class="i0">You're surely going away</span><br />
+<span class="i0">To a country town where you will stay</span><br />
+<span class="i0">Until school begins again.</span><br />
+</div>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</a></span><br />
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"I knew they were going to send you somewhere,</span><br />
+<span class="i0">But I didn't know just when,</span><br />
+<span class="i0">Until I just now heard my father and mother</span><br />
+<span class="i0">Both talking all about it.</span><br />
+<span class="i0">I know you'll have a pretty good time,</span><br />
+<span class="i0">I wish I were going too,</span><br />
+<span class="i0">But maybe you'll find some girls to play with,</span><br />
+<span class="i0">I'm sure I hope you do."</span><br />
+</div>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p>Marian smiled but dared not reply, especially
+as the singer broke down and laughed
+and Aunt Amelia knew there were no funny
+lines in "Good-morning, Merry Sunshine."</p>
+
+<p>The hint was enough. Marian straightened
+her affairs for a journey and a long absence
+from home.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XV" id="CHAPTER_XV"></a>CHAPTER XV</h2>
+
+<p class="c">LITTLE SISTER TO THE DANDELION</p>
+
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Marian</span> asked no questions the following
+morning until she was on her way to the station
+with Uncle George. "Where am I going?"
+she finally ventured.</p>
+
+<p>"Where you passed the summer last
+year," was the reply. "How does that suit
+you?"</p>
+
+<p>"Suit me," repeated Marian, "nothing ever
+suited me better. I'm pretty glad I'm going
+there. Why didn't you send me back to
+school, Uncle George? School won't be out
+for two months. I'm glad you didn't, but
+why?"</p>
+
+<p>"Well, sis, you told me you wanted to go
+to the country school."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, but&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Now's your chance," interrupted the man,
+"learn all you can and try to do some one<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</a></span>
+thing better than any one else in school, will
+you?"</p>
+
+<p>"Well, but Uncle George, big boys and big
+girls go to country schools."</p>
+
+<p>"What of it, Marian? You do some one
+thing better than any one else in school, and
+when you come home this fall you may
+choose any book you wish at the book store,
+and I will buy it for you."</p>
+
+<p>"But, Uncle George, how will you know
+whether I really do something better than
+any one else or not?"</p>
+
+<p>"I'll take your word for it, Marian."</p>
+
+<p>"My word is true," the child remarked
+with dignity.</p>
+
+<p>"No doubt about it," added Uncle George,
+turning away to hide a smile.</p>
+
+<p>Just as the train pulled into the station,
+Marian caught a glimpse of a small blue butter-fly.
+It fluttered away out of sight as Uncle
+George said "good-bye." "Oh, I hate to
+leave that butter-fly," exclaimed Marian, and
+those were the last words Uncle George heard
+as he left her. The passengers smiled, but
+Uncle George looked thoughtful. There was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</a></span>
+so much to be seen from the car windows and
+so many folks to wonder about within the
+car, the journey seemed short.</p>
+
+<p>Two young ladies welcomed Marian at the
+train, hugging and kissing her the minute
+the small feet touched the platform. "I
+guess folks will think you're some relation to
+me," laughed the child.</p>
+
+<p>"So we are," replied Miss Ruth Golding.
+"We are your cousins."</p>
+
+<p>"Certainly," agreed Miss Kate, "your
+Uncle George knew us when we were little
+girls, so of course we are your cousins."</p>
+
+<p>"Of course!" echoed Marian, "and I
+know my summer of happiness has begun
+this day in April."</p>
+
+<p>"Your troubles have begun, you mean,"
+warned Miss Ruth; "the school-teacher
+boards with us and you'll have to toe the
+mark."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, goody!" exclaimed Marian. "I can
+walk to school with her."</p>
+
+<p>"You won't say 'goody' when you see the
+lady," predicted Miss Kate. "She's as sober
+as a judge, very quiet, and keeps to herself."</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"What's the matter with her?" asked
+Marian.</p>
+
+<p>"She's lived in the city all her life and
+eaten books," explained Ruth. "She eats
+them, Marian, covers, binding, pictures and
+everything. Too bad, but maybe you'll get
+used to it. Here is mother coming to meet
+you, and here comes Carlo."</p>
+
+<p>Marian ran ahead to throw her arms
+around Mrs. Golding's neck. "I am so glad
+they sent me back to you," she cried. "I
+didn't say anything about it to my aunt
+because she would have sent me somewhere
+else. It doesn't do to let her know when
+you're too happy. She isn't a bit like you,
+not a bit."</p>
+
+<p>"No, I think not," was the response.
+"You see, dear, your neighbor, Mrs. Russel,
+is one of my old friends, and she has told
+me so much about your aunt I feel as if I
+know her. I am sure we are not alike."</p>
+
+<p>"Why, I should say not!" laughed Marian.
+"Why she's as thin as&mdash;as knitting
+needles, and you're as plump as new pin
+cushions. Won't we have fun this summer,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</a></span>
+though? Well, Carlo, old fellow. Didn't
+forget Marian, did he? Nice old doggie."</p>
+
+<p>"Down, sir!" Mrs. Golding commanded.
+"He is so glad to see you, Marian, he can't
+express his feelings without trying to knock
+you over."</p>
+
+<p>"I wish Uncle George owned a dog," commented
+Marian; "there'd always be some one
+glad to see you when you got home. I like
+dogs. Does the teacher come home at noon,
+Mrs. Golding?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, sometimes we don't see her until
+supper time. She won't be such jolly company
+for you as my girls. She's too quiet."</p>
+
+<p>"Is she cross, Mrs. Golding?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, oh, no indeed."</p>
+
+<p>"Then I shall like her," was the quick
+reply.</p>
+
+<p>There were callers in the late afternoon, so
+Marian wandered out alone. She had gone
+but a short distance down the lane when she
+saw dandelions ahead. She gathered a handful
+of the short-stemmed blooms and walked
+on. In the distance she heard a bluebird
+singing. Marian ran to find it and was re<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</a></span>warded
+by a flash of glorious blue as the bird
+sought a tree across the river. Marian followed
+it as far as she could, being obliged to
+stop at the river's bank. As she stood gazing
+after the bird, she was startled by a woman's
+voice.</p>
+
+<p>"What have you in your hand, little girl?"</p>
+
+<p>Turning, Marian saw a young lady sitting
+on a log near by. "Just dandelions," the
+child replied, and would have hidden the
+bunch behind her if the young lady had not
+forbidden it.</p>
+
+<p>"We all love dandelions, little girl," she
+said; "come and show them to me."</p>
+
+<p>Marian wonderingly obeyed.</p>
+
+<p>"Did you ever look at a dandelion through
+a microscope?" continued the young lady.</p>
+
+<p>"No, I never did."</p>
+
+<p>The stranger passed Marian a microscope
+and asked her to tell what she saw.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, I never knew a dandelion was like
+this," said Marian; "why there are a thousand
+little blossoms in it all crowded together,
+and they are the goldenest golden ever was!
+Oh, oh, oh! Wasn't it lucky you were here<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</a></span>
+so I could see through your microscope?
+What if I had never seen that dandelion!"</p>
+
+<p>"Would you like to borrow the microscope
+often?" asked the young lady, smiling so
+pleasantly Marian straightway decided that
+she was pretty.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, I should say yes, Miss&mdash;Miss&mdash;you
+see I don't know what your name is?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, that's so, I am Miss Smith, Miss Virginia
+Smith. Who are you?"</p>
+
+<p>"My name," was the reply, "is Marian Lee,
+but who I am I don't really know."</p>
+
+<p>Miss Smith repressed her curiosity, believing
+that Marian was the little girl the Goldings
+were to meet that day.</p>
+
+<p>"It's everything to have a name," said she.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, but I'd like some relatives," Marian
+explained, "some real sisters and cousins and
+aunts of my own."</p>
+
+<p>"Why don't you do as Hiawatha did?"
+Miss Smith suggested.</p>
+
+<p>"You mean play all the birds and squirrels
+are my brothers and sisters? I think I will.
+I'll be little sister to the dandelion."</p>
+
+<p>Miss Smith laughed with Marian. "I'll do<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</a></span>
+the same thing," said she, "and if we are sisters
+to the dandelion, you must be my little
+sister and I'm your big sister and all the wild
+flowers belong to our family."</p>
+
+<p>"It's a game," agreed Marian. "I suppose
+little Indian children picked dandelions in
+the spring-time before Columbus discovered
+America."</p>
+
+<p>"There were no dandelions then to pick,"
+Miss Smith remonstrated. "The plant was
+brought here by white men. Its name is
+from the French, meaning lion's tooth."</p>
+
+<p>"I don't see anything about a dandelion
+to mean lion's tooth," objected Marian; "do
+you?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, I don't, Marian, nor does any one
+know exactly how it came by its name. Some
+believe it was given to the plant because its
+root is so white; then again, in the old days
+lions were pictured with teeth yellow as dandelion
+blossoms. The explanation I like best is
+that the dandelion was named after the lion
+because the lion is the animal that used to
+represent the sun, and all flowers named after
+him are flowers of the sun."</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Do you know anything more about dandelions?"
+questioned Marian.</p>
+
+<p>"If I don't," said Miss Virginia Smith,
+smiling as she spoke, "it isn't because there
+is nothing more to learn. Did you ever hear
+the dandelion called the shepherd's clock?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, Miss Smith, never. Why should they
+call it that?"</p>
+
+<p>"Because the dandelion is said to open at
+five and close at eight."</p>
+
+<p>"Well!" exclaimed Marian, "I guess you
+could write a composition about dandelions."</p>
+
+<p>"Possibly," was the laughing response.
+"As far as that goes, Marian, there isn't a
+thing that grows that hasn't a history if you
+take the time and trouble to hunt it up."</p>
+
+<p>"Skunk cabbages?" suggested Marian.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, 'skunk cabbages,'" was the reply.
+"What flowers do you suppose are related
+to it?"</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know, unless Jack-in-the-pulpit,
+maybe, is it?"</p>
+
+<p>"That's right, guess again."</p>
+
+<p>"I'll have to give up, Miss Smith. I never<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</a></span>
+saw anything except Jack-in-the-pulpit that
+looks a bit like old skunk cabbage."</p>
+
+<p>"The calla lily, Marian, what do you think
+of that?"</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know, Miss Smith, but such things
+happen, of course, because Winnie Raymond
+has a horrible looking old Uncle Pete, and
+Winnie's awful pretty herself. But how do
+you know so much about plants?"</p>
+
+<p>"By reading and observation, Marian."</p>
+
+<p>"Are there many books about wild flowers,
+Miss Smith?"</p>
+
+<p>"More than we can ever read, little girl.
+Better than that the country around this
+village is a garden of wild flowers. Down by
+the old mill and on the hills, in the fields and
+woods and along the river bank, we shall
+find treasures from now on every time we
+take the shortest walk."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, dear," grumbled Marian, "isn't it too
+bad I've got to go to school?"</p>
+
+<p>"Why don't you like to go to school,
+child?"</p>
+
+<p>"At home I do, on account of recesses. I
+don't like the school part of it much, but<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</a></span>
+here it would be recess all the time if I could
+go in the woods with you, besides having a
+good time with the Golding girls and playing
+all day long where I don't get scolded. Dear!
+I wish I didn't have to go to school, or else I
+wish they'd have lessons about birds and
+flowers and butterflies and little animals, instead
+of old arithmetic. I hate arithmetic."</p>
+
+<p>"Do you?" sympathized Miss Smith.
+"That's too bad, because we all need to understand
+arithmetic."</p>
+
+<p>"I don't," protested Marian. "I don't even
+think arithmetic thoughts."</p>
+
+<p>"Some day, Marian, you will wish you
+understood arithmetic," said Miss Smith.
+"Now if you and I went for a walk and we
+saw ten crows, three song sparrows, five bluebirds,
+seven chipping sparrows and twenty-seven
+robins, and Mrs. Golding asked us
+when we got home how many birds we saw,
+I wonder how you would feel if you couldn't
+add?"</p>
+
+<p>"Well, but don't you see," interrupted
+Marian, "I could add birds, yes and subtract
+and multiply and divide them. That's dif<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</a></span>ferent.
+What I don't like is just figures and
+silly arithmetic things."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, Marian, I may as well tell you now
+that I'm the school-teacher and we'll have
+arithmetic stories about birds and flowers and
+little animals."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, are you the teacher?" exclaimed
+Marian. "I thought she was&mdash;was&mdash;different,
+you know."</p>
+
+<p>"Different, how?"</p>
+
+<p>"Well, they told me the teacher was&mdash;was
+quiet."</p>
+
+<p>"So she is, usually," agreed Miss Smith,
+"but this afternoon she met one of her own
+folks. This little sister to the dandelion."</p>
+
+<p>"Won't we have fun!" was Marian's comment.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVI" id="CHAPTER_XVI"></a>CHAPTER XVI</h2>
+
+<p class="c">PROFESSOR LEE, BOTANIST</p>
+
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Miss Virginia Smith</span> knew how to teach
+arithmetic. Fractions lost their terror for
+Marian, even the mysteries of cube root were
+eagerly anticipated. History became more
+than ever a living story to the child, and geography
+was a never failing joy. On rainy
+days every stream and puddle between Mrs.
+Golding's home and the schoolhouse was
+named, and if several Mississippi Rivers
+emptied into Gulfs of Mexico, and if half a
+dozen Niles overflowed their banks over the
+country road, what difference did it make?
+When the sun shone bright and only dew-drops
+glistened in the shade, Marian saw
+deserts and plains, mountains and volcanoes
+along the dusty way.</p>
+
+<p>For a time the game of geography became
+so absorbing Marian played it at the table,
+forming snowy peaks of mashed potatoes and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</a></span>
+sprinkling salt upon the summits until the
+drifts were so deep, only the valleys below
+were fit to be eaten. Brown gravy was always
+the Missouri River winding its way
+across Marian's plate between banks of vegetables.
+Ice cream meant Mammoth Cave. A
+piece of pie was South Africa from which the
+Cape of Good Hope quickly disappeared.
+However hungry Marian might be, there was
+a time when she ate nothing but continents
+and islands.</p>
+
+<p>Whatever Miss Virginia Smith tried to teach
+the country children, Marian Lee appropriated
+for herself. She listened to all recitations
+whether of the chart class or the big
+boys and girls. Perhaps if Marian had
+attended more strictly to her own lessons, she
+might have made the kind of a record she
+thought would please Uncle George. As it
+was, Jimmie Black "Left off head" in the
+spelling class more times than she did, the first
+month. Belle Newman had higher standings
+in arithmetic and geography, and some one
+carried off all the other honors.</p>
+
+<p>Marian, however, knew something about<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</a></span>
+botany before the end of May, and she
+gloried in the fact that she could name all
+the bones in her body. Mr. Golding was
+proud of her accomplishment and once when
+she went with him to see old Bess newly shod,
+he asked her to name the bones for the blacksmith:
+and the blacksmith thought it wonderful
+that a little girl knew so much. "Yes,
+but that's nothing," remarked the child, "all
+the big boys and girls in the fifth reader class
+know their bones."</p>
+
+<p>"Ain't you in the fifth reader?" asked the
+blacksmith.</p>
+
+<p>"No," was the reply, "I can read the whole
+reader through, but I'm not in that reader
+class. That's the highest class in the country.
+I suppose being in the fifth reader here is like
+being in the high school at home just before
+you graduate. I won't have to learn bones
+when I get up to the high school."</p>
+
+<p>"And still you say that ain't nothing,"
+protested the blacksmith.</p>
+
+<p>Marian shook her head. "I haven't done
+one thing in school better'n anybody else,"
+she said, "and to do something better'n any<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</a></span>body
+else is all that counts. Don't you try to
+be the best blacksmither in the country?"</p>
+
+<p>Old Bess flourished her tail in the blacksmith's
+face and the man spoke to her next instead
+of to Marian. He wasn't the best blacksmith
+and he knew it. Some years afterwards
+when he had won an enviable reputation, he
+told Mr. Golding that the first time he thought
+of trying to do unusually good work was when
+the little Lee girl asked him if he tried to be
+the best blacksmith in the country.</p>
+
+<p>Concerning botany, Miss Smith knew that
+Marian was interested in the wild flowers and
+had told her many a legend of wayside blooms
+when walking with her through the fields and
+across the hills: but she had no idea how much
+the child had learned from listening to the recitations
+of the botany class, until the Saturday
+morning when the wax doll went to school.
+Miss Smith happened to pass the corn-crib unnoticed
+by teacher or pupil.</p>
+
+<p>The doll was propped in an attitude of attention
+among the ears of corn.</p>
+
+<p>"Now, little girl," the instructor was saying,
+"if you ever expect to amount to anything in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</a></span>
+this world, you've got to use your eyes and
+ears. I'm the Professor of Botany your
+mother was reading about last night, who
+knew nothing about botany until she began
+to study it. Next winter when we can't get
+outdoors, I am going to give you lessons on
+seeds and roots and things and stems and leaves.
+The Professor of Botany has got to learn the
+names of the shapes of leaves and how to
+spell them. She really ought to own a book
+but she doesn't, and that can't be helped.
+You're sure to get what you want some time
+though, if you only try hard enough, and the
+Botany Professor will get a book. You just
+wait.</p>
+
+<p>"Don't think, little girl, because we are
+skipping straight over to flowers this morning
+that you are going to get out of learning beginnings.
+We're taking flowers because it is
+summer. Of course you know this is a strawberry
+blossom I hold in my hand. Well, if it
+wasn't for strawberry blossoms you couldn't
+have strawberry shortcake, remember that.
+That's the principal thing about strawberries.
+This little circle of white leaves is called the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</a></span>
+corolla. Now don't get the calyx mixed with
+the corolla as some children do. I tell you it
+makes me feel squirmy to hear some big girls
+recite. You ought to see this flower under a
+microscope. I guess I'll go and ask Professor
+Smith for hers."</p>
+
+<p>Marian turned around so quickly Professor
+Smith was unable to get out of sight. The
+doll's instructor felt pretty foolish for a
+moment, but only for a moment.</p>
+
+<p>"Marian Lee," said Miss Smith, "you shall
+join the botany class next Monday morning
+and I'll give you a book of mine to study."</p>
+
+<p>"What will the big girls say?" gasped
+Marian.</p>
+
+<p>"About as much as your doll in there,"
+laughed Miss Smith, adding seriously, "I
+won't expect too much of you, Marian, but
+you may as well be in the class and learn all
+you can."</p>
+
+<p>On Monday morning, although the big
+girls smiled and the little girls stared, Professor
+Lee became a member of the botany
+class and learned to press the wild flowers.</p>
+
+<p>"I won't have the most perfect lessons of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</a></span>
+anybody in the class," Marian confided to her
+doll, "because the big girls know so much;
+but I'll try and have the best specimens in my
+herbarium. I can do that, I am sure. I have
+just got to do something better than any one
+else in school before I go home."</p>
+
+<p>The following Saturday the doll listened
+with unchanging face to a confession. "Every
+one of the big girls can press specimens better
+than I can. Their violet plants look like
+pictures but mine look like hay. I guess
+Uncle George will be discouraged. I don't do
+anything best. A robin is building a nest
+just outside the window where my seat is in
+school and I forgot to study my spelling lesson.
+Of course I missed half the words. It
+was the robin's fault. She ought to keep
+away from school children."</p>
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVII" id="CHAPTER_XVII"></a>CHAPTER XVII</h2>
+
+<p class="c">THE COMPOSITION ON WILD FLOWERS</p>
+
+
+<p><span class="smcap">All</span> the children in Marian's class were
+writing in their copy-books "Knowledge is
+Power." The pens squeaked and scratched
+and labored across pages lighted by June sunshine.
+The little girls' fingers were sticky and
+boy hands were cramped. It was monotonous
+work. The "K" was hard to make and the
+capital "P" was all flourishes.</p>
+
+<p>Marian sighed, then raised her hand.</p>
+
+<p>"What is it?" asked Miss Smith.</p>
+
+<p>"Will you tell which one of us has the best
+looking page when we get through with
+'Knowledge is Power'?"</p>
+
+<p>Miss Smith consented and Marian, determined
+to conquer, grasped her pen firmly and
+bent to the task. Two days later the page
+was finished and seven copy-books were piled
+upon Miss Smith's desk for inspection. At
+first Miss Smith smiled as she examined the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</a></span>
+various assertions that "Knowledge is Power,"
+then she grew serious.</p>
+
+<p>"Did you try your best, children?" she
+asked, whereupon five girls and two boys
+looked surprised and hurt.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, then, I wonder what is the
+trouble?" continued Miss Smith. "I am
+ashamed of your work, children, it seems as
+if you could do better."</p>
+
+<p>"Which is best?" demanded Marian. It
+made no difference how poor her copy was if
+only it was better than the others. The child
+was sorry she had asked the question when
+she knew the truth. "I think it is pretty
+discouraging," she said, "when you try your
+best and do the worst."</p>
+
+<p>"We will begin something new," Miss
+Smith suggested. "Next week we will write
+compositions on wild flowers and to the one
+who does the neatest looking work, I will give
+the little copy of 'Evangeline' I have been
+reading to you. It will make no difference
+whether the compositions are long or short,
+but the penmanship must be good. Every
+one of you knows the spring flowers for we<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[Pg 194]</a></span>
+have had them here in school and have talked
+about them every day."</p>
+
+<p>"Will we have to write in our copy-books
+just the same?" asked Tommy Perkins.</p>
+
+<p>"No," was the reply; "you may work on
+your compositions all the time we usually
+write in the copy-books, and remember, it
+doesn't make a bit of difference how short
+your compositions are."</p>
+
+<p>That was exactly what Marian did not remember.
+At first she wrote:</p>
+
+<p>"No flower is so pretty as the anemone that
+blooms on the windy hill."</p>
+
+<p>At recess she consulted Miss Smith. "Is
+that long enough?" she asked.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, that will do," was the reply.</p>
+
+<p>"Is it fair if I copy off her composition?"
+asked Tommy Perkins, "and practice writing
+it? I can't make up one."</p>
+
+<p>"That sentence will do as well as any
+other," agreed Miss Smith. "I simply wish
+you to write something you choose to do."</p>
+
+<p>Marian beamed upon Tommy. "I'll copy
+it for you," she said. "I don't really think
+anemones are the prettiest flowers, Tommy,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[Pg 195]</a></span>
+but they are easy to write; no ups or downs
+in the word if the flowers themselves do dance
+like fairies all the day long."</p>
+
+<p>"I wish't you'd write me a composition,"
+put in Frankie Bean.</p>
+
+<p>"I will," assented Marian, "after school
+calls, but now, come on out and play."</p>
+
+<p>After recess, Marian passed Frankie a piece
+of paper upon which was written this:</p>
+
+<p>"Clover loves a sunny home."</p>
+
+<p>"That's easy, Frankie, because 'y' is the
+only letter below the line. You can say sun-kissed
+if you would rather keep it all above
+the line. If I don't get the book, may be you
+will. I hope you won't be disappointed,
+though. I would try if I were you. Something
+may happen to me before next week,
+you never can tell."</p>
+
+<p>Monday and Tuesday Marian wrote compositions
+for the four girls to copy. They were
+more particular than the boys had been and
+their compositions were longer.</p>
+
+<p>By the time Marian was ready to settle
+down to her sentence on the anemone, she was
+tired of it and determined to write something<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[Pg 196]</a></span>
+new. Soon she forgot all about penmanship
+and Friday afternoon found her with a long
+composition to copy in an hour. Even then,
+after the first moment of dismay, she forgot
+that neatness of work alone, would count.</p>
+
+<p>Miss Virginia Smith read the composition
+aloud.</p>
+
+
+<p class="c">"<i>Wild Flowers, by Marian Lee.</i></p>
+
+<p>"When you shut your eyes and think of
+wild flowers, you always want to open them
+and fly to the hills and the woods. You wish
+you had wings like the birds.</p>
+
+<p>"In an old flower legend book that tells
+about things most folks don't know, I found
+out what you were always sure of before you
+knew it. The anemones are fairy blossoms.
+The pink on the petals was painted by the
+fairies and on rainy nights elves hide in the
+dainty blooms.</p>
+
+<p>"Tulips are not wild, but how can I leave
+them out when the fairies used them for
+cradles to rock their babies in.</p>
+
+<p>"Some folks laugh at you when you hunt
+for four-leaved clover, but you can never see<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</a></span>
+the fairies without one nor go to the fairy
+kingdom.</p>
+
+<p>"The old book says, too, that the bluebells
+ring at midnight to call the fairies together.
+I believe it because I have seen bluebells and
+have almost heard the music. I don't believe
+they ever were witches' thimbles.</p>
+
+<p>"You most always get your feet wet when
+you go after marsh marigolds, but it can't be
+helped. They are yellow flowers and live
+where they can hear the frogs all the time.
+I wonder if they ever get tired of frog concerts.
+I never do, only I think it is mournful
+music after the sun goes down. It makes you
+glad you are safe in the house.</p>
+
+<p>"There is one lovely thing about another
+yellow flower. It is the cinquefoil and you
+find it before the violets come if you know
+where to look. On rainy days and in damp
+weather, the green leaves bend over and cover
+the little yellow blossom. The cinquefoil
+plant must be afraid its little darling will
+catch cold.</p>
+
+<p>"If you ever feel cross, the best thing you
+can do is to go out where the wild flowers<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</a></span>
+grow. You will be sure to hear birds sing
+and you may see a rabbit or a squirrel. Anyway,
+you will think thoughts that are not
+cross."</p>
+
+<p>"Evangeline" was given to Tommy Perkins.
+He had practiced writing the anemone
+sentence until his perfectly written words
+astonished Miss Virginia Smith.</p>
+
+<p>"I know my writing isn't good," admitted
+a little girl named Marian. "Only see how
+it goes up-hill and down-hill and how funny
+the letters are."</p>
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVIII" id="CHAPTER_XVIII"></a>CHAPTER XVIII</h2>
+
+<p class="c">MARIAN'S LETTER HOME</p>
+
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Marian's</span> letters to her Uncle George were
+written on Sunday afternoons. She wrote
+pages and pages about Miss Smith and the
+country school and begged him not to come
+for her in August.</p>
+
+<p>"I haven't done anything better than any
+one else in school yet," she wrote, "but I am
+learning all kinds of things and having the
+best time ever was. I want to go to the country
+school until I graduate. I'll be ready for
+college before you know it if you will only
+let me stay.</p>
+
+<p>"I am good all the time because Mrs. Golding
+says so and Miss Ruth and Miss Kate
+take me almost everywhere they go&mdash;when
+they drive to town, circuses and things and I
+have lovely times every day.</p>
+
+<p>"I would tell you who I play with only
+you would forget the names of so many chil<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[Pg 200]</a></span>dren.
+When I can't find any one else I go
+to the mill to see the miller's boy. That isn't
+much fun because the miller's boy is half foolish.
+His clothes are always covered with
+flour and he looks like a little old miller
+himself. He jumps out at you when you
+don't know where he is and says 'Boo!' and
+scares you almost out of your wits, and that
+makes his father laugh. I tried to teach him
+to read but I didn't have good luck. He read
+'I see the cat' out of almanacs and everything.</p>
+
+<p>"The old miser died last night, Uncle
+George, and I saw him in the afternoon.
+Only think of it, I saw a man that died.
+After dinner I went to see the miller's boy
+and he wasn't there. His father said he was
+wandering along the river bank somewhere,
+so I stayed and talked to the miller. Pretty
+soon the boy came back making crazy motions
+with his arms and telling his father the
+old miser wanted to see him quick.</p>
+
+<p>"I went outside and watched the big wheel
+of the mill when the boy and his father went
+away, but it wasn't any time before the boy<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</a></span>
+came back and said the old miser wanted to
+see me. Of course I went as fast as I could
+go, and when I got to the hut, the miller
+asked me if I could say any Bible verses, and
+if I could to say them quick because the old
+miser wanted somebody to read the Bible
+quick&mdash;quick. I thought it was queer, Uncle
+George, but I was glad I had learned so much
+out of the Bible.</p>
+
+<p>"The old miser was all in rags and I guess
+he didn't feel well then, because he was lying
+down on a queer old couch and he didn't
+stir, but I tell you he watched me. I didn't
+want to go in the hut, so I stood in the doorway
+where I could feel the sunshine all
+around me. Some way I thought that wasn't
+any time to ask questions, so I began the
+Twenty-third Psalm right straight off. When
+I got to the end of that I was going to say the
+first fourteen verses of John, but the old miser
+raised one hand and said, 'Again&mdash;again,' but
+before I got any further than 'The valley of
+the shadow,' he went to sleep looking at me
+and I never saw his face so happy. It
+smoothed all out and looked different. Poor<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[Pg 202]</a></span>
+old miser, the boys used to plague him. The
+miller motioned to his boy and me to go away.
+I guess he was afraid Jakey would wake the old
+miser. Of course I knew enough to keep still
+when a tired looking old man dropped to
+sleep.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know just when the old miser
+died, Uncle George, nobody talks about it
+where I can hear a word. Mrs. Golding says
+when I grow up I will be glad that I could
+repeat the Twenty-third Psalm to a poor old
+man who hadn't any friends. She says it
+isn't true that he was a miser, he was just an
+unfortunate old man. I wonder if he was
+anybody's grandfather? You never can tell.</p>
+
+<p>"I am well acquainted with all the folks in
+the village, Uncle George, and lots of times I
+go calling. There are some old folks here
+who never step outside of their houses and
+they are glad to have callers. One old blind
+woman knits all the time. She likes to be
+read to, real well. And there is one woman,
+the shoemaker's wife, that has six children
+that bother her so when she tries to work; she
+says it does her good to see me coming.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[Pg 203]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Only think, Uncle George, how lonesome
+I will be when I get home where I am not
+acquainted. The only sad thing that has
+happened here all summer is that the miser
+died, and of course you know that might be
+worse.</p>
+
+<p>"I would like to be with Miss Smith more
+than I am but she studies almost all the time.
+I don't see what for because she knows everything,
+even about the stars. She likes me a
+great deal but I guess nobody knows it. You
+mustn't have favorites when you are a school-teacher,
+she told me so.</p>
+
+<p>"You don't know how hard it is, Uncle
+George, to do something better than anybody
+else. You might think it would be easy, but
+somebody always gets ahead of you in everything,
+you can't even keep your desk the
+cleanest. Some girls never bring in anything
+from the woods, so of course they can keep
+dusted.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm afraid you'll be disappointed in</p>
+
+<p class="sig">
+"Your loving niece,<br />
+"<span class="smcap">Marian Lee</span>."
+</p>
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[Pg 204]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIX" id="CHAPTER_XIX"></a>CHAPTER XIX</h2>
+
+<p class="c">THE MOST TRUTHFUL CHILD IN SCHOOL</p>
+
+
+<p><span class="smcap">In</span> the early morning the schoolhouse was
+a quiet place, and there Miss Virginia Smith
+went to study. No one knew why she
+worked so hard, though Marian often wondered.
+It was her delight to please Miss
+Smith, and when the teacher waited several
+mornings until a certain mail train passed
+and the letters were distributed, Marian
+offered to stop at the post-office and get the
+mail.</p>
+
+<p>"Are you sure you won't lose anything?"
+asked Miss Smith.</p>
+
+<p>"Sure," promised Marian. "You go to
+school early as you used to do and I'll bring
+your letters when I come."</p>
+
+<p>Usually the postmaster gave Marian something
+to carry to Miss Smith, and all went
+well until a few days before school closed.
+Elizabeth Gray called for Marian that morn<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[Pg 205]</a></span>ing
+and together they went to the post-office
+where they waited on tiptoe for the postmaster
+to distribute the mail. There was one
+letter for Miss Smith, a thin, insignificant
+looking letter.</p>
+
+<p>"That's nothing but an old advertisement,"
+declared Elizabeth; "it wasn't worth waiting
+for."</p>
+
+<p>"I guess you're right," agreed Marian,
+"see what it says in the corner. What's a
+seminary, anyway? Do you know?&mdash;'Young
+Ladies' Seminary.' Some kind of a new
+fashioned place to buy hats, may be, come
+on."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, let's get started before the Prior kids
+and the Perkinses catch up with us. I can't
+bear that Tommy Perkins."</p>
+
+<p>"We could play De Soto if we had a
+crowd," suggested Marian. "You and I
+could be the head leaders and the Priors and
+the Perkins could be common soldiers."</p>
+
+<p>"How do you play De Soto?" asked Elizabeth.
+"I never heard of it."</p>
+
+<p>"You've heard of De Soto, the man that
+discovered the Mississippi River, I hope."</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[Pg 206]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Of course, he's in the history."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, Elizabeth, I've been reading about
+him in one of Mr. Golding's books about
+early explorations and I knew in a minute
+that it would be fun to play De Soto on our
+way to school. Now, I'm De Soto."</p>
+
+<p>"No, I'm going to be De Soto," insisted
+Elizabeth.</p>
+
+<p>"You don't know how, Elizabeth Jane
+Gray, and you didn't think of it first. All
+right, though, you be De Soto if you want to.
+What are you going to do? Begin."</p>
+
+<p>"You always want to be the head one in
+everything, Marian Lee. You needn't think
+I'm Tommy Perkins!"</p>
+
+<p>"I don't, Elizabeth, I think you're that
+brave Spaniard Moscoso who was leader of
+the soldiers after De Soto died and was buried
+in the Mississippi River where the Indians
+couldn't find him. But if you want to be
+De Soto, go on, only I don't believe you
+know a thing about him except what the history
+says. Well, you're De Soto."</p>
+
+<p>"You'll have to tell me what to do,
+Marian."</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[Pg 207]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"I guess not, Miss Elizabeth, if you're
+De Soto you ought to know."</p>
+
+<p>Elizabeth walked on in silence for a few
+moments until seized by an inspiration. "I'll
+be De Soto to-morrow morning," she remarked;
+"it's your turn first, of course, because you
+thought of the game. I'm&mdash;who did you say
+I am, Marian?"</p>
+
+<p>"You're Moscoso, one of my officers, Elizabeth.
+Well, I'm De Soto and I have had
+wonderful adventures in my life. I was with
+Pizarro in the conquest of Peru and I went
+back to Spain rich, rich, rich. Now I am the
+Governor of Cuba and Florida and not long
+ago I had orders from Spain to explore
+Florida. Of course, Moscoso, you remember
+all about it, how we left Cuba with nine ships
+and landed at Tampa?"</p>
+
+<p>"I remember it, Soty, just as well as if it
+was yesterday," and Moscoso, laughing merrily,
+swung his dinner pail in a perfect circle.</p>
+
+<p>"Don't laugh, Moscoso, at serious things,"
+continued De Soto; "and I think you really
+should call me Governor and I'll call you
+General. Well, General, we sent most of our<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[Pg 208]</a></span>
+ships back to Cuba, and now we're searching
+for gold in Florida, not in our little State of
+Florida, but the big, wide, long Florida that
+used to be. Now, Elizabeth, we'll play wander
+around for three years, living in Indian villages
+winters and camping out summers and
+having fights and discovering new birds to
+write to Spain about and having all kinds of
+adventures, until we get to that big ditch at
+the four corners and that will have to be the
+Mississippi River, and we'll cross it. We can
+tie our handkerchiefs to sticks for banners.</p>
+
+<p>"Let's play all the trees are Indians and all
+the little low bushes are wild beasts. The
+fences will do for mountains and I guess we'll
+think of other things to play as we go along.
+We'll have trouble with our soldiers, of course,
+they always do when they are hunting for
+gold. All these fields and woods, no, not
+woods, forests, I mean, are what you call the
+interior. Dandelions and buttercups will be
+gold that we steal from the Indians. We'll
+be awfully disappointed because this isn't a
+gold country like Peru, but we will take all
+there is, and I think we had better talk some<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[Pg 209]</a></span>
+about going home to Spain. Of course I don't
+know I'm going to die of fever beyond the
+Mississippi and you don't know you'll have
+to go back to the coast without me. I wish
+we could talk a little bit of real Spanish, don't
+you, Elizabeth?"</p>
+
+<p>"Hush," warned the General from Spain.
+"I hear Indians. Let's play the wind in the
+trees is Indian talk, Marian."</p>
+
+<p>"Sure enough, Elizabeth, we must advance
+cautiously, General Moscoso, they always 'advance
+cautiously' in the books, or else 'beat a
+hasty retreat.' We won't dare play retreat or
+we'll never get to school. Oh, they're friendly
+Indians, General, how fortunate."</p>
+
+<p>De Soto had crossed the Mississippi when
+he grew pale as death and suddenly deserted
+his followers. The banners of Spain trailed
+in the dust. "Elizabeth Jane Gray, where's
+that letter?"</p>
+
+<p>Two little girls gazed at each other in
+dismay.</p>
+
+<p>"Have you lost it?" gasped Elizabeth.</p>
+
+<p>"If I haven't, where is it?" asked Marian.</p>
+
+<p>"Can't you remember anything about it?"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[Pg 210]</a></span>
+Elizabeth went on, "when you had it last, or
+anything?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, I can't. Let's go straight back over
+the road and hunt. I must have dropped it
+and perhaps we may find it if we look. I
+can't believe it is really lost. Oh, Elizabeth,
+what shall I do if it is? I adore Miss Smith
+and what will she think?"</p>
+
+<p>"She won't think anything if you keep
+still, Marian; the letter was only an old advertisement,
+anyway."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, dear, dear, dear!" wailed Marian.
+"This is dreadful. I don't see a thing that
+looks like a letter anywhere. I am going to
+climb a tree and look way off over the
+fields." Although the children searched
+faithfully, they could not find the letter.</p>
+
+<p>"We'll hunt at noon," suggested Elizabeth,
+deeply touched by Marian's distress, "and
+if I were you I wouldn't say a word about it."</p>
+
+<p>"But Elizabeth, what if she asks me if
+there was a letter?"</p>
+
+<p>"Fib," was the response.</p>
+
+<p>"It's enough to make anybody, Elizabeth."</p>
+
+<p>"You'll be a goose, Marian, if you own up.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[Pg 211]</a></span>
+I won't tell on you and the letter didn't
+amount to anything, anyway. Let's run for
+all we're worth and get there before school
+calls if we can. Sure's we're late she'll ask
+questions."</p>
+
+<p>Just as the bell was ringing, two breathless
+little girls joined their schoolmates. Their
+faces were flushed and their hair was tumbled.
+Miss Smith smiled when she saw them, but
+asked no questions. Noticing Marian's empty
+hands, she said evidently to herself, "No letter
+yet!"</p>
+
+<p>"You're going to get out of this as easy's
+pie, just keep your mouth shut," whispered
+Elizabeth.</p>
+
+<p>"I shall have to tell," groaned Marian.</p>
+
+<p>"Don't be silly," Elizabeth advised.</p>
+
+<p>During the morning exercises Marian determined
+to confess no matter what happened.
+When the chart class was called to the recitation
+seat she raised her hand and was given
+permission to speak to Miss Smith. Marian
+didn't glance towards Elizabeth Gray as she
+walked to the desk. Elizabeth had never
+stolen cookies. "Miss Smith," said Marian,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[Pg 212]</a></span>
+"you had a letter this morning and I lost
+it."</p>
+
+<p>"You dear child, I am so glad you told
+me," and Miss Smith who had so often insisted
+that a school-teacher must never have
+favorites, put her arms around the little girl
+and kissed the soft, brown hair. "Now tell
+me what was printed on the envelope if you
+can remember."</p>
+
+<p>Word for word Marian described the letter.</p>
+
+<p>"It is the one I was expecting," said Miss
+Smith, and while the chart class waited,
+their teacher wrote a letter, stamped it and
+sent it to the post-office by Tommy Perkins.</p>
+
+<p>Two days later, Marian carried Miss Smith
+a letter exactly like the one she had lost.
+Miss Smith read it, smiled and asked Marian
+to stay after school.</p>
+
+<p>"You're going to get your scolding at last,"
+predicted Elizabeth. "I told you not to
+tell."</p>
+
+<p>At four o'clock the children trooped out and
+flew down the road like wild birds escaped
+from a cage, leaving Marian uneasily twisting
+her handkerchief while she waited for Miss<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[Pg 213]</a></span>
+Smith to speak. Nothing was said until the
+sound of childish voices came from a distance.
+Then Miss Smith looked up and laughed.
+"Can you keep a secret for a few days,
+Marian?" she asked. "Come here, dear, and
+read the letter you brought me this morning."</p>
+
+<p>Marian read the short letter three times before
+she asked, "Are you going?"</p>
+
+<p>"Going," echoed Miss Smith; "that is the
+position I have long wished for, Marian. Only
+think how I shall enjoy teaching botany and
+English in a boarding-school. You see what
+they say, Marian, they want an immediate
+reply or it will be too late. If you hadn't
+told me about the letter you received the
+other day, I should have lost the position. I
+imagined what the letter was and sent for a
+copy. If you hadn't told me the truth,
+Marian, only think what a difference it would
+have made!"</p>
+
+<p>"I just have to tell the truth," said the little
+girl.</p>
+
+<p>"I believe you, dear, I never saw a more
+truthful child in my life."</p>
+
+<p>"Would you dare say I am the most honest<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[Pg 214]</a></span>
+child in school?" asked Marian, a sudden
+light making her face beautiful. "Will you
+write it down and sign your name?"</p>
+
+<p>"Well, you are the queerest mortal," exclaimed
+Miss Smith, but reaching for a piece
+of paper and a pen, she wrote this:</p>
+
+<p>"Marian Lee is the most truthful pupil in
+my school.</p>
+
+<p class="sig">"<span class="smcap">Virginia Smith</span>, Teacher."</p>
+
+<p>"It's for Uncle George," Marian explained.
+"He told me to try to do something better
+than anybody else and I haven't done it.
+He's coming for me Saturday and please do
+ask him to send me to your boarding-school.
+He has often talked about sending me away
+to school, but I used to be afraid to go and
+made a dreadful fuss, and then I had diphtheria."</p>
+
+<p>Uncle George arrived on Friday in time to
+have a long talk with Miss Smith before she
+left on the evening train. Had Marian
+known the nature of their conversation, she
+might not have cried so bitterly when the
+hour of parting came.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[Pg 215]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XX" id="CHAPTER_XX"></a>CHAPTER XX</h2>
+
+<p class="c">MORE CHANGES</p>
+
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Marian</span> had been home a month when
+Uncle George decided to send her to boarding-school.</p>
+
+<p>"It is a curious thing," he remarked to the
+child, "that other people find it so easy to get
+along with you, and here at home there is no
+peace in the house while you are in it."</p>
+
+<p>The man's tones were savage and Marian
+cried. Tears always angered Uncle George,
+and when Uncle George was angry with
+Marian, Aunt Amelia generally sighed and
+straightway did her duty: and Aunt Amelia's
+duty towards Marian consisted in giving a detailed
+account of the child's faults and a history
+of her sins. She never failed to mention
+cookies. When Marian was wise, she kept
+still. If she ventured a remonstrance serious
+trouble was sure to follow. Out in the fresh
+air and sunshine, the child managed to be<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[Pg 216]</a></span>
+happy in spite of everything: but within the
+four walls of Aunt Amelia's home it took
+courage to face life. She didn't know that
+her uncle had written to Miss Virginia Smith.</p>
+
+<p>"They're going to do something with you,
+I don't know what," confided Ella. "I'll let
+you know as soon's I find out." Ella was as
+good as her word. "They're going to send
+you to boarding-school," was her next secret
+announcement, "but when or where, I don't
+know."</p>
+
+<p>One morning Marian went to her room after
+breakfast and sat long by the open window,
+wondering what would become of her and why
+she had been taken from the Little Pilgrim's
+Home by an aunt who didn't want her.
+Tears splashed upon the window sill. Marian
+wiped her eyes quickly. Young as she was,
+the child realized how dangerous it is to be
+sorry for oneself. Without a backward
+glance, Marian walked from the room and
+closed the door she was never to open again.
+When she came home from school that night,
+the child played in the orchard until supper-time.
+Then she wondered why Aunt Amelia<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[Pg 217]</a></span>
+didn't send her to her room. An hour passed
+before the woman looked at the clock and
+spoke. Instead of the words Marian expected
+to hear, Aunt Amelia said calmly:</p>
+
+<p>"Your trunk is packed and the carriage is
+waiting to take you to the station. Get your
+coat and hat."</p>
+
+<p>"Where am I going and who is going with
+me?" demanded the child, beginning to
+tremble so she could scarcely stand.</p>
+
+<p>"I shall accompany you," replied Aunt
+Amelia, "and it makes no difference where
+you are going. You will know soon
+enough."</p>
+
+<p>Marian shot a grateful look towards Ella,
+who was sobbing in a corner. But for the little
+cousin's assurance, Marian would have believed
+she was about to start for the long
+dreaded reform school. Nevertheless it was a
+shocking thing to be suddenly torn from every
+familiar sight and to be going so blindly into
+the unknown. Marian looked appealingly at
+Aunt Amelia and Uncle George before she
+broke down and cried. Aunt Amelia's face
+was stony, Uncle George looked cross and an<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[Pg 218]</a></span>noyed.
+Marian's grief became wild and despairing.</p>
+
+<p>"I wish I could have my mother's picture
+to take with me," she sobbed, "I wish I
+could."</p>
+
+<p>"That's a reasonable request and you shall
+have it," said Uncle George.</p>
+
+<p>"It will be time enough when she is older,"
+Aunt Amelia put in, while Marian held her
+breath. Would she get the picture or not?
+A word might ruin her chances, so she kept
+still, trying hard to smother her sobs.</p>
+
+<p>"Are you going for the picture or shall I?"
+demanded Uncle George. Aunt Amelia went.</p>
+
+<p>Marian was disappointed when she saw the
+small photograph of her father and mother.
+She wished for the face in the oval frame.
+She would have been more disappointed had
+she never seen the photograph, because instead
+of giving it to the child or allowing her
+to look at the picture, Aunt Amelia wrapped
+it in a piece of paper and put it in her own
+satchel.</p>
+
+<p>Outside in the cool, silent night, Marian
+stopped crying. There was comfort in the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[Pg 219]</a></span>
+steadily shining stars. During the first long
+hours on the sleeping car, Marian tossed,
+tumbled and wondered where she was going.
+Asleep she dreamed of reform school: awake
+she feared dreams might come true. When
+trains rushed by in the darkness the child was
+frightened and shivered at the thought of
+wrecks. At last she raised her curtain and
+watched the stars. Repeating over and over
+one verse of the poem she had recited the last
+day of school in the country, she fell peacefully
+asleep. There were no more troubled
+dreams nor startled awakenings. When
+Marian opened her eyes in the morning, the
+verse still haunted her memory.</p>
+
+<div class="poem-container">
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"I know not where His islands</span><br />
+<span class="i2">Lift their fronded palms in air,</span><br />
+<span class="i0">I only know I cannot drift</span><br />
+<span class="i2">Beyond His love and care."</span><br />
+</div>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[Pg 220]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXI" id="CHAPTER_XXI"></a>CHAPTER XXI</h2>
+
+<p class="c">MARIAN REMEMBERS HER DIARY</p>
+
+
+<p><span class="smcap">"October</span> 15.&mdash;You might as well keep a
+diary, especially in a school where they have
+a silent hour. It is the queerest thing I ever
+heard of but every night between seven and
+eight it is so still in this building you don't
+dare sneeze. It isn't so bad when you have a
+roommate because then you have to divide the
+hour with her. You stay alone half and then
+you go to the reading-room or the library and
+read something and try not to whisper to any
+of the girls, while your roommate stays alone
+her half of the hour.</p>
+
+<p>"Perhaps the reason I don't like silent hour
+is because I used to have so many of them at
+home and now because I haven't any roommate
+I have to stay alone the whole hour. I
+don't know what to do with myself and that
+is why I am going to keep a diary again.</p>
+
+<p>"There is a good reason why I haven't any
+roommate. When my aunt brought me here<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[Pg 221]</a></span>
+the principal said they were expecting a little
+girl just my age and they were going to put
+her in this room with me. It isn't much fun
+to be a new girl in this kind of a school, especially
+when most everybody is older than you
+are. When the girls saw my aunt they stared,
+and they stared at me, too. It wasn't very
+nice and I felt uncomfortable. As long as my
+aunt stayed I didn't get acquainted. I didn't
+even dare say much to Miss Smith. I just
+moped around and wished I was out in the
+country with the happy Goldings. They said
+here, 'Poor little thing, she's homesick,' but I
+am sure I wasn't if that means I wanted to go
+back home. My aunt stayed two days and one
+night. She said she was waiting to see my
+roommate but at last she gave up and went
+home and then I felt different. I began to
+wonder what kind of a girl my roommate
+would be and when she came I was so happy
+I could scarcely breathe because she was Dolly
+Russel. We thought we were going to have
+such a good time, and we did for a few days
+until I was a big goose. I wrote home and
+told my aunt who my roommate was and that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[Pg 222]</a></span>
+ended it. Aunt Amelia wrote to the principal
+and she wrote to me, and then Dolly went to
+room with an old girl eighteen years old, from
+Kansas.</p>
+
+<p>"Dolly says her new roommate is nice, but
+she's too old and besides that she's engaged.
+Dolly told me all about it.</p>
+
+<p>"My aunt wouldn't let me room with Dolly
+because she said we would play all the time
+instead of studying our lessons. I guess she
+was afraid we would have a little fun. She
+told me in a letter that if she had known
+Dolly Russel was coming to this school she
+would have sent me somewhere else or kept
+me at home, no matter what Uncle George
+and Miss Smith said. I know why. Dolly
+has told the Kansas girl and some others
+about my aunt already, how cross she is and
+such things. I don't mind now what anybody
+says about Aunt Amelia since I have
+found out that she isn't any relation to me.
+She is just my aunt by marriage and you
+can't expect aunts by marriage to love you,
+and if your aunt doesn't love you, what's the
+use of loving your aunt.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[Pg 223]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"If I hadn't passed the entrance examinations
+here I couldn't have stayed. Dolly and
+a girl whose name is Janey somebody and I
+are the only little girls here. Janey is tall
+and wears her hair in a long, black braid.
+Mine's Dutch cut. Dolly Russel's is Dutch
+cut too. Janey calls us little kids and she
+tags around after the big girls. We don't
+care.</p>
+
+<p>"October 16.&mdash;There's another girl coming
+from way out west. Her folks are going to
+be in Chicago this winter and they want her
+in this school. The Kansas girl told Dolly
+and me.</p>
+
+<p>"October 17.&mdash;The new girl has come and
+they have put her with me. She's homesick.
+Her father brought her and then went right
+away. I didn't see him. I think I shall
+like the new girl. Her name is Florence
+Weston and she has more clothes than the
+Queen of Sheba. Miss Smith helped her unpack
+and I felt as if I would sink through
+to China when the new girl looked in our
+closet. It is a big closet and the hooks were
+nearly all empty because I haven't anything<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[Pg 224]</a></span>
+much to hang up. I'll never forget how I
+felt when the new girl said to me, 'Where are
+your dresses?' Before I could think of anything
+to say, Miss Smith sent me for the
+tack hammer and I didn't have to answer.</p>
+
+<p>"My room looked pretty lonesome after
+Dolly moved out, but now it is the nicest
+room in school because Florence Weston has
+so many beautiful things. She says this is
+horrid and I just ought to see her room at
+home. She can't talk about her home without
+crying. I know I'd cry if I had to go
+back to mine.</p>
+
+<p>"October 20.&mdash;That Janey is a queer girl.
+She won't look at me and I really think it is
+because I haven't any pretty dresses. She is
+in our room half the time, too, visiting with
+Florence. They are great chums and they
+lock arms and tell secrets and laugh and talk
+about what they are going to do next summer
+and where they are going Christmas and
+everything. I wish more than ever that I
+had Dolly for my roommate. I wouldn't be
+surprised if her father is richer'n Florence
+Weston's father.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[Pg 225]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"That Janey puts on airs. Her last name
+is Hopkins. She signs her name 'Janey C.
+Hopkins.' She never leaves out the 'C,' I
+wonder why.</p>
+
+<p>"October 21.&mdash;I like Florence Weston.
+She is not a bit like that proud Janey.</p>
+
+<p>"November 1.&mdash;Sometimes I wish I had
+never come here to school. Once in a while
+I feel more lonesome, almost&mdash;than I ever
+did at home. It is on account of that
+Janey C. Hopkins. She wants to room with
+Florence and she tried to get me to say I
+would move in with Laura Jones, the girl she
+rooms with. Janey says she's going to the
+principal. Let her go. Miss Smith told me
+not to worry, they won't let chums like
+Florence and Janey room together because
+they won't study.</p>
+
+<p>"November 2.&mdash;What did I tell you? I
+knew she'd be sorry. They won't let Janey
+room with Florence. Florence says she's
+glad of it. I suppose it is on account of
+hooks. Janey couldn't let her have more
+than half the hooks in the closet.</p>
+
+<p>"November 3.&mdash;It wasn't on account of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[Pg 226]</a></span>
+hooks. Florence told me one of Janey's
+secrets and I know now what the 'C' means
+in Janey's name and I know who Janey C.
+Hopkins is, and I should think she would remember
+me, but she doesn't. Janey told
+Florence that she is adopted and that her
+new mother took her from the Little Pilgrims'
+home before they moved out to Minnesota.
+I was so surprised I almost told
+Florence I came from that same home, but I
+am glad I didn't.</p>
+
+<p>"The only reason Florence doesn't want to
+room with Janey is because she lived in an
+orphan's home. She says you never can tell
+about adopted children and that maybe
+Janey's folks weren't nice, and anyway, that
+if she ever lived in an orphan's home she
+would keep still about it.</p>
+
+<p>"I think I shall keep still, but I could tell
+Miss Florence Weston one thing, my folks
+were nice if they did die. I could tell her
+what I read in that newspaper in the sea-chest,
+how my father just would go to South
+America with some men to make his fortune
+and how after a while my mother thought he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[Pg 227]</a></span>
+was dead and then she died suddenly and all
+about how I happened to be taken to the
+Little Pilgrims' Home in the strange city
+where my mother and I didn't know anybody
+and nobody knew us.</p>
+
+<p>"I could tell Florence Weston I guess that
+my father left my mother plenty of money
+and she wasn't poor, and after she died the
+folks she boarded with stole it all and pretty
+near everything she had and then packed up
+and went away and left me crying in the
+flat, and it just happened that some folks
+on the next floor knew what my name was
+and a few little things my mother told
+them.</p>
+
+<p>"I won't speak of the Little Pilgrims'
+Home, though, because I can't forget how Uncle
+George acted about it. It was a pleasant,
+happy home just the same, and when I grow
+up and can do what I want to I am going
+back and hunt for Mrs. Moore and I won't
+stop until I find her. I have missed her all
+my life. You can't help wondering why some
+mothers live and some mothers die, and why
+some children grow up in their own homes<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[Pg 228]</a></span>
+and other children don't have anybody to
+love them.</p>
+
+<p>"November 4.&mdash;Sunday. The queer things
+don't all happen in books. I am glad I have
+a diary to put things in that I don't want to
+tell Miss Smith nor Dolly. Just before dark
+I was in the back parlor with a lot of girls
+singing. When we were tired of singing we
+told stories about our first troubles. I kept
+still for once, I really couldn't think what my
+first one was anyway. Two or three girls said
+that when their mothers died, that was their
+first sorrow, but Florence Weston said that
+her first one was funny. She couldn't remember
+when her own father died so she
+can't count that. The father she has now is
+a step one.</p>
+
+<p>"Florence says she was a little bit of a girl
+when her mother took her one day to visit an
+orphan's home and she cried because she
+couldn't stay and have dinner with the little
+orphans. She says she remembers that one
+of the little girls wanted to go home with her
+and her mother and when she cried that little
+orphan girl cried too. They all laughed when<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[Pg 229]</a></span>
+Florence told her story, all but me. I knew
+then what my first sorrow was. What would
+Florence think if she knew I was that little
+orphan? I must never tell her though or she
+wouldn't room with me. I should think
+Florence would be the happiest girl in the
+world. I should be if I had her mother. I
+can see her now if I shut my eyes. Her
+hair was shining gold and her eyes were like
+the sky when the orchard is full of apple
+blossoms.</p>
+
+<p>"November 25.&mdash;Florence has gone to
+Chicago to stay until Monday morning because
+to-morrow is Thanksgiving day and her
+folks wanted to see her. Florence has two
+baby brothers and one little sister.</p>
+
+<p>"Dolly Russel's father and mother have
+come here to be with Dolly to-morrow and
+they have invited me to have dinner with
+them down town. I wonder what Aunt
+Amelia would say if she knew I am going to
+be with the Russels all day to-morrow. Miss
+Smith got permission for me to go, she knew
+what to say to the principal, and she kissed
+me too, right before Mrs. Russel. I am<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[Pg 230]</a></span>
+already beginning to dread going home next
+June.</p>
+
+<p>"Janey C. Hopkins is going home this
+afternoon and the Kansas girl is going with
+her. There will be ten girls all alone in the
+big dining-room here to-morrow. I guess
+they will feel queer. I know one thing, I
+would rather stay here with nobody but the
+matron Christmas, than to go home, and I am
+glad Aunt Amelia says it would be foolish for
+any one to take such a long journey so I could
+be home for the holidays.</p>
+
+<p>"Mrs. Russel is going to dress me all up to-morrow
+in one of Dolly's prettiest dresses. I
+do have some streaks of luck."</p>
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[Pg 231]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXII" id="CHAPTER_XXII"></a>CHAPTER XXII</h2>
+
+<p class="c">FLORENCE WESTON'S MOTHER</p>
+
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Marian</span> was studying Monday morning
+when Florence returned from Chicago. She
+burst into the room like a wind blown rose,
+even forgetting to close the door until she had
+hugged Marian and hugged her again.</p>
+
+<p>"Now shut your eyes tight," she commanded,
+"and don't you open them until I
+tell you to. You remember when you asked
+me if I had a picture of my mother and I said I
+hadn't anything only common photographs?
+well, you just wait."</p>
+
+<p>Marian closed her eyes while Florence
+dived into her satchel for a small package.</p>
+
+<p>"I have something in a little red leather
+case that will make you stare, Marian dear,
+you just wait."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, I am waiting," was the retort,
+"with my eyes shut so tight I can see purple
+and crimson spots by the million. Hurry up,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[Pg 232]</a></span>
+why don't you? Is it a watch with your
+mother's picture in it?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, guess again."</p>
+
+<p>"A locket?"</p>
+
+<p>"Dear me, no. It is something&mdash;three
+somethings that cost forty times as much as a
+watch or locket. Now open your eyes and
+look on the bureau."</p>
+
+<p>"Why don't you say something?" questioned
+Florence, as Marian stood speechless
+before three miniatures in gold frames.
+"That's my mother and our baby in the
+middle frame, and the girl on this side is my
+little sister and the boy in the other frame we
+call brother, just brother, since the baby
+came. Why Marian Lee! I never thought
+of it before, but you look like brother just as
+sure as the world!</p>
+
+<p>"Why, Marian! what's the matter, what
+makes you cry when you look at mamma's
+picture?"</p>
+
+<p>"Nothing, Florence, only I want a mother
+myself, I always wanted one."</p>
+
+<p>"You poor young one!" exclaimed Flor<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[Pg 233]</a></span>ence,
+"it must be dreadful not to have a
+mother."</p>
+
+<p>"It's like the Desert of Sahara!" Marian
+declared, dashing the tears from her eyes and
+making an attempt to smile. "You will see
+your mother again soon."</p>
+
+<p>"I know it, Marian, only think, three
+weeks more and then the holidays. Are you
+going home Wednesday night or Thursday
+morning?"</p>
+
+<p>"I am not going home until June," was the
+reply.</p>
+
+<p>"Can you stand it as long as that, Marian?"</p>
+
+<p>The mere thought of feeling badly about
+not being home for the holidays made the
+child laugh.</p>
+
+<p>"You are the queerest girl," exclaimed
+Florence, "you cry when I don't see anything
+to cry about and you laugh when I should
+think you would cry."</p>
+
+<p>Marian checked an impulse to explain.
+How could Florence understand? Florence,
+whose beautiful mother smiled from the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[Pg 234]</a></span>
+round, gold frame, the girl whose sister
+and brothers waited to welcome her
+home.</p>
+
+<p>"If they were mine," said Marian, gazing
+wistfully at the miniatures, "I would never
+leave them. I would rather be a dunce than
+go away to school."</p>
+
+<p>"Then my father wouldn't own you," said
+Florence, laughing. "Mamma says she's
+afraid he wouldn't have any patience if I disgraced
+him in school. You ought to belong
+to him, Marian, he would be proud of you.
+You know your lessons almost without studying
+and you have higher standings than the
+big girls. You've been highest in all your
+classes so far, haven't you?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," was the reply, "except in geometry,
+but what of it? Nobody cares."</p>
+
+<p>"Don't your folks at home? Aren't they
+proud of you?"</p>
+
+<p>"I used to hope they would be, Florence;
+but I tell you, nobody cares."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, haven't you any grandfathers or
+grandmothers or other aunts or uncles?"</p>
+
+<p>"I am not acquainted with them," said<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[Pg 235]</a></span>
+Marian. "My uncle hasn't any folks, only
+distant cousins."</p>
+
+<p>"That's just like my father," Florence interrupted.
+"His folks are all dead, though I
+have heard him mention one half brother with
+whom he wasn't friends. Mamma won't let
+me ask any questions about him. But,
+Marian, where are your mother's folks?"</p>
+
+<p>Where were they, indeed? Marian had
+never thought of them. "Well, you see," the
+child hastily suggested, "they don't live near
+us."</p>
+
+<p>The next time Florence saw Dolly Russel,
+she asked some questions that were gladly
+answered. "Go home!" exclaimed Dolly,
+"I shouldn't think she would want to go
+home! You see the St. Claires live right
+across the street from us and I have seen
+things with my own eyes that would astonish
+you. Besides that, a girl that used to work
+for the St. Claires, her name is Lala, works for
+us now, and if she didn't tell things that
+would make your eyes pop out of your head!
+Shall I tell you how they used to treat that
+poor little Marian? She's the dearest young<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[Pg 236]</a></span>
+one, too&mdash;Lala says so&mdash;only mamma has always
+told me that it's wretched taste to listen
+to folks like Lala."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, do tell me," insisted Florence, and by
+the time Dolly Russel had told all she knew,
+Florence Weston was in a high state of indignation.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, her uncle and her little cousin are all
+right," remonstrated Dolly; "they are not
+like the aunt."</p>
+
+<p>"I know what I shall do," cried Florence.
+"Oh, I know! I shall tell mamma all about
+Marian and ask if I may invite her to Chicago
+for the holidays. She would have one good
+time, I tell you. I like Marian anyway, she
+is just as sweet as she can be. I should be
+miserable if I were in her place, but she sings
+all the day long. My little sister would love
+her and so would brother and the baby. I
+am going straight to my room and write the
+letter this minute."</p>
+
+<p>"Mrs. St. Claire won't let Marian go,"
+warned Dolly; "you just wait and see. She
+doesn't want Marian to have one speck of
+fun."</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[Pg 237]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Nevertheless Florence Weston wrote the
+letter to her mother and in due time came
+the expected invitation. At first Marian was
+too overjoyed for words: then she thought of
+Aunt Amelia and hope left her countenance.
+"I know what I will do," she said at last,
+"I will ask Miss Smith to write to Uncle
+George. Maybe then he will let me go. Nobody
+knows how much I want to see your
+mother."</p>
+
+<p>Florence laughed. "I think I do," she said.
+"I have told my mother how you worship
+her miniature. I shouldn't be surprised to
+come in some day and find you on your
+knees before it. My mother is pretty and
+she is lovely and kind, but I don't see how
+anybody could care so much for her picture.
+Most of the girls just rave over brother, but
+you don't look at him. Just wait until you
+see him, Marian. I'll teach him to call you
+sister. He says 'Ta' for sister."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, I wish you would," said Marian, "I
+love babies and I never was anybody's sister
+of course. He is just as cunning as he can
+be. I am going now to ask Miss Smith to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[Pg 238]</a></span>
+write to Uncle George. She can get him to
+say yes if anybody can."</p>
+
+<p>Miss Smith wrote and rewrote the letter,
+then waited for an answer with even less patience
+than Marian. At last it came, in Aunt
+Amelia's handwriting. Marian's heart sank
+when she saw the envelope. Her fears were
+well founded. Aunt Amelia was surprised
+to find that Marian knew no better than to
+trouble Miss Smith as she had. She might
+have known that Uncle George would not
+approve of her going to a city the size of
+Chicago to pass the holidays with strangers.
+Miss Smith, Dolly and Florence were indignant.
+Even Janey did some unselfish sputtering.</p>
+
+<p>"Anything's better than going home," Marian
+reasoned at last, "and what's the use of
+crying about what you can't help. I ought
+to be glad it isn't June."</p>
+
+<p>As a matter of fact, the holidays passed
+pleasantly for Marian in the big deserted
+house. The matron and the teachers who
+were left did everything in their power to
+please the child, and on Christmas Day the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[Pg 239]</a></span>
+postman left her more gifts than she had ever
+received before. There were no potatoes in
+her stocking that year. During the holidays,
+Marian kept the photograph of her own mother
+beside the miniatures, and as the days went
+by she became convinced that her mother
+and Florence Weston's mother looked much
+alike.</p>
+
+<p>"My mother is prettier," she said aloud the
+last day of the old year, "but she is dead and
+as long as I live I never can see her. Perhaps
+I may see this other mother and perhaps
+she may love me. I shall have to put my
+picture away because it will get faded and
+spoiled, and I think I will pretend that
+Florence Weston's mother is my mother.
+Then I won't feel so lonesome. I never
+thought of pretending to have a mother before."</p>
+
+<p>When Florence returned after the holidays,
+she was unable to account for the change in
+Marian. The child was radiantly happy.
+Tears no longer filled her eyes when she
+gazed too intently upon the miniatures. Instead,
+she smiled back at the faces and some<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[Pg 240]</a></span>times
+waved her hand to them when she left
+the room. How could Florence dream that
+Marian had taken the little brothers, the sister
+and the mother for her own.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[Pg 241]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXIII" id="CHAPTER_XXIII"></a>CHAPTER XXIII</h2>
+
+<p class="c">HOW MARIAN CROSSED THE RAINBOW BRIDGE</p>
+
+
+<p><span class="smcap">June</span> sent her messengers early. Every
+blade of grass that pushed its way through
+the brown earth, every bursting lilac bud or
+ambitious maple, spoke to Marian of June.
+Returning birds warbled the story and the
+world rejoiced. Teachers and pupils alike
+talked of June until it seemed to Marian that
+all nature and educational institutions had
+but one object, and that was to welcome June.
+She dreaded it. June meant Aunt Amelia
+and the end of all happiness. Yet Marian
+was only one. Ninety-nine other girls were
+looking eagerly forward to the close of school.
+They talked of it everywhere and at all
+hours.</p>
+
+<p>It was the one subject of conversation in
+which Marian had no share, one joy beyond
+her grasp. Try hard as she would, Marian
+couldn't pretend to be glad she was going<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[Pg 242]</a></span>
+home. That was a game for which she felt
+no enthusiasm. The mother, the little sister
+and the baby brothers in the golden frames
+would soon be gone, and gone forever. "We're
+all going back West just as soon as school
+closes," Florence had told her. "Next winter
+we will be home."</p>
+
+<p>Nor was that all that Florence told Marian.
+She pictured the beautiful home in the West
+in the midst of her father's broad lands. She
+described her room, all sunshine and comfort,
+and the great house echoing with music and
+laughter. She told Marian of the gardens and
+the stables, of the horses, ponies and many
+pets. She described the river and the hills
+and the mountain peaks beyond. Florence
+almost forgot the presence of her wide eyed
+roommate in telling of the holiday celebrations
+at home and of the wondrous glory of
+the annual Christmas tree. Best of all, Florence
+spoke tenderly of her mother and her
+voice grew tender in speaking of the woman
+who never scolded but was always gentle and
+kind; the beautiful mother with the bright,
+gold hair. Florence had so much to say about<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[Pg 243]</a></span>
+the little sister, brother and the baby, that
+Marian felt as if she knew them all.</p>
+
+<p>Thus it was that Florence Weston was going
+home and Marian Lee was returning to
+Aunt Amelia. Miss Smith understood all
+about it and it grieved her. She had seen
+Aunt Amelia and that was enough. She
+didn't wonder that Marian's eyes grew sad and
+wistful as the days lengthened. At last Miss
+Virginia Smith thought of a way to win smiles
+from Marian. The botany class had been offered
+a prize. A railroad president, interested
+in the school had promised ten dollars in gold
+to the member of the botany class who made
+the best herbarium. Marian might not win
+the prize, but it would give her pleasure to
+try. She would have something more agreeable
+to think of than Aunt Amelia.</p>
+
+<p>It was with some difficulty that Miss Smith
+obtained permission from the principal for
+Marian to enter the class, and but for the experience
+in the country school, the objection
+that Marian was too young would have barred
+her out. Miss Smith was right. Marian was
+delighted and for hours at a time Aunt Amelia<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[Pg 244]</a></span>
+vanished from her thoughts. The members
+of the botany class were surprised that such a
+little girl learned hard lessons so easily, but
+Miss Smith only laughed.</p>
+
+<p>In the beginning when the spring flowers
+came and every wayside bloom suggested a
+specimen, fully half the class intended to win
+the prize, Marian among the number. One
+by one the contestants dropped out as the
+weeks passed, leaving Marian with perhaps
+half a dozen rivals. At that early day, Miss
+Virginia Smith, who had no favorites, rejoiced
+secretly in the belief that Marian would win
+the prize. The commonest weed became
+beautiful beneath her hands and the number
+of specimens she found on the school grounds
+alone, exceeded all previous records. There
+was never so much as a leaf carelessly pressed
+among Marian's specimens. At last the child
+began to believe the prize would be hers and
+for the first time, going home lost its terrors.</p>
+
+<p>If she won the prize, Uncle George would
+be proud of her and she would be happy.
+Finally Marian wrote to her uncle, telling
+him of the glories of commencement week.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[Pg 245]</a></span>
+She was to recite "The Witch's Daughter" at
+the entertainment, to take part in the operetta
+and to sing commencement morning with
+three other little girls. More than that, she
+was sure to win the prize, even her rivals admitted
+it. "Now Uncle George," the letter
+proceeded, "please be sure and come because
+I want somebody that is my relation to be
+here. Florence Weston says her father would
+come from Honolulu to see her win a prize, so
+please come, Uncle George, or maybe Florence
+will think nobody cares for me."</p>
+
+<p>Marian was scarcely prepared to receive the
+answer that came to her letter from Aunt
+Amelia. Uncle George was too busy a man
+to take so long a journey for nothing. Aunt
+Amelia would come the day after commencement
+and pack Marian's trunk. So far as
+winning the prize was concerned, Uncle George
+expected Marian to win a prize if one were
+offered. That was a small way to show her
+gratitude for all that had been done for her.
+The child lost the letter. Janey C. Hopkins
+found and read it. Before sunset every one
+of the ninety-nine knew the contents. When<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[Pg 246]</a></span>
+night settled down upon the school, one hundred
+girls were thinking of Aunt Amelia, one
+in tears, the ninety-nine with indignation.</p>
+
+<p>The following morning Marian replied to
+her aunt's letter, begging to be allowed to go
+home with Dolly Russel and her mother, and
+assuring Aunt Amelia that she could pack her
+own trunk. Even that request was denied.
+Aunt Amelia would call for Marian the day
+after commencement and she wished to hear
+nothing further on the subject. She might
+have heard more had she not been beyond
+sound of the ninety-nine voices. Marian was
+too crushed for words. That is, she was
+crushed for a day. Her spirits revived as
+commencement week drew near and Miss
+Smith and the ninety-nine did so much to
+make her forget everything unpleasant. Marian
+couldn't understand why the girls were
+so kind nor why Janey C. Hopkins took a
+sudden interest in her happiness. The Sunday
+before commencement Marian wore
+Janey's prettiest gown to church. It was
+rather large for Marian but neither she nor
+Janey found that an objection. Miss Smith<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[Pg 247]</a></span>
+approved and Sunday was a bright day for
+Aunt Amelia's little niece.</p>
+
+<p>Monday, Dolly Russel's mother came and
+thanks to her, Marian appeared in no more
+garments that had disgraced the hooks in her
+closet. She danced through the halls in the
+daintiest of Dolly's belongings, and was happy
+as Mrs. Russel wished her to be.</p>
+
+<p>Every hour brought new guests and in
+the excitement of meeting nearly all the
+friends of the ninety-nine and being kissed
+and petted by ever so many mothers, Marian
+forgot Aunt Amelia. Tuesday evening at the
+entertainment she did her part well and was
+so enthusiastically applauded, her cheeks grew
+red as the sash she wore, and that is saying a
+great deal, as Dolly's sash was a bright scarlet,
+the envy of the ninety-nine.</p>
+
+<p>Florence Weston's father and mother were
+present at the entertainment, but Marian
+looked for them in vain. "They saw you
+just the same," Florence insisted when she
+and Marian were undressing that night, "and
+mamma said if it hadn't been so late she
+would have come up to our room to-night,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[Pg 248]</a></span>
+but she thought they had better get back to
+the hotel and you and I must settle down as
+quickly as we can. I can hardly keep my eyes
+open." Florence fell asleep with a smile
+upon her face. Marian's pillow was wet with
+tears before she drifted into troubled dreams
+of Aunt Amelia.</p>
+
+<p>"Isn't it too bad!" exclaimed Florence the
+next morning. "They are going to present
+the prize in the dining-room at breakfast and
+my father and mother won't be up here until
+time for the exercises in the chapel. I wanted
+them to see you get the prize. I'm so disappointed.
+Never mind, though, you will see
+mamma all the afternoon, because she is going
+to pack my things. We leave to-morrow. I
+am going down-town with papa and mamma
+when we get through packing and stay all
+night. You will have the room all to yourself.
+What? are you crying, Marian? Why,
+I'll come back in the morning and see you
+before I go. I wouldn't cry if I were you!"</p>
+
+<p>It was easy enough for a girl who had every
+earthly blessing to talk cheerfully to a weary
+little pilgrim.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[Pg 249]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Marian experienced the bitterest moment
+of her life when the prize was presented in
+the dining-room. There were many fathers
+and mothers there, and other relatives of the
+ninety-nine who joined in cheering the little
+victor. Yet Marian wept and would not be
+comforted. Even Miss Smith had no influence.
+In spite of the sympathetic arms that
+gathered her in, Marian felt utterly forsaken.
+She had won the prize, but what could it
+mean to a motherless, fatherless, almost
+homeless child? After breakfast, Marian, slipping
+away from Miss Smith and the friendly
+strangers, sought a deserted music room on
+the fourth floor where she cried until her courage
+returned: until hope banished tears. Perhaps
+Uncle George would be pleased after all.</p>
+
+<p>"Where have you been?" demanded Florence
+when Marian returned to her room. "I
+have hunted for you everywhere. What a
+little goose you were to cry in the dining-room.
+Why, your eyes are red yet."</p>
+
+<p>The only answer was a laugh as Marian
+bathed her tear-stained face.</p>
+
+<p>"I want you to look pretty when mamma<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[Pg 250]</a></span>
+sees you," continued Florence, "so don't you
+dare be silly again."</p>
+
+<p>In spite of the warning, Marian was obliged
+to seek the obscurity of the fourth floor music
+room later in the day, before she thought of
+another refuge&mdash;Miss Smith's room. The
+sight of so many happy girls with their mothers
+was more than she could endure and Miss
+Smith understood. Even the thought of
+seeing Florence Weston's mother was a
+troubled one, for alas! she couldn't beg to go
+with the woman as she once did in the Little
+Pilgrims' Home.</p>
+
+<p>When the child was sure that Florence and
+her mother were gone and while Miss Smith
+was busy in the office, she returned to her
+room. "The trunks are here yet," observed
+Marian, "but may be they won't send for
+them until morning," and utterly worn out
+by the day's excitement, the child threw herself
+upon the bed and sobbed in an abandonment
+of grief.</p>
+
+<p>Half an hour later the door was opened by
+a woman who closed it softly when she saw
+Marian. "Poor little dear," she whispered,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[Pg 251]</a></span>
+and bending over the sleeping child, kissed
+her. Marian was dreaming of her mother.</p>
+
+<p>"Poor little dear," repeated the woman, and
+kissed her again. That kiss roused the child.
+Opening her eyes, she threw her arms around
+the woman's neck, exclaiming wildly,</p>
+
+<p>"My mother, oh, my mother!"</p>
+
+<p>"But I am not your mother, dear," remonstrated
+the woman, trying to release herself
+from the clinging arms. "I am Florence
+Weston's mother. I have come for her little
+satchel that we forgot. Cuddle down, dear,
+and go to sleep again."</p>
+
+<p>At that, Marian seemed to realize her mistake
+and cried so pitifully, Florence Weston's
+mother took her in her arms and sitting in a
+low rocker held Marian and tried to quiet her.</p>
+
+<p>The door opened and Florence entered.
+"Why mamma, what is the matter?" she began,
+but without waiting for a reply, she was
+gone, returning in a moment with her father.
+"Now what is the matter with poor Marian?"
+she repeated.</p>
+
+<p>"Nothing," explained Marian, "only everything."</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[Pg 252]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"She thought I was her mother, Florence,
+the poor little girl; there, there, dear, don't
+cry. She was only half awake and she says I
+look like her mother's picture."</p>
+
+<p>"You do, you look just like the picture,"
+sobbed Marian.</p>
+
+<p>"What picture?" asked the man; "this
+child is the image of brother. What picture,
+I say?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, she means mamma's miniature," said
+Florence.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't mean the miniature," Marian interrupted,
+"I mean my own mother's picture,"
+and the child, kneeling before her small trunk
+quickly found the photograph of her father
+and mother. "There! doesn't she look like
+my mother?"</p>
+
+<p>There was a moment of breathless silence
+as Florence Weston's father and mother gazed
+at the small card. The woman was the first
+to speak.</p>
+
+<p>"Why, Richard Lee!" she exclaimed.
+"That must be a photograph of you!"</p>
+
+<p>"It is," was the reply, "it is a picture of
+me and of my dead wife, but the baby died too."</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[Pg 253]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Well, I didn't die," cried Marian. "I was
+two months old when my father went away,
+and when my mother died, the folks wrote to
+the place where my father was the last time
+they knew anything about him, and I s'pose
+they told him I was dead, but I wasn't, and
+that's my mother. Uncle George knows
+it&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Uncle George, my brother George," for a
+moment it was the man who seemed to be
+dreaming. Then a light broke over his face
+as he snatched Marian and said, "Why, little
+girl, you are my child."</p>
+
+<p>"And my mother will be your mother,"
+Florence put in, "so what are you and mamma
+crying about now?"</p>
+
+<p>"Didn't you ever hear," said Marian, smiling
+through her tears, "that sometimes folks
+cry for joy?"</p>
+
+<p>It was unnecessary for Aunt Amelia to take
+the long journey. Marian's father telegraphed
+for Uncle George who arrived the next day
+with papers Marian knew nothing about,
+proving beyond question the identity of the
+child.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[Pg 254]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>The little girl couldn't understand the silent
+greeting between the brothers, nor why Uncle
+George was so deeply affected when she talked
+of his kindness to her and the many happy
+days she thanked him for since he found her
+in the Little Pilgrims' Home. Neither could
+she understand what her father meant when
+he spoke of a debt of gratitude too deep for
+words.</p>
+
+<p>Marian only knew that unpleasant memories
+slipped away like a dream when Uncle George
+left her with her father and mother: when he
+smiled and told her he was glad she was going
+home.</p>
+
+<hr class="r5" />
+
+<div class="transnote">
+<p class="ph2">Transcriber Notes</p>
+<p>Retained anachronistic and non-standard spellings as printed.<br />
+Free use of quotes, typical of the time, is retained.</p>
+</div>
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+<pre>
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Rainbow Bridge, by 
+Frances Margaret Fox and Frank T. Merrill
+
+*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE RAINBOW BRIDGE ***
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+</pre>
+
+</body>
+</html>
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@@ -1,5319 +1,5319 @@
-The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Rainbow Bridge, by 

-Frances Margaret Fox and Frank T. Merrill

-

-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/license

-

-

-Title: The Rainbow Bridge

-

-Author: Frances Margaret Fox

-        Frank T. Merrill

-

-Release Date: October 28, 2017 [EBook #55837]

-

-Language: English

-

-Character set encoding: ASCII

-

-*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE RAINBOW BRIDGE ***

-

-

-

-

-Produced by Alan and the Online Distributed Proofreading

-Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from

-images generously made available by The Internet Archive)

-

-

-

-

-

-

-

-

-

-The Rainbow Bridge

-

-

-

-

-BOOKS BY FRANCES MARGARET FOX

-

- =WHAT GLADYS SAW.= A NATURE STORY OF FARM AND FOREST. With

- full page illustration. Containing 318 pages. Cloth bound. Price,

- $1.25.

-

- =THE RAINBOW BRIDGE.= A STORY. With full page colored frontispiece.

- Containing 254 pages. Cloth bound. Price, $1.25.

-

-

-

-

-[Illustration: MRS. MOORE ROCKED A BABY BEFORE THE NURSERY FIRE.]

-

-

-

-

-                The Rainbow Bridge

-

-                    A Story

-

-                       By

-               FRANCES MARGARET FOX

-

-       _Author of "What Gladys Saw," "Farmer

-            Brown and the Birds," etc._

-

-                  ILLUSTRATED BY

-                 FRANK T. MERRILL

-

-[Illustration]

-

-                 W. A. WILDE COMPANY

-              BOSTON             CHICAGO

-

-

-

-

-                  _Copyright, 1905_

-                BY W. A. WILDE COMPANY

-

-                _All rights reserved_

-

-                 THE RAINBOW BRIDGE

-

-

-

-

-                         _To

-              the dear friend of my childhood

-                    and later years

-                Mrs. William W. Crouch_

-

-

-

-

-Contents

-

-      I. A LITTLE PILGRIM BEGINS A JOURNEY           11

-

-     II. MARIAN'S FIRST DAY IN SCHOOL                19

-

-    III. SHE GOES TO CHURCH                          27

-

-     IV. AUNT AMELIA                                 40

-

-      V. MARIAN'S NEW HOME                           48

-

-     VI. THAT YELLOW CUCUMBER                        58

-

-    VII. AN UNDESERVING CHILD                        66

-

-   VIII. IN THE NAME OF SANTA CLAUS                  73

-

-     IX. AT THE RICH MAN'S TABLE                     83

-

-      X. A GAME OF SLICED BIRDS                      94

-

-     XI. THE WAY OF THE TRANSGRESSOR                105

-

-    XII. MARIAN'S DIARY                             127

-

-   XIII. DIPHTHERIA                                 146

-

-    XIV. MUSICAL CONVERSATIONS                      163

-

-     XV. LITTLE SISTER TO THE DANDELION             173

-

-    XVI. PROFESSOR LEE, BOTANIST                    185

-

-   XVII. THE COMPOSITION ON WILD FLOWERS            192

-

-  XVIII. MARIAN'S LETTER HOME                       199

-

-    XIX. THE MOST TRUTHFUL CHILD IN SCHOOL          204

-

-     XX. MORE CHANGES                               215

-

-    XXI. MARIAN REMEMBERS HER DIARY                 220

-

-   XXII. FLORENCE WESTON'S MOTHER                   231

-

-  XXIII. HOW MARIAN CROSSED THE RAINBOW BRIDGE      241

-

-

-

-

-The Rainbow Bridge

-

-

-

-

-CHAPTER I

-

-A LITTLE PILGRIM BEGINS A JOURNEY

-

-

-THERE was always room for one more in the Home for Little Pilgrims.

-Especially was this true of the nursery; not because the nursery was

-so large, nor because there was the least danger that the calico cats

-might be lonesome, but Mrs. Moore loved babies. It made no difference

-to her whether the wee strangers were white or black, bright or stupid,

-she treated them all alike. They were dressed, undressed, bathed, fed

-and put to sleep at exactly the same hours every day, that is, they

-were laid in their cribs whenever it was time for them to go to sleep.

-Little Pilgrims were never rocked and Mrs. Moore had no time for

-lullaby songs, whatever may have been her inclination.

-

-Yet there came a night when Mrs. Moore rocked a baby before the nursery

-fire and sung to it all the songs she knew. That was the night Marian

-Lee entered the Home with bright eyes wide open. She not only had her

-eyes open when she was placed in Mrs. Moore's arms, but she kept them

-open and somehow compelled Mrs. Moore to break her own rules and do as

-she had never done with a new baby.

-

-To be sure, Marian Lee couldn't talk, having started on her pilgrimage

-only six months before, but in a way of her own, she declared herself

-well pleased with the Home and with the nursery in particular. She

-enjoyed her bath and said so. The warm fire in the grate pleased

-her and Mrs. Moore's face was lovely, if a baby's ideas were of any

-account. The trouble began when Marian was carried into the still room

-where the sleeping Pilgrims were, and placed in a crib. The minute her

-head touched the pillow she began to cry. When Mrs. Moore left her,

-she cried louder. That awakened tiny Joe in the nearest crib and when

-he began to wail, Bennie and Johnnie, Sam and Katie, as well as half

-a dozen others joined in the chorus. Not to be outdone by these older

-Pilgrims, Marian screamed louder than any of them until Mrs. Moore took

-her back to the fire and quiet was restored.

-

-Now it was strictly against Mrs. Moore's rules to humor a baby in that

-fashion, and Mrs. Moore told Marian so, although she added in the next

-breath, "Poor little dear." The "poor little dear" was cooing once more

-and there really seemed nothing to do but kiss, and cuddle and rock the

-baby as her own mother might have done. She was so unlike the others in

-the Home; so soft, round and beautiful.

-

-"You are no ordinary baby, precious one," said Mrs. Moore, whereupon

-Marian laughed, flourished her hands and seemed much pleased. "I

-think," continued Mrs. Moore, as she kissed the pink fists, "I think

-some one has talked to you a great deal. My babies are different, poor

-little things, they don't talk back as you do."

-

-Before long, the rows of white cribs in the other room were forgotten

-and Mrs. Moore began singing to Marian as though she were the only baby

-in the big Home. Lullaby after lullaby she sang while the fire burned

-low, yet the baby would not sleep. Softly at last, Mrs. Moore began a

-lullaby long unsung:

-

-  "All the little birdies have gone to sleep,

-    Why does my pet so wide awake keep?

-  Peep, peep, go to sleep, peep, peep, go to sleep.

-

-  "All the little babies their prayers have said,

-    Their mothers have tucked them up snugly in bed.

-  Peep, peep, go to sleep, peep, peep, go to sleep."

-

-When the blue eyes closed, Mrs. Moore suddenly realized it was but

-another Little Pilgrim that she held and not her own baby so often

-hushed to sleep by that old lullaby many years ago. For the sake of

-that baby, Mrs. Moore had loved all the motherless little ones in the

-Home--all the unfortunate, neglected waifs brought to its doors. She

-had loved them impartially until that night. She had never before asked

-who a baby was, nor what its surroundings had been. Its future was

-her only concern. To care for each baby while it was in the nursery

-and to be sure it was placed in a good home when taken away, was all

-she wished to know. No baby had ever crept into Mrs. Moore's innermost

-heart as Marian did that night. An hour later the superintendent was

-surprised when Mrs. Moore asked for the history of that latest Little

-Pilgrim.

-

-"She's a fine child," mused the superintendent, adding cheerfully,

-"we'll have no trouble finding a home for her; I doubt if she's here a

-month."

-

-Mrs. Moore said nothing but she was sure Marian would stay more than a

-month. After she heard the superintendent's story, she was more sure

-of it. Thus it happened that tiny Joe, who was not a bit attractive,

-and Bennie and Johnnie, who were disagreeable babies if such a thing

-may be, and Sam and Katie whose fathers and mothers were drunkards, as

-well as a dozen other little waifs, were given away long before Marian

-learned to talk: Marian, the beautiful baby, was somehow always kept

-behind Mrs. Moore's skirts. As the child grew older, she was still

-kept in the background. The plainest dresses ever sent in to Little

-Pilgrims, were given to Marian. Her hair was kept short and when

-special visitors were expected, she was taken to the playground by an

-older girl. All this time a happier baby never lived than Marian. No

-one in the Home knew how tenderly Mrs. Moore loved her. No one knew of

-the caresses lavished upon her when the infant Pilgrims were busy with

-their blocks or asleep in their cribs.

-

-At last the superintendent questioned Mrs. Moore. He said it seemed

-strange that no one wished to adopt so lovely a child. Mrs. Moore

-explained. She told the superintendent she hoped Marian would be

-claimed by folks of her own, but if not--Mrs. Moore hesitated at that

-and the superintendent understood.

-

-"We won't give her away," he promised, "until we find the right kind of

-a mother for her. That child shall have a good home."

-

-Too soon to please Mrs. Moore, Marian outgrew her crib and went

-to sleep in the dormitory. The child was pleased with the change,

-especially as Mrs. Moore tucked her in bed and kissed her every night

-just as she had done in the nursery. Marian was glad to be no longer

-a baby. The dormitory with its rows and rows of little white beds,

-delighted the child, and to be allowed to sit up hours after the babies

-were asleep was pure joy.

-

-The dining-room was another pleasure. To sit down to dinner with two

-hundred little girls and boys and to be given one of the two hundred

-bright bibs, filled her heart with pride. The bibs certainly were an

-attraction. Marian was glad hers was pink. She buttoned it to her chair

-after dinner just as she saw the others do.

-

-One thing troubled Marian. She wished Mrs. Moore to sit at the table

-beside her and drink milk from a big, white mug. "Do childrens always

-have dinner all alone?" she asked.

-

-Instead of answering the child, Mrs. Moore told her to run away and

-play. Then she looked out of the window for a long, long time. Perhaps

-she had done wrong after all in keeping the baby so long in a "Home

-with a capital H."

-

-

-

-

-CHAPTER II

-

-MARIAN'S FIRST DAY IN SCHOOL

-

-

-THERE was no kindergarten in the Home for Little Pilgrims when Marian

-was a baby. The child was scarcely five when she marched into the

-schoolroom to join the changing ranks of little folks who were such a

-puzzle to their teacher. Every day one or more new faces appeared in

-that schoolroom and every day familiar faces were gone. For that reason

-alone it was a hard school to manage.

-

-The teacher, who had been many years in the Home, smiled as she found

-a seat for Marian in the front row. Marian at least might be depended

-upon to come regularly to school: then, too, she would learn easily

-and be a credit to her instructor. Plain dresses and short hair might

-do their worst, the face of the child attracted attention. The teacher

-smiled again as Marian sat in the front seat before her, with hands

-folded, waiting to see what might happen next.

-

-Roll call interested the child. She wondered why the little girls and

-boys said "Present" when the teacher read their names from a big book.

-Once in a while when a name was called, nobody answered. Finally the

-teacher, smiling once more, said, "Marian Lee." The little girl sat

-perfectly still with lips tightly closed.

-

-"You must say 'present' when your name is called," suggested the

-teacher.

-

-No response.

-

-"Say present," the teacher repeated.

-

-"But I don't like this kind of play," Marian protested, and then

-wondered why all the children laughed and the teacher looked annoyed.

-

-"But you must say present," the young lady insisted and Marian obeyed,

-though she thought it a silly game.

-

-The things that happened in the schoolroom that morning were many and

-queer. A little boy had to stand on the floor in front of the teacher's

-desk because he threw a paper wad. Then when the teacher wasn't looking

-he aimed another at Marian and hit her on the nose and when Marian

-laughed aloud, the teacher, who didn't know what happened, shook her

-head and looked cross. It distressed Marian so to have the teacher look

-cross that she felt miserable and wondered what folks went to school

-for anyway. A few moments later, she knew. The primer class was called

-and Marian, being told to do so, followed a dozen Little Pilgrims to

-the recitation seat where she was told that children go to school to

-learn their letters. Marian knew her letters, having learned them from

-the blocks in the nursery.

-

-"You must learn to read," advised the teacher, and Marian stared

-helplessly about the schoolroom. She felt sure it wouldn't be a bit of

-fun to learn to read. Nor was it, if her first lesson was a sample.

-

-It wasn't long before Marian was tired of sitting still. She wasn't

-used to it. At last she remembered that in her pocket was a china doll,

-an inch high. On her desk was the new primer. The cover was pasteboard

-and of course one could chew pasteboard. The china doll needed a crib

-and as there seemed nothing to make a crib of but the cover of her

-primer, Marian chewed a corner of it, flattened it out and fitted the

-doll in. It pleased her, and she showed it to the little girl in the

-next seat. Soon the teacher noticed that Marian was turning around and

-showing her primer to all the children near, and the children were

-smiling.

-

-"Marian, bring your book to me," said the teacher. Then there was

-trouble. Little Pilgrims had to be taught not to chew their books. The

-teacher gave Marian what one of the older girls called a "Lecture," and

-Marian cried.

-

-"I didn't have anything to do," she sobbed.

-

-"Nothing to do?" exclaimed the teacher, "why, little girl, you should

-study your lesson as you see the other children doing. That is why you

-are in school--to study."

-

-Marian went to her seat, but how to study she didn't know. She watched

-the other children bending over their books, making noises with their

-lips, so she bent over her primer and made so much noise the teacher

-told her she must keep still.

-

-"Why, Marian," said the young lady, "what makes you so naughty? I

-thought you were a good little girl!"

-

-Poor Marian didn't know what to think. Tears, however, cleared her

-views. She decided that as going to school was a thing that must be

-endured because Mrs. Moore would be displeased otherwise, it would do

-no good to make a fuss. She would draw pictures on her slate or play

-with the stones in her pocket--anything to pass the time. There was

-a great deal in knowing what one could or could not do safely, and

-Marian learned that lesson faster than she learned to read. When she

-was dismissed that afternoon, the little girl flew to the nursery to

-tell Mrs. Moore about her first school day. Soon after when Marian ran

-laughing into the hall on her way to the playground, she met Janey

-Clark who sat behind her in school.

-

-"Is Mrs. Moore your ma?" asked Janey.

-

-"What's a ma?" inquired Marian, seizing Janey's two hands.

-

-"A ma," was the reply, "why a ma is a mother. Is Mrs. Moore your

-mother?"

-

-"Maybe," agreed Marian. "Oh, no, she isn't either. I know all about

-mothers, we sing about 'em, of course. I guess I never had one."

-

-"My mother just died," declared Janey, tossing her head in an important

-way that aroused Marian's envy.

-

-"Well, mine died too!" responded Marian.

-

-"Did you have a funeral?" persisted Janey.

-

-"Did you?" Marian cautiously inquired.

-

-"Well I should say yes," was the reply.

-

-"Then I did too," observed Marian.

-

-"Well," remarked Janey, "that's nothing to brag of; I don't suppose

-there's anybody in this Home that got here unless all their folks died

-dead. We are here because we don't belong anywhere else, and we are

-going to be given away to folks that'll take us, pretty soon."

-

-That was too much for Marian. "Why, Janey Clark, what a talk!" she

-exclaimed, then turning, she ran back to the nursery.

-

-"Nanna, Nanna!" she cried, "where's my mother?"

-

-Mrs. Moore almost dropped a fretful baby at the question.

-

-"Did I ever have a mother?" continued the child, whose dark blue eyes

-looked black she was so much in earnest. "I thought mothers were just

-only in singing, but Janey Clark had a mother and she died, and if

-Janey Clark had a mother, I guess I had one too that died."

-

-The fretful baby was given to an assistant and Mrs. Moore took Marian

-in her lap. "What else did Janey tell you?" she asked.

-

-"Well, Janey said that all of us childrens are going to be gived away

-to folks. Mrs. Moore, did all the childrens that live here have mothers

-that died?"

-

-"Not all of them, Marian, some of the mothers are living and the

-children will go back to them: but your mother, little girl, will never

-come back for you. God took her away when He sent you to us. We keep

-little children here in our home until we find new fathers and mothers

-for them. Sometimes lovely mothers come here for little girls like

-you. How is it, Marian, do you want a mother?"

-

-The child nodded her head and looked so pleased Mrs. Moore was

-disappointed. It would be hard enough to part with the child anyway,

-but to think she wished to go was surprising.

-

-Two soft arms stole around Mrs. Moore's neck. "I'm going to have you

-for my mother," Marian explained, "and I'm going to live here always. I

-don't want to be gived away."

-

-

-

-

-CHAPTER III

-

-SHE GOES TO CHURCH

-

-

-JANEY CLARK was taken ill one day and was carried to the hospital. When

-she returned months afterward, she had something to tell Marian.

-

-"You want to get yourself adopted," was her advice. "I'm going to,

-first chance I get. When I was too well to stay in the hospital and not

-enough well to come home, a pretty lady came and said would I like to

-go to her house and stay until I was all better."

-

-"Did she 'dopt you?" questioned Marian.

-

-"No, of course not, or I could have stayed at her house and she would

-be my mother. She didn't want to keep me but only to borrow me so

-the children she is aunt to would know about Little Pilgrims and

-how lucky it is not to be one their own selves. And at her house,"

-continued Janey, "if you liked something they had for dinner pretty

-well, you could have a second helping, if you would say please. You

-better believe I said it when there was ice cream. And the children

-she was aunt to took turns dividing chocolate candy with me, and the

-only trouble was they gave me too much and made me sick most all the

-time. What do you think! One day a girl said she wished I was a little

-cripple like a boy that was there once, because she liked to be kind

-to little cripples and wash their faces. Wasn't she just lovely? Oh,

-Marian, I want to be adopted and have a mother like that lady and a

-room all my own and everything."

-

-"But I would rather live with Mrs. Moore," objected Marian. "I've

-picked her out for my mother."

-

-"All right for you, stay here if you want to," agreed Janey, "but I'm

-not, you just wait and see."

-

-Janey Clark was adopted soon after and when Marian was invited to visit

-her, she changed her mind about living forever in the Home for Little

-Pilgrims. Mrs. Moore promised to choose a mother for her from the many

-visitors to the Home, yet she and Marian proved hard to suit.

-

-"I want a mother just like my Nanna," said Marian to the

-superintendent, who agreed to do all he could to find one. In spite of

-his help Marian seemed likely to stay in the Home, not because no one

-wanted her but because the child objected to the mothers who offered

-themselves. All these months the little girl was so happy and contented

-the superintendent said she was like a sunbeam among the Little

-Pilgrims and if the school-teacher had some ideas that he and Mrs.

-Moore didn't share, she smiled and said nothing.

-

-In time, Marian talked of the mother she wished to have as she did of

-heaven--of something beautiful but too indefinite and far away to be

-more than a dream. One never-to-be-forgotten morning, the dream took

-shape. A woman visited the Home, leading a little girl by the hand. A

-woman so lovely the face of the dullest Little Pilgrim lighted as she

-passed. It was not so much the bright gold of her hair, nor the blue

-eyes that attracted the children, but the way she smiled and the way

-she spoke won them all.

-

-She was the mother for whom Marian had waited. It didn't occur to the

-child that the woman might not want her.

-

-It was noon before the strangers were through visiting the chapel, the

-schoolroom, the nursery and the dormitories. Like a shadow Marian had

-followed them over the building, fearing to lose sight of her chosen

-mother. On reaching the dining-room the woman and child, with the

-superintendent, stood outside the door where they watched the Little

-Pilgrims march in to dinner. Noticing Marian, the superintendent asked

-her why she didn't go to the table, and Marian tried to tell him but

-couldn't speak a word. The man was about to send her in the dining-room

-when he caught the appealing look on the child's face. At that moment

-the stranger turned. Marian seized her dress and the woman, glancing

-down, saw the dear little one and stooping, kissed her.

-

-The superintendent smiled but Marian began to cry as the woman tried

-ever so gently to release her dress from the small, clinging fingers.

-

-"We must go now," the stranger said, "so good-bye, dear child."

-

-"I'm going with you," announced Marian. "I want you for my mother."

-

-"But, don't you see, I have a little girl? What could I do with two?"

-remonstrated the woman. "There, there," she continued, as Marian began

-to sob piteously, "run in to dinner and some day I will come to see

-you again. Perhaps they may let you visit my little girl and me before

-long. Would you like that?"

-

-"No, no," wailed Marian, "I want you for my mother."

-

-"Come, Marian, sweetheart, let's go find Mrs. Moore," suggested the

-superintendent, taking her by force from the visitor, whose eyes

-filled with tears at the sight of little outstretched arms. For years

-afterwards there were times when that woman seemed to feel the clinging

-fingers of the Little Pilgrim who chose her for her mother. She might

-have taken her home. The next time she called to inquire for the

-child, Marian was gone.

-

-An unexpected thing happened as Marian was borne away to the nursery.

-The stranger's little girl cried and would not be comforted because

-she couldn't stay and have dinner with the Little Pilgrims. She was

-still grieving over her first sorrow after Mrs. Moore had succeeded in

-winning back the smiles to the face of her precious Marian.

-

-"Well, I know one sure thing," declared the Little Pilgrim as she

-raised her head from Mrs. Moore's shoulder and brushed away the tears.

-"I know that same mother will come and get me some time and take me

-home and then you will come and live with me--and won't it be lovely!

-Let's have some dinner, I'm hungry!"

-

-Mrs. Moore smiled and sighed at the same time, but she ordered a

-luncheon for two served in the nursery and Marian's troubles vanished:

-also the luncheon.

-

-The next time the superintendent saw the child, she was sitting on the

-nursery floor singing to the babies. He was surprised and pleased when

-he heard the sweet, clear voice and straightway sought Mrs. Moore.

-

-"Let me take her Sunday," he suggested. "I didn't know our Marian was a

-singer."

-

-"Are you going into the country?" asked the nurse.

-

-"No, Mrs. Moore, not this time. We expect to have services in one of

-the largest churches right here in the city. We have made special

-arrangements and I shall take twenty-five of the best singers in the

-Home with me. Marian will have plenty of company."

-

-"She is young," objected Mrs. Moore.

-

-The superintendent laughed. "Petey Ross," said he, "was two years old

-when he made his first public appearance on the platform; Marian is

-nearly six."

-

-"Yes," agreed Mrs. Moore, "that is true and I remember that Petey

-Ross was adopted and in less than a week after that first appearance.

-Marian," she continued, "come here, darling. Do you want to go to a big

-church with the children next Sunday and sing one of the songs you and

-I sing to the babies?"

-

-"Yes, Nanna, what for?"

-

-"Because the superintendent wishes you to. Every Sunday he takes some

-of our little boys and girls away to sing in the different churches,

-where he tells the people all about the Home for Little Pilgrims."

-

-"Oh, yes, now I know," declared Marian. "Janey Clark used to go and

-sing. She said that was the way to get yourself adopted. I'd like to go

-if I don't have to get adopted and if Nanna may go too."

-

-"All right, Marian, I will go," assented Mrs. Moore, "and nobody shall

-adopt you unless you wish it. Now run back to the babies. Little Ned

-and Jakey are quarreling over the elephant. Hurry, Marian, or its ears

-will be gone."

-

-"She'll demand a salary in another year," remarked the superintendent,

-watching the little girl's successful management of the babies.

-

-"I shouldn't know how to get along without her," said Mrs. Moore, "and

-yet it isn't right to let her grow up here."

-

-Sunday morning it would have been hard to find a happier child than

-Marian anywhere in the big city. She had never been in a church before

-and quickly forgot her pretty white dress and curls in the wonder

-of it all. She sat on the platform, a radiant little Pilgrim among

-the twenty-five waifs. Soon the church was filled. After the opening

-exercises the service was turned over to the superintendent of the Home

-for Little Pilgrims. He made a few remarks, and then asked Marian to

-sing. Pleased by the friendly faces in the pews and encouraged by Mrs.

-Moore's presence, Marian sang timidly at first, then joyously as to the

-babies in the nursery.

-

-  "'I am Jesus' little lamb

-  Happy all the day I am,

-  Jesus loves me this I know

-  For I'm His lamb.'"

-

-As she went on with the song, the little girl was surprised to see many

-of the audience in tears. Even Mrs. Moore was wiping her eyes, although

-she smiled bravely and Marian knew she was not displeased. What could

-be the matter with the folks that bright Sunday morning? Janey Clark

-said everybody always cried at funerals. Perhaps it was a funeral. At

-the close of her song Marian sat down, much puzzled. After Johnnie

-Otis recited the poem he always recited on Visitors' Day at school,

-"The Orphan's Prayer," all the Little Pilgrims, Marian included, were

-asked to sing their chapel song. What was there sad about that, Marian

-wondered. She always sang it over and over to the babies to make them

-stop crying.

-

-  "It is all for the best, oh, my Father,

-    All for the best, all for the best."

-

-When the Little Pilgrims were seated, the superintendent made a speech

-to which Marian listened. For the first time in her life she knew the

-meaning of the Home for Little Pilgrims. She understood at last all

-that Janey Clark had tried to tell her. No wonder the people cried.

-Marian stared at the superintendent, longing and dreading to hear more.

-Story after story he told of wrecked homes and scattered families; of

-little children, homeless and friendless left to their fate upon the

-street.

-

-"Whatever may be the causes which bring these waifs to our doors,

-remember," said he, "the children themselves are not to blame. It is

-through no fault of theirs their young lives have been saddened and

-trouble has come upon them while your little ones are loved and cared

-for in comfortable homes."

-

-The superintendent grew eloquent as he went on. How could it be, Marian

-wondered, that she had never known before what a sad, sad place was

-the Little Pilgrims' Home? Where did her mother die and where was

-her father? Perhaps he was in the dreadful prison mentioned by the

-superintendent. It was such a pitiful thing to be a Little Pilgrim.

-Marian wondered how she had ever lived so long. Oh, if she could

-change places with one of the fortunate little ones in the pews. The

-superintendent was right. Every little girl needed a father and mother

-of her own. She wanted the lovely mother who had passed her by. What

-was the superintendent saying? something about her? The next thing

-Marian knew the man had taken her in his arms and placed her upon the

-little table beside him. She thought he said "'For of such is the

-Kingdom of Heaven,'"--she wasn't sure.

-

-In the quiet moment that followed, Marian looked all over the church

-for the mother of her dreams. Maybe she was there and perhaps she would

-take her home. If she could only see that one face for a moment.

-

-"I am going to ask our little girl for another song," the

-superintendent said, telling Marian what to sing. The child hesitated,

-then looked appealing towards Mrs. Moore. She had forgotten her during

-the speech--dear, kind Mrs. Moore.

-

-"Don't be frightened," whispered the superintendent, whereupon to the

-surprise of every one in the church, Marian put her head upon his

-shoulder and sobbed aloud, "I don't want to be a Little Pilgrim any

-more! Oh, I don't want to be a Little Pilgrim any more!"

-

-Another second and Mrs. Moore's arms were around the child and the

-superintendent was alone on the platform with the twenty-five.

-

-"He told me to take you for a walk in the park," whispered Mrs. Moore,

-"so don't cry, Marian, and we will leave the church quickly as we can.

-We will talk about the Little Pilgrims out in the sunshine where the

-birds are singing and we can see the blue sky."

-

-Mrs. Moore would have been tempted to have stayed in the church had she

-known the superintendent's reason for wishing her to take the child

-away; nor would the good man have done as he did, could he have guessed

-the immediate consequences. When Marian was gone, the superintendent

-told her story effectively. She might have had her choice of many homes

-within a week had it not been for the appearance of Aunt Amelia.

-

-

-

-

-CHAPTER IV

-

-AUNT AMELIA

-

-

-THERE was no question about it. Aunt Amelia had a perfect right to

-claim the child. The superintendent was sorry to admit it, but what

-could he do? Mrs. Moore was heartbroken, but she was powerless. The

-proofs were positive. Aunt Amelia's husband and Marian Lee's father

-were half-brothers and here was Aunt Amelia insisting upon her right to

-do her duty by the child.

-

-Marian never heard of Aunt Amelia until it was all over and the

-superintendent sent for her. She came dancing into the office, her

-face aglow until she saw Aunt Amelia. Then the sunshine faded from

-her eyes and she shrank past the stranger, scarcely breathing until

-the superintendent's arms were about her. From that safe shelter she

-surveyed Aunt Amelia.

-

-There was nothing in the woman's appearance to inspire confidence in

-a little child. She was tall, thin, bloodless. One felt conscious of

-the bones in her very forehead. She wore her scant, black hair in wiry

-crimps parted in the middle. Her eyes were the color of stone, while

-her lips formed a thin, pale lone line closing over projecting front

-teeth. There was a brittle look about her ears and nose as though a

-blow might shatter them. Angles completed the picture.

-

-"You say you have a child of your own, Mrs. St. Claire?" The

-superintendent asked the question doubtfully. It seemed probable that

-his ears had deceived him.

-

-"I have," was the reply.

-

-"Then Marian will be sure of a playmate." The man seemed talking to

-himself.

-

-"If she behaves herself--perhaps," was the response.

-

-"What do you mean?" demanded the superintendent.

-

-"I think I expressed myself clearly," said Mrs. St. Claire. "If Marian

-behaves and is worthy of my little daughter's companionship, we may

-allow them to play together occasionally."

-

-"Does she want to 'dopt me?" whispered Marian; "tell her no, quick--I

-got to go back to the nursery. Put me down."

-

-"I am your Aunt Amelia," announced the woman, "and I have come to take

-you to Michigan to live with your Uncle George and me."

-

-"Where did I get any Uncle George?" asked Marian, turning to the

-superintendent.

-

-"It isn't necessary to give a mere child too much information," put in

-Mrs. St. Claire; "it is enough for her to know that she has relatives

-who are willing to take her and do their duty by her."

-

-Regardless of this the man answered one of the questions he saw in

-Marian's solemn blue eyes.

-

-"Your uncle and aunt," he explained, "are visiting in the city; they

-were in church last Sunday when you sang. When relatives come for

-Little Pilgrims, Marian, we have to let them go."

-

-"You will not send me away with--her!" exclaimed the child, terror and

-entreaty expressed in the uplifted face.

-

-"Dear child, we must."

-

-"But I won't go, I won't go," cried Marian, clinging to the

-superintendent for protection. "Oh, you won't send me away, Mrs. Moore

-won't let them take me--I won't go! Please let me stay until the pretty

-mother comes again and I will ask her to take me and I know she will.

-Oh, if you love me, don't send me away with her!"

-

-"It is just as I told my husband Sunday morning," remarked Mrs. St.

-Claire as the superintendent tried to soothe Marian's violent grief. "I

-said the child was subject to tantrums. It is sad to see such traits

-cropping out in one so young. Lack of training may have much to do with

-it. Other influences----"

-

-"Pardon me, madam," interrupted the superintendent, "you forget that

-this little one has been with us since she was six months old. Mrs.

-Moore has been a mother to her in every sense of the word. It is only

-natural that she dreads going among strangers. She is a good little

-girl and we all love her. Hush, sweetheart," he whispered to the

-sobbing, trembling child, "perhaps your aunt may decide to leave you

-with us."

-

-"I--I--I won't--won't go," protested Marian, "I--I won't go, I won't

-go!"

-

-"Are you willing, madam, to give this child to us?" continued the

-superintendent; "perhaps you may wish to relinquish your claim, under

-the circumstances."

-

-"I never shrink from my duty," declared the woman, rising as she spoke,

-grim determination in every line of her purple gown; "my husband

-feels it a disgrace to find his brother's child in an orphan asylum.

-She cannot be left in a charitable institution while we have a crust

-to bestow upon her. She will take nothing from this place except the

-articles which belonged to her mother. I will call for the child at

-eight this evening. Good-morning, sir."

-

-"I--I won't go--I--won't go! You--you needn't come for me!" Marian had

-the last word that time.

-

-The babies were left to the care of assistant nurses that afternoon.

-Mrs. Moore held Marian and rocked her as on that night so long before

-when she became a little Pilgrim. For some time neither of them spoke

-and tears fell like rain above the brown head nestled in Mrs. Moore's

-arms. Marian was the first to break the silence. "I--I won't go, I

-won't go," she repeated between choking sobs, "I--I won't go, I won't

-go, she'll find out she won't get me!"

-

-Mrs. Moore tried to think of something to say. Just then a merry voice

-was heard singing in the hall outside,

-

-  "It is all for the best, oh, my Father,

-   All for the best, all for the best."

-

-"Will they let me come to see you every day?" asked Marian when the

-singer was beyond hearing. "Will they?" she repeated as Mrs. Moore made

-no answer. "Where is Michigan, anyway? What street car goes out there?"

-

-It was some time before Mrs. Moore could speak. Her strongest impulse

-was to hide the precious baby. What would become of her darling among

-unloving strangers? Who would teach her right from wrong? Suddenly

-Mrs. Moore realized that in days to come there might be time enough for

-tears. There were yet a few hours left her with the little girl which

-she must improve.

-

-Gently and tenderly she told Marian the truth. Michigan was far, far

-away. She must go alone, to live among strangers--yet not alone, for

-there was One in heaven who would be with her and who would watch over

-her and love her always, as He had in the Home. Poor Marian heard the

-voice but the words meant nothing to her until long afterwards. Mrs.

-Moore herself could never recall just what she said that sad day. She

-knew she tried to tell Marian to be brave, to be good; to tell the

-truth and do right: but more than once she broke down and wept with her

-darling.

-

-When Mrs. St. Claire called at eight, she was greeted by a quiet,

-submissive child who said she was ready to go. More than that, the

-little thing tried to smile as she promised to be a good girl. Perhaps

-the smile wouldn't have been so easily discouraged if Mrs. St. Claire

-had kissed the swollen, tear-stained face, or had said one comforting

-word.

-

-The time of parting came. When it was over, Mrs. Moore lifted the

-sobbing child into the carriage. Then she knew that in spite of the

-stars the night was dark.

-

-

-

-

-CHAPTER V

-

-MARIAN'S NEW HOME

-

-

-THE second day of the journey to the new home, Marian laughed aloud.

-She had slept well the night before and had taken a lively interest in

-everything she saw from the time she was awakened by the first glimpse

-of daylight through the sleeper windows. Not that she was happy, far

-from it, but it was something that she wasn't utterly miserable.

-

-Uncle George was pleasanter than his wife, and although he said little

-from behind his newspaper, that little was encouraging: his tones were

-kind.

-

-Ella St. Claire, the cousin, three years younger than Marian, was

-inclined to be friendly. Left to themselves the children might have

-had a delightful time, but Mrs. St. Claire had no intention of leaving

-the two to themselves; it was not part of her plan. Marian made

-several attempts to get acquainted and Ella kept edging away from her

-mother, until in the middle of the forenoon, Mrs. St. Claire remarked

-that if she wished to have any peace she must separate the children.

-Accordingly she took Ella by the hand and went several seats back,

-leaving Marian alone. As she left, Ella begged for a cooky.

-

-"I'm hungry, too," added Marian.

-

-Mrs. St. Claire gave Ella the cooky and passed a bit of dry bread to

-Marian.

-

-"If you please," suggested Marian, "I like cookies, too."

-

-"You will take what I give you or go without," said Mrs. St. Claire;

-"you can't be starving after the breakfast you ate in Buffalo."

-

-Marian, sorry she had spoken, dropped from sight in the high-backed

-seat. There was a lump in her throat and so deep a longing for the

-Home she had left it was hard to keep the tears back. Just then an old

-man began snoring so loud the passengers smiled and Marian laughed in

-spite of herself. Having laughed once she grew more cheerful. There

-were green fields and bits of woodland to be seen from the car windows,

-cows, sheep, bright flowers growing along the track, country roads and

-little children playing in their yards, sitting on fences and waving

-their hands to the passing train. Wonderful sights for a child straight

-from the Little Pilgrims' Home in a big city.

-

-Uncle George, growing tired of his paper, crossed the aisle and sat

-down beside his niece. Marian looked up with a happy smile. "I wish the

-cars would stop where the flowers grow," she said, "I'd like to pick

-some."

-

-"The cars will stop where the flowers grow," answered the man. "When we

-get home you will live among the flowers; Marian, will you like that?"

-

-"Oh, goody!" the child exclaimed. "Oh, I am so glad! May I pick some

-flowers?"

-

-"Indeed you may, and we'll go to the woods where the wild flowers are.

-Were you ever in the woods?"

-

-Marian shook her head. "I've been in the Public Gardens and on the

-Common, though, and I know all about woods."

-

-"Who told you about the woods?"

-

-"Nanna--Mrs. Moore."

-

-"Was she your nurse?"

-

-"Yes, Uncle George, she was my everybody. I love her more than anybody

-else in the world. She is the prettiest, nicest one in the Home."

-

-"See here, little girl," interrupted the man, "will you promise me

-something?"

-

-"Why, yes, what is it?"

-

-"I want you to do me this one favor. Don't tell any one you were ever

-in an orphan's home."

-

-The child was silent. "What will I talk about?" she finally asked.

-

-Uncle George laughed. "Take my advice and don't say much about

-anything," was his suggestion. "You'll find it the easiest way to get

-along. But whatever you talk about, don't mention that Home."

-

-Later, Aunt Amelia added a word on the same subject, but in a manner so

-harsh Marian became convinced that to have lived in an orphan asylum

-was a disgrace equal perhaps to a prison record. She determined never

-to mention the Home for Little Pilgrims. Janey Clark must have known

-what she was talking about and even Mrs. Moore, when questioned, had

-admitted that if she had a little girl it would make her feel sad to

-know she lived in a Home. Before the journey was ended Marian was

-thankful that relatives had claimed her. Perhaps if she tried hard, she

-might be able to win Aunt Amelia's love. She would be a good little

-girl and do her best.

-

-One thing Marian learned before she had lived ten days with Aunt

-Amelia. The part of the house where she was welcome was the outside.

-Fortunately it was summer and the new home was in a country town where

-streets were wide and the yards were large. Back of Aunt Amelia's

-garden was an orchard, and there or in the locust grove near by, Marian

-passed untroubled hours. The front lawn, bordered with shrubs and

-flower beds, was pleasing enough, but it wasn't the place for Marian

-who was not allowed to pick a blossom, although the pansies begged for

-more chance to bloom. She could look at the pansies though, and feel

-of the roses if Aunt Amelia was out of sight. How Marian loved the

-roses--especially the velvety pink ones. She told them how much she

-loved them, and if the roses made no response to the endearing terms

-lavished upon them, at least they never turned away, nor said unkind,

-hard things to make her cry and long for Mrs. Moore.

-

-When Marian had been with the St. Claires a week, Aunt Amelia told her

-she could never hope to hear from Mrs. Moore, partly because Mrs. Moore

-didn't know where she lived, and also because Mrs. Moore would gladly

-forget such a bad tempered, ungrateful little girl.

-

-The pink roses under the blue sky were a comfort then. So were the

-birds. Day after day Marian gave them messages to carry to Mrs. Moore.

-She talked to them in the orchard and in the locust grove, and many

-a wild bird listened, with its head on one side, to the loving words

-of the little girl and then flew straight away over the tree-tops

-and the house-tops, away and away out of sight. Several weeks passed

-before Marian knew that she might pick dandelions and clover blossoms,

-Bouncing Bet and all the roadside blooms, to her heart's content. That

-was joy!

-

-Under a wide-spreading apple-tree, Marian made a collection of

-treasures she found in the yard. Curious stones were chief among them.

-Bits of moss, pretty twigs, bright leaves, broken china, colored

-glass--there was no end to the resources of that yard. One morning she

-found a fragile cup of blue. It looked like a tiny bit of painted egg

-shell, but how could an egg be so small, and who could have painted it?

-She carried the wonder to Uncle George who told her it was part of a

-robin's egg.

-

-"Who ate it?" asked Marian, whereupon Uncle George explained to her

-what the merest babies knew in the world outside the city. More than

-that, he went to the orchard, found a robin's nest on the low branch of

-an apple-tree, and lifted her on his shoulder so that she might see it.

-There were four blue eggs in the nest. Marian wanted to break them to

-see the baby birds inside, but Uncle George cautioned her to wait and

-let the mother bird take care of her own round cradle.

-

-In the meantime Madam Robin scolded Uncle George and Marian until they

-left the tree to watch her from a distance. That robin's nest filled

-Marian's every thought for days and days. When the baby birds were

-hatched she was so anxious to see them oftener than Uncle George had

-time to lift her on his shoulder, she learned to climb the tree. After

-that Marian was oftener in the apple-trees than under them. Had there

-been no rainy days and had the summer lasted all the year, Marian would

-have been a fortunate child. Aunt Amelia called her a tomboy and said

-no one would ever catch Ella St. Claire climbing trees and running like

-a wild child across the yard and through the locust grove.

-

-The two children admired each other. Had it been possible they would

-have played together all the time. Marian, who became a sun-browned

-romp, thought there never was such a dainty creature as her delicate,

-white-skinned cousin Ella, whose long black curls were never tumbled

-by the wind or play: and Ella never missed a chance to talk with her

-laughing, joyous cousin, who could always think of something new.

-

-Aunt Amelia said that Ella wasn't the same child when she was left

-with Marian for half an hour, and she could not allow the children to

-play together for her little daughter's sake. It was her duty as a

-mother to guard that little daughter from harmful influences.

-

-This was the talk to which Marian listened day after day. It grieved

-her to the quick. Again and again, especially on rainy days, she

-promised Aunt Amelia that she would be good, and each time Aunt Amelia

-sent her to her room to think over the bad things she had done and what

-an ungrateful child she was. Although Marian became convinced that she

-was a bad child, she couldn't sit down and think of her sins long at a

-time, and her penitent spells usually ended in a concert. Uncle George

-took her to one early in the summer, and ever after, playing concert

-was one of Marian's favorite games. She had committed "Bingen on the

-Rhine" to memory from hearing it often read in school at the Home, and

-on rainy days when sent to her room, she chanted it, wailed it and

-recited it until poor Ella was unhappy and discontented because she

-could have no part in the fun.

-

-Ella had a toy piano kept as an ornament. Marian's piano was a chair,

-her stool was a box and her sheet music, an almanac: but in her soul

-was joy.

-

-"What can you do with such a child?" demanded Aunt Amelia.

-

-"Let her alone," counseled Uncle George.

-

-

-

-

-CHAPTER VI

-

-THAT YELLOW CUCUMBER

-

-

-ONE summer day the St. Claires were the guests of a farmer who lived a

-few miles from town. Ella stayed in the house with her mother and the

-farmer's wife, but Marian saw the farm; the cows and the sheep and the

-fields of grain. She asked more questions that day than the hired man

-ever answered at one time in his life before, and when night came he

-and Marian were tired.

-

-"She knows as much about farming as I do," the man said with a laugh

-as he put the sleepy child on the back seat of the carriage when the

-family were ready to go home.

-

-"I've had a lovely time, Mr. Hired Man," Marian roused herself to

-remark, "and to-morrow I'm going to play farm."

-

-"Good haying weather," the man suggested with a smile; "better get your

-barns up quick's you can."

-

-"I'm going to," was the response; "it's a lovely game."

-

-Whatever Marian saw or heard that pleased her fancy, she played.

-Stories that were read to the little Ella were enacted again and again

-in Marian's room if the day was rainy, out in the orchard or the locust

-grove if the day was fair. Farming promised to be the most interesting

-game of all.

-

-Early the next morning Marian visited what she called the yarrow jungle

-ever since Uncle George read jungle stories to Ella. More than one

-queer looking creature tried to keep out of sight when her footsteps

-were heard. The old black beetle scampered away as fast as his six legs

-would carry him, though it can't be possible he remembered the time

-when Marian captured him for her museum. Crickets gathered up their

-fiddles, seeking safety beyond the fence. Perhaps they thought Marian

-wanted them to play in the orchestra at another snail wedding. Even the

-ants hastened to the hills beyond the jungle, leaving only the old toad

-to wink and blink at the happy one of whom he had no fear.

-

-"Well, Mr. Toad," said she, "why don't you hop along? I've come to

-make my farm out here where the yarrow grows. Why don't you live in

-the garden land? I would if I were you. Don't you know about the cool

-tomato groves and the cabbage tents? I've got to clear away this jungle

-so the sun may shine upon my farm the way the country man said. You

-really must go, so hop along and stop winking and blinking at me." The

-old toad wouldn't stir, so for his sake Marian spared the yarrow jungle.

-

-"After all, I'll make my farm here on the border-land," said she, while

-the daisies nodded and the buttercups shone brighter than before.

-"Only, I'll tell you one thing, Mr. Toad, that maybe you won't like.

-If you will stay there, you'll have to be an elephant in the jungle.

-There, now, I s'pose you are sorry. I say--be an elephant and now you

-are one." The toad didn't mind a bit. He was so used to being changed

-into all sorts of animals that he never seemed to notice whether he was

-an elephant or a kangaroo.

-

-Day after day Marian worked upon her farm, enclosing fields and

-meadows with high stone walls, clearing roads and planting trees.

-Whatever she touched became what she wished it to be. Pasteboard

-match-boxes became houses and barns. Sticks became men working upon

-the farm and spools were wagons bearing loads of hay from place to

-place. At a word from her, green apples, standing upon four twigs, were

-instantly changed, becoming pigs, cows, sheep and horses. Kernels of

-yellow corn were chickens. It was a wonderful farm and for many a sunny

-hour Marian was happy. Even the old toad, winking and blinking beneath

-the shadow of the yarrow jungle, must have known it.

-

-At last there came a morning when the child went strolling through the

-garden. Suddenly, while singing her usual merry song, the joyous look

-faded from her face. She no longer saw the butterflies floating about

-nor cared that the bumble-bee wore his best velvet coat. There were

-tiny green cucumbers in that garden, just the right size for horses on

-the little girl's farm. There were a great many cucumbers, so many that

-Marian felt sure no one would ever miss a few. She picked a handful

-and knew that she was stealing. The sun went under a cloud. A blue jay

-mocked at her and a wren scolded. Though far from happy, Marian hurried

-away to her farm. The old toad saw her sticking twigs in the cucumbers.

-Then she placed them in a row.

-

-"Now be animals!" she commanded, but the spell was broken--she was no

-longer a farmer with magic power, but a pink-faced little girl who had

-done what she knew was wrong. And the cucumbers refused to be anything

-but cucumbers.

-

-Again the little girl went to the garden, returning with one big yellow

-cucumber that had gone to seed. "Now I guess I'll have a cucumber

-animal," she said, in tones so cross the daisies seemed to tremble.

-"You bad old cucumber, you're no good anyway, nobody could eat you, nor

-make a pickle of you, so you may just turn yourself into a giant cow

-right off this minute! There you are, standing on four sticks. Now be a

-cow, I say."

-

-The old cucumber wouldn't be a cow. There it stood, big and yellow,

-spoiling the looks of the farm.

-

-"What's the matter with you, old toad?" went on the little girl. "I

-tell you that's a cow, and if you don't believe it you can just get

-off my farm quick's you can hop. You're homely anyway, and you turned

-yourself back into a toad when I said be an elephant."

-

-How surprised the toad was when the little girl took a stick and poked

-him along ahead of her. The poor old fellow had never been treated like

-that in his life. When he reached the garden he hid beneath the nearest

-cabbage plant. The little girl went on but came back in a short time

-with her apron full of cucumbers.

-

-"I guess I'll sit down here and put the sticks in them," she said:

-but instead of touching the cucumbers the child sat on the ground

-beside the toad forever so long, looking cross, oh, so cross. The toad

-kept perfectly still and by and by he and the little girl heard a man

-whistling. In a few minutes there was a long whistle and then no sound

-in the jungle save the buzzing of flies and the chirping of birds. The

-little girl was afraid of her uncle who had been her one friend in that

-land of strangers. Soon she heard them calling and with her apron full

-of cucumbers, Marian rose to meet him.

-

-It may be that the old toad, as he hopped back to the yarrow jungle,

-thought that he should never again see the little girl: but the next

-morning in the midst of brightest sunshine, Marian returned, her

-head drooping. With her little feet she destroyed the farm and then,

-throwing herself face downward among the ruins, wept bitterly. When she

-raised her head the old toad was staring solemnly at her, causing fresh

-tears to overflow upon the round cheeks.

-

-"Don't look at me, toad, nobody does," she wailed. "I'm dreadfully bad

-and it doesn't do a bit of good to be sorry. Nobody loves me and nobody

-ever will. Aunt Amelia says that Nanna wouldn't love me now. Uncle

-George doesn't love me, he says he's disappointed in me! Oh, dear, oh,

-dear! Nobody in this world loves me, toad, and oh, dear, I've got to

-eat all alone in the kitchen for two weeks, and even the housemaid

-doesn't love me and can't talk to me! Oh, dear, what made me do it!"

-

-What could an old toad do but hide in the yarrow jungle: yet when he

-turned away Marian felt utterly deserted. It was dreadful to be so bad

-that even a toad wouldn't look at her.

-

-

-

-

-CHAPTER VII

-

-AN UNDESERVING CHILD

-

-

-TRY as hard as she would, Marian could not fit into Aunt Amelia's home.

-Everywhere within its walls, she was Marian the unwanted. Saddest of

-all, the child annoyed Uncle George. Not at first, to be sure; he liked

-his little niece in the beginning, but when Aunt Amelia and the little

-Ella were rendered unhappy by her presence, that made a difference.

-

-Early in the summer Uncle George insisted upon taking Marian wherever

-Ella and her mother went, to picnics, to the circus and other places of

-amusement, but as something disagreeable was sure to happen and trouble

-seemed to follow little Marian, she was finally left at home where her

-gay talk and merriment could not reach the ears of Aunt Amelia, who

-called her talk "clatter" and her laughter "cackle."

-

-"It's cucumbers," sobbed Marian, the first time she was left with the

-sympathetic housemaid.

-

-"What do you mean, you poor little thing?" asked the girl.

-

-The child looked up in astonishment. "Don't you remember about the

-cucumbers?" she asked reproachfully.

-

-"Cucumbers," sniffed the girl. "Never mind, you poor, sweet darling,

-we'll have a tea-party this afternoon, you and I,--that old pelican!"

-

-Marian knew no better than to tell about the tea-party, what a jolly

-time she had and how happy she was, closing her story by asking Uncle

-George if a pelican was a chicken.

-

-"Because," she added, "we had a little dish of cream chicken and I

-didn't see any pelican, but Annie did say two or three times, 'that old

-pelican!'"

-

-Aunt Amelia was prejudiced against pelicans and she objected to

-tea-parties, so Annie packed her trunk and left. Lala took her place.

-Lala was equally kind but far too wise. She befriended the little girl

-every way in her power but cautioned her to keep her mouth shut. She

-went so far as to instruct the child in the art of lying and had there

-not been deep in Marian's nature a love of truth, Lala's influence

-might have been more effective. Marian turned from her without knowing

-why, nor would she accept any favors from the girl unless she believed

-Aunt Amelia approved.

-

-Lala called Marian a "Little fool," Aunt Amelia called her an

-undeserving, ungrateful child who would steal if she were not watched,

-a saucy, bold "young one" who had disappointed her Uncle George, and

-Uncle George plainly didn't love her. What wonder that Marian had a

-small opinion of herself and dreaded the first Monday in September, the

-beginning of her school-days among strangers.

-

-The schoolhouse was so far from where Aunt Amelia lived, Marian carried

-her luncheon in a tin pail. The child left home that Monday, a timid,

-shrinking little mortal, afraid to speak to any one. She returned,

-happy as a lark, swinging her dinner pail and singing a new song until

-within sight of the St. Claire home. Then she walked more slowly and

-entered the gate like a weary pilgrim. She expected trouble, poor

-little Marian, but there happened to be callers, giving her a chance to

-escape unnoticed to the locust grove where she made a jumping rope of a

-wild grape vine and played until the shadows were long and the day was

-done.

-

-That evening Uncle George questioned Marian about her teacher and

-how she liked school. "I hope," said he, when he had listened to the

-account so gladly given, "I hope you will be a credit to your uncle and

-that you will behave yourself and get to the head of your class and

-stay there. Don't give your Uncle George any cause to be ashamed of his

-niece. I want to be proud of you."

-

-"Oh, do you!" exclaimed the child. "Oh, I'll try so hard to be good and

-learn my lessons best of anybody. Then will you love me?"

-

-"Good children are always loved," put in Aunt Amelia. "Doesn't your

-Uncle George love Ella?"

-

-"She's his little girl," ventured Marian, longing for a place beside

-Ella in her uncle's lap. He certainly did love Ella.

-

-"Sit down, child," said Uncle George, "you're my brother's little girl,

-aren't you, and you are Ella's cousin, aren't you?"

-

-"I am sure she ought to be grateful," interrupted Aunt Amelia, "with

-all she has done for her and such a home provided for her----"

-

-"Oh, I am, I am," protested Marian earnestly. "I'm so glad I've got a

-home I don't know what to do, and I'm gratefuller'n anything----"

-

-"Queer way of showing your gratitude," exclaimed Aunt Amelia; "a more

-undeserving child I never saw."

-

-Uncle George bit his lip. "Now don't cry, Marian," he cautioned, as the

-child's eyes filled with tears. "I have a story to read you and Ella,

-so sit down and be quiet."

-

-"Don't expect her to be quiet," Aunt Amelia persisted. "If she would

-listen to stories as Ella does, I wouldn't send her to bed. You know

-as well as I do that she interrupts and asks questions and gets in

-a perfect fever of excitement. Ella behaves like a lady. You never

-catch her squirming and fidgeting about, acting like a perfect

-jumping-jack----"

-

-"No," remarked Uncle George, opening the book in his hand, "she goes to

-sleep. Don't you, pet?"

-

-"Go to bed, Marian," Aunt Amelia commanded. "Not a word. I shall not

-allow you to add sauciness to disobedience. Go!"

-

-Uncle George frowned, put away the book and reached for his newspaper:

-then, touched by the pathetic figure in the doorway he called the

-child back. "That's right," he said, "be a good girl and obey your

-aunt promptly. She has your interest at heart, child. Come, kiss Uncle

-George good-night."

-

-Marian was surprised because her natural tendency to kiss every one in

-the family before going to bed had been severely checked and she had

-been obliged to whisper her good-nights to the cat. If she sometimes

-kissed its soft fur, what difference did it make, if the cat had no

-objection.

-

-"Now kiss little cousin Ella," suggested Uncle George, but Ella covered

-her face, saying her mother had told her never to let Marian touch her.

-

-Uncle George looked so angry Marian didn't know what was going to

-happen. He put little Ella in her mother's lap and then taking Marian

-in his arms, carried her to her room. After the child had said her

-prayers and was in bed, Uncle George sat beside her and talked a long,

-long while. He told her to try and be a good child and do her best in

-school.

-

-Marian dreamed that night of Mrs. Moore and the little stranger's

-mother. When she awoke in the starlight she was not afraid as usual.

-She thought of Uncle George and how she would try to please him in

-school that he might be proud of her and love her as she loved him, and

-so fell peacefully asleep.

-

-When the man was looking over his papers the next morning before

-breakfast he felt a touch upon his arm. He smiled when he saw Marian.

-"I want to tell you," she said, "I'm awful sorry about the cucumbers."

-

-

-

-

-CHAPTER VIII

-

-IN THE NAME OF SANTA CLAUS

-

-

-IN November Ella and her mother began making plans for Christmas. Aunt

-Amelia invited seven little girls to tea one night when Uncle George

-was away, and Marian ate in the kitchen with Lala. The seven were

-all older than Ella and one of them, little Ruth Higgins, knowing no

-better, asked for Marian. Lala overheard the answer and was indignant.

-

-"You poor little lamb," she sputtered, upon returning to the kitchen,

-"I'd run away if I were you."

-

-"Where would I run to?" questioned Marian.

-

-"Anywhere'd be better than here," the girl replied, "and that woman

-calls herself a Christian!"

-

-"She's a awful cross Christian," Marian admitted in a whisper, brushing

-away the tears that came when she heard the peals of laughter from the

-dining-room.

-

-"I wouldn't cry if I were you," advised the girl. "You'll only spoil

-your pretty eyes and it will do them good to see you cry, you poor

-baby. The idea of having a party and making you stay out here!"

-

-"It's a Club," corrected Marian, "I've heard 'em talking about it.

-Dorothy Avery and Ruth Higgins belong. I've tried so hard to be good

-so I could be in it. They are going to sew presents for poor children

-and give them toys and everything they don't want their own selves, and

-then when Christmas day comes they're going to have a sleigh ride and

-take the things to the poor children. If I was good like Ella, I could

-be in it. I used to be good, Lala, truly, I did."

-

-"There, there, don't cry," begged Lala. "Look a-here! did you ever see

-anybody dance the lame man's jig?"

-

-Marian shook her head, whereupon Lala performed the act to the music

-of a mournful tune she hummed, while Marian laughed until the Club was

-forgotten. There was plenty of fun in the kitchen after that. In the

-midst of the hilarity Ella appeared to tell Marian it was her bedtime.

-

-"Are you ever afraid, Lala, when you wake up all alone in the night?"

-asked Marian as she started up the back stairs.

-

-"I never wake up," said Lala. "Do you, Marian?"

-

-"Yes, and I'm lonesome without all the little girls. Sometimes I'm so

-frightened I pretty nearly die when I'm all alone and it's dark."

-

-"Little girls," echoed Lala, "what little girls? Where did you live

-before you came here?"

-

-"When I was good I lived in a big city, Lala."

-

-"Tell me about it," the girl insisted.

-

-"If you'll promise you won't ever tell, I will," declared Marian. "I'll

-have to whisper it. I lived in a beautiful orphan's home, Lala."

-

-"Oh!" exclaimed Lala. "Oh, you poor baby."

-

-"Of course it's dreadful," Marian hastened to say, "but I couldn't

-help it, Lala, truly I couldn't; they took me there when I was a baby

-and it was a lovely place, only, it was a Home."

-

-"Do you know anything about your father and mother?"

-

-"Oh, I guess they're dead--my mother is anyway, and I'm 'fraid about my

-father."

-

-"What do you mean?"

-

-"Well, Lala, Aunt Amelia always says, what can you expect when you

-think what my father was. I guess may be he was a stealer because

-Aunt Amelia won't stop talking about the cucumbers and what could you

-expect. Maybe he is in prison."

-

-"No, your father is not in prison, Marion Lee!" Lala exclaimed.

-"Listen. It was your father I heard them talking about with some

-callers the other day. I'm sure of it now, because they said the man

-was a great deal younger than your uncle----"

-

-"Oh, tell me, do tell me what you know about my father?" besought

-Marian, walking back into the kitchen on tiptoes.

-

-"Oh, I don't know much," said the girl, "but he isn't in prison,

-that's one sure thing. He went away to South America years ago to make

-his fortune, and they know that all the men who went with him were

-killed, and as your father never came back they know he must be dead."

-

-"What was there bad about that?" questioned the small daughter.

-

-"Nothing," was the reply, "only he and your Uncle George had a quarrel.

-Your uncle didn't want him to go because he said your father had plenty

-of money anyway, and it all came out as he said it would."

-

-At that moment, Ella returned. Seeing Marian, she forgot that she was

-after a drink of water. "Oh, Marian Lee!" she exclaimed. "I'm going

-straight back and tell mamma you didn't go to bed when I told you to.

-You'll be sorry."

-

-Marian, the guilty, flew up the back stairs, expecting swift

-punishment. She was sure she deserved it, and what would Uncle George

-say? It was so hard to be good. Retribution was left to Santa Claus.

-How could a disobedient, ungrateful child expect to be remembered by

-that friend of good children? How could Marian hope for a single gift?

-Aunt Amelia didn't know. Nevertheless the little girl pinned her faith

-to Santa Claus. He had never forgotten her nor the two hundred waifs at

-the Home. Teddy Daniels once made a face at the superintendent the very

-day before Christmas, yet Santa Claus gave him a drum.

-

-Marian wasn't the least surprised Christmas morning when she found her

-stockings hanging by the sitting-room grate filled to the brim, exactly

-as Ella's were. She was delighted beyond expression.

-

-"Oh, oh, oh!" she cried. "Both my stockings are full of things for

-me. Oh, see the packages! Oh, I am so happy! Just only look at the

-presents!" Uncle George left the room and Marian sat upon the rug to

-examine her treasures.

-

-"Why don't you look in your stockings, Ella?" she suggested. "Let's

-undo our presents together."

-

-"No, I'd rather wait and see what you'll say when you know what you've

-got!" Ella replied. "Mamma and I know something."

-

-"Hush!" cautioned Aunt Amelia. "Let's see what Santa Claus has brought

-Marian. She knows whether she's been a deserving, grateful child or

-not."

-

-Why would Aunt Amelia remind one of disagreeable things on Christmas

-morning? Marian's chin quivered before she took a thing from her

-stocking, whereupon Aunt Amelia smiled. In the meantime, Ella, becoming

-impatient, emptied one of her stockings in her mother's lap and began a

-series of squeals as toys, games and dolls tumbled out.

-

-"Oh, what fun!" cried Marian, laughing and clapping her hands as she

-witnessed Ella's delight. A pitiful expression stole over her face as

-she turned to her own stockings. How she longed for a mother to share

-her joy. How she wished Aunt Amelia would smile kindly and be pleased

-with her gifts. The child quickly removed the paper from a round

-package.

-

-"I've got a ball," she ventured. "I'll let you play with it, Ella."

-

-"Got one of my own," said Ella, exhibiting a big rubber ball.

-

-An exclamation of dismay burst from Marian's lips. "Why, why--it's a

-potato!" she cried.

-

-"What did you expect?" inquired Aunt Amelia in chilling tones.

-

-"I guess that was just for a joke." The little girl smiled cheerfully

-as she said it, at the same time untying a box wrapped in tissue paper.

-Potatoes again. Marian shut her lips tight together and tried another

-package. More potatoes. Still she kept the tears back and reached for

-a long bundle. Removing the paper she found switches. Aunt Amelia

-and Ella watched silently as Marian, her eyes blazing and her cheeks

-growing a deeper red every second, emptied the stocking in which there

-was nothing but potatoes. Then the child rose, straightened her small

-figure to its full height and made this statement:

-

-"That wasn't never Santa Claus that did that!"

-

-"Look in the other stocking," Ella advised, "there are real presents in

-that one. I guess you will be a good girl now, won't you, Marian? Take

-the other stocking down, quick."

-

-"No," declared Marian, "I don't want any more potatoes. Nobody loves me

-and I don't care if they don't." Then she broke down and cried so hard,

-Ella cried too.

-

-"What's all the trouble?" asked Uncle George, entering the room at that

-moment.

-

-"Marian is making a scene and distressing both Ella and me," explained

-Aunt Amelia. "She has been highly impertinent and ungrateful. Ella, you

-may have the other stocking yourself."

-

-"But I don't want it," sobbed Ella. "I want Marian to have it."

-

-"Then we'll take it to the poor children this afternoon," said her

-mother. "They'll be glad to get it. Marian, don't drop what's in your

-apron. Now go to your room and think over how you've spoiled the peace

-of a family on Christmas morning. I'll bring your breakfast to you

-myself."

-

-"I don't want any breakfast," sobbed Marian, walking away with her

-apron full of potatoes.

-

-"Come back," called Uncle George. "You tell your aunt you are sorry you

-were so naughty, and you may come to breakfast with us. It's Christmas

-morning, child, why can't you behave?"

-

-"I wasn't naughty," sobbed Marian. "I----"

-

-"Not another word," put in Aunt Amelia. "Go to your room, stubborn,

-bad child. I can't have such an example continually before my little

-Ella. We'll have to put her in a reform school, George, if she doesn't

-improve."

-

-This remark fell upon unheeding ears so far as Marian was concerned.

-The minute the door of her little room closed behind her she dropped

-the potatoes upon the floor and throwing herself beside them cried as

-if her heart would break.

-

-"Oh, Nanna, Nanna, I want you," she sobbed. "Oh, where are you, oh, my

-Mrs. Moore?"

-

-

-

-

-CHAPTER IX

-

-AT THE RICH MAN'S TABLE

-

-

-TRUE to her word, Aunt Amelia carried Marian's breakfast to her room.

-But for the interference of Uncle George his little niece would have

-been given bread and water; it was all an impertinent child deserved.

-Uncle George, however, insisted that the One who was born on Christmas

-Day was a friend to sinners great and small. Out of respect to His

-memory, Marian should have her breakfast. Lala offered to take the tray

-up-stairs when it was ready, but Aunt Amelia said it was her duty to

-take it herself: so there was no one to speak a word of comfort to the

-little black sheep outside the fold.

-

-It had been a dark, cloudy morning, but curiously enough, the moment

-the door closed behind Aunt Amelia, the sun came out bright and warm,

-and shone straight through Marian's window. The child raised her head,

-wiped her eyes and finally sat up. She wouldn't eat any breakfast of

-course, how could she? No one loved her and what was the use of eating?

-The tray looked tempting though and the breakfast smelled good. The big

-orange seemed rolling toward her and Uncle George must have poured the

-cream on her oatmeal. No one else would have given her so much. The

-omelet was steaming, and even Lala never made finer looking rolls.

-

-Marian moved a little nearer and a little nearer to the tray until

-the next thing she knew she was sitting in a chair, eating breakfast.

-Everything tasted good, and in a little while Marian felt better. Out

-of doors, the icy trees sparkled in the sunshine and all the world

-looked clean and new. Oh, how the little girl longed for a mother that

-Christmas morning. Some one who would love her and say "Dear little

-Marian," as Nanna once did.

-

-Thinking of Mrs. Moore brought back to the child's memory that last

-day in the Home. Mrs. Moore had said, "Be brave, be good and never

-forget the Father in heaven." Marian had not been brave nor good; and

-she had forgotten the Father in heaven. Suddenly the child looked

-around the room, under the bed everywhere. She was certainly alone. It

-seemed strange to say one's prayers in the daytime, but Marian folded

-her hands and kneeling in the flood of sunshine beneath the window,

-confessed her sins. She felt like a new born soul after that. The

-despairing, rebellious little Marian was gone, and in her place was a

-child at peace with herself and the world. Without putting it in words,

-Marian forgave Aunt Amelia: more than that, she felt positively tender

-towards her. She would tell her she was sorry for her impertinence and

-promise to be a good child. It would be so easy to do right. She would

-set Ella a good example. Not for anything would Marian ever again do

-what was wrong. In time Uncle George and Aunt Amelia would love her

-dearly.

-

-Marian smiled thoughtfully as she gazed down the straight and perfect

-path her little feet would travel from thenceforth forevermore. The

-child's meditations were interrupted by a remembrance of the potatoes.

-There they were, her Christmas presents, trying to hide under the bed,

-under the chairs, beneath the bureau. She stared at them but a moment

-when a happy smile broke over her face.

-

-Marian was a saint no longer; only a little girl about to play a new

-game.

-

-"Why, it's a circus!" she exclaimed, and straightway seizing the

-potatoes and breaking the switches into little sticks, she transformed

-the unwelcome gift into a circus parade. The elephant came first. His

-trunk was a trifle too stiff as the switches were not limber. The camel

-came next and if his humps were not exactly in the right place, he was

-all the more of a curiosity. Then followed the giraffe with sloping

-back and no head worth mentioning because there was nothing to stick on

-the piece of switch that formed his long neck. Marian did wish she had

-a bit of gum to use for a head. The giraffe would look more finished.

-The lion and the tiger were perfect. Marian could almost hear them

-roar. Nobody could have found any fault with the kangaroo except that

-he would fall on his front feet. The hippopotamus was a sight worth

-going to see. So was the rhinoceros. The zebras almost ran away, they

-were so natural.

-

-Marian searched eagerly for more potatoes. A peck would have been none

-too many. "I'll have to play the rest of the animals are in cages," she

-said with a sigh. "Too bad I didn't get more potatoes. Wish I had the

-other stocking."

-

-When Marian was tired of circus, she played concert. Bingen on the

-Rhine came in for its share of attention, but school songs were just as

-good and had ready-made tunes.

-

-Lala in the kitchen, heard the operatic singing and laughed. Aunt

-Amelia caught a few strains, frowned and closed the hall doors. Uncle

-George smiled behind his newspaper: but Ella, tired of her toys, pouted

-and said she wished she could ever have any fun. Marian always had a

-good time. Mrs. St. Claire reminded her of the sleigh ride with the

-seven little girls in the afternoon and Ella managed to get through the

-morning somehow, even if it was dull and Christmas joy was nowhere in

-the house except in the little room off the back hall up-stairs.

-

-At one o'clock Lala was sent to tell Marian she might come down to

-dinner if she would apologize to Aunt Amelia for her impertinence.

-Lala was forbidden to say more, but nobody thought to caution her not

-to laugh, and what did Lala do when she saw Marian playing the piano

-beside the circus parade, but laugh until the tears ran down her

-cheeks. Worst of all she waited on table with a broad smile on her

-face that made Aunt Amelia quite as uncomfortable as the mention of a

-pelican. Nor was it possible for Aunt Amelia to understand how a child

-who had been in disgrace all the forenoon, could be cheerful and ready

-to laugh on the slightest provocation. She thought it poor taste.

-

-After dinner Ella thrust a repentant looking stocking in Marian's hand.

-"Papa says the things are yours and you must have them," she explained.

-

-"What makes the stocking look so floppy?" asked Marian.

-

-"Because," Ella went on, "papa made me take all the potatoes out and

-there wasn't much left. You've got a handkerchief in the stocking from

-me and one from mamma, and----"

-

-"Please don't tell me," protested Marian. "I want to be s'prised."

-

-"Like the selfish child you are," put in Aunt Amelia, "unwilling to

-give your cousin a bit of pleasure."

-

-"And a box of dominoes from papa and a doll's tea set Lala gave you,"

-finished Ella.

-

-"She'll expect a doll next," observed Aunt Amelia.

-

-"I did think Santa Claus would give me one," admitted the child, "but

-I had rather have the beautiful tea set. Help me set the table on this

-chair, Ella, and we'll play Christmas dinner. I'll let you pour the tea

-and----"

-

-"Ella has no time to play," her mother interrupted. "Come, little

-one, help mamma finish packing the baskets of presents for the poor

-children."

-

-"But I had rather play with Marian's tea set," pouted Ella.

-

-"You have one of your own, dearest."

-

-"It isn't as nice as Marian's, though, and I want to stay here and

-play."

-

-"Now you see, George," and Mrs. St. Claire turned to her husband, "now

-you see why I cannot allow these children to play together. You can see

-for yourself what an influence Marian has over our little Ella. Come,

-darling, have you forgotten the sleigh ride? It is time to get ready."

-

-"Me too?" questioned Marian, springing to her feet, "shall I get ready?"

-

-The child knew her mistake in less than a minute, but forgetting the

-uselessness of protest, she begged so earnestly to be taken with

-the children Aunt Amelia called her saucy, and as a punishment, the

-Christmas gifts, tea set and all, were put on a high shelf out of sight.

-

-Marian was allowed to stand in the parlor by the window to see the

-sleigh-load of noisy children drive away. When they were gone, the

-parlor seemed bigger than usual and strangely quiet. Uncle George,

-with a frown on his face, was reading in the sitting-room. He didn't

-look talkative and the clock ticked loud. Marian turned again to the

-parlor window. Across the street was the rich man's house, and in the

-front window of the rich man's house was a poor little girl looking

-out--a sad little girl with big eyes and a pale face. Marian waved her

-hand and the little girl waved hers--such a tiny, white hand. A new

-idea flashed into Marian's mind. She had often seen the little girl

-across the way and wondered why she never played with Ella. At last she

-thought she knew. The rich man's wife probably went to a hospital after

-the little girl, and took her home to get well just as Janey Clark was

-taken home, only Janey was never thin and delicate and Janey never

-stared quietly at everything as the little girl did who lived in the

-rich man's house.

-

-Marian wondered why Aunt Amelia didn't leave her some of the presents

-in the baskets. Perhaps nobody loved the little girl: maybe her father

-and mother were dead and Santa Claus didn't know where to find her.

-Marian wished she had something to take to the poor thing. She would

-have given away her tea set that minute had it been within reach.

-Just then a long-legged horse went by, a horse that looked so queer

-it reminded Marian of her potato menagerie. The child smiled at the

-thought. Perhaps the little girl in the rich man's house never saw a

-potato animal and would like to see one. Perhaps she would like two or

-three for a Christmas present. Why not? It was all Marian had to give

-and the animals were funny enough to make any poor little girl laugh.

-Up-stairs Marian flew, returning with the elephant, the rhinoceros, the

-hippopotamus and two zebras packed in a pasteboard box.

-

-"Please, Uncle George," she asked, "may I go and visit the poor little

-girl that lives in the rich man's house? I want to say 'Wish you a

-merry Christmas' to her, and----"

-

-"Run along, child," interrupted Uncle George, the frown smoothing

-out as he spoke, "go where you will and have a good time if it is

-possible--bless your sunny face."

-

-Uncle George had heard of the rich man's house and he smiled a broad

-smile of amusement as he watched Marian climb the steps and ring the

-bell. "What next?" he inquired as the door closed behind the child. In

-a short time he knew "What next." One of the rich man's servants came

-over with a note from the neighbor's wife, begging Uncle George to

-allow Marian to stay and help them enjoy their Christmas dinner at six.

-The permission was gladly given and at eight o'clock Marian came home

-hugging an immense wax doll and fairly bubbling over with excitement.

-

-"I never had such a good time at the table in my life," she began, "as

-I did at the rich man's house. They asked me to talk, just think of

-it--asked me to, and I did and they did and we all laughed. And the

-poor little girl isn't poor, only just sick and she belongs to the

-folks. The rich man is her father and her name is Dolly Russel and she

-was gladder to see me than she ever was to see anybody in her life and

-she wants me to come again, and----"

-

-"And I suppose you told all you knew," snapped Aunt Amelia.

-

-"Yes, most, 'specially at the table," admitted the child.

-

-

-

-

-CHAPTER X

-

-A GAME OF SLICED BIRDS

-

-

-MARIAN was so happy with her doll and teaset the following day she was

-blind and deaf to all that happened in the house outside her little

-room. She didn't know that Mrs. Russel made her first call upon Aunt

-Amelia in the afternoon, nor that company was expected in the evening.

-Ella's mysterious airs were lost upon her. The child was accordingly

-surprised when she met the company at breakfast.

-

-Aunt Hester, Mrs. St. Claire's younger sister, was a pleasant surprise

-because she was good-looking and agreeable. She returned Marian's smile

-of greeting with interest. Marian hoped she had found a friend and

-hovered near the welcome stranger until sent to her room. During the

-rest of the week she and Aunt Hester exchanged smiles when they met at

-the table, and to win a few kind words from her became Marian's dream.

-New Year's Day brought an opportunity. Mrs. Russel sent a box of sliced

-birds to Marian and her cousin, and as the gift came while the family

-were at breakfast, Marian knew all about it. At last she and Ella owned

-something in common and might perhaps be allowed to play together. She

-could hardly wait to finish her breakfast.

-

-"What are sliced birds and how do you play with them?" she asked Aunt

-Hester, who carried the box into the sitting-room.

-

-"Well," began Aunt Hester, "can you read, Marian?"

-

-"Yes, auntie, I can read pretty near anything I try to, but I can't

-write very good, not a bit good. Do you have to write in sliced birds?"

-

-"No," was the laughing reply, "if you can spell a little that is all

-that is necessary. Here is a paper with a list of birds on it we can

-put together. Now here is the word jay. A picture of a jay is cut in

-three pieces, on one piece is 'J,' on another is 'A' and on the third

-is 'Y.' Now hunt for 'J.'"

-

-"Ella knows her letters," Marian suggested. "Come, Ella, hunt for 'J,'

-that piece would have a blue jay's head on it, I guess." Marian waited

-until Ella found the letter and together they finished the blue jay.

-Both children were delighted with the result.

-

-"Oh, what fun!" cried Marian. "We'll make all the birds, Ella. I'll

-read a name and tell you what letters to hunt for."

-

-A shadow fell across the bright scene, caused by the entrance of Aunt

-Amelia. "Go over there and sit down," she said to Marian. "I came in to

-help Hester divide the game."

-

-"Divide the game!" echoed both children.

-

-"Oh, don't do it, please don't," besought Marian, "we want to play with

-all the birds together."

-

-"It seems a pity," began Aunt Hester, but she gathered Ella in her arms

-and helped form all the birds in two straight lines upon the floor as

-her sister desired.

-

-Marian watched with eager interest. She hoped when the birds were

-divided a few of the pretty ones might be given to her. If she had her

-choice she couldn't tell whether she would take the peacock or the

-bird of paradise--they were both gorgeous. The scarlet tanager and the

-red-headed woodpecker were beautiful but of course it wasn't fair to

-wish for all the brightest birds. It was Aunt Hester who suggested a

-way to divide the game.

-

-"Let them take turns choosing," she said. "It seems to me that will be

-perfectly fair. The children might draw cuts for first choice."

-

-At that, Marian saw her opportunity. "Ella may be the first chooser,"

-she declared, and was rewarded by a smile from Aunt Hester. Which would

-Ella take? the bird of paradise or the peacock? Either would please

-Marian, so it really made no difference which was left. Ella wanted

-them both and said so.

-

-"Hush," whispered her mother, "if you keep still Marian won't know

-which birds are the prettiest. Aunt Hester and I will help you choose."

-

-"I guess I'll take that," Ella decided, pointing towards the bird of

-paradise.

-

-Marian was about to choose the peacock when a whispered word from Aunt

-Hester caught her ear.

-

-"I hope, Ella dear, that she won't take the peacock."

-

-Marian hesitated a moment. She wanted the peacock with its gay,

-spreading tail, but if Aunt Hester wished Ella to have it perhaps she

-would love whoever helped her get it. "I'll take the turkey," said the

-child, whereupon Ella gave a shout.

-

-"She don't know much, she took an old brown turkey. I'll have the

-peacock and I want the red bird and the redhead."

-

-Aunt Amelia laughed. "One at a time, you dear, impulsive child," said

-she, but Aunt Hester smiled across at Marian. "Your turn," she said.

-

-"I'll take the owl," Marian quietly replied.

-

-"Oh, ho! an old owl!" laughed Ella, clapping her hands for joy. "Now

-I'll have the redhead! goody! And next time----"

-

-"Hush," warned her mother. "You mustn't let Marian know what you want

-or she'll take it."

-

-"I choose the wren," came in low tones from Marian.

-

-"My turn," Ella called. "Give me the redhead."

-

-"Choose the flicker next," advised her mother, so Marian, still hoping

-to be loved, chose the robin.

-

-Aunt Hester smiled again, but the smile was for Ella. "Take the parrot

-next," she whispered, so Marian chose the crow.

-

-"Now, Ella, darling," whispered her mother, "the oriole, after Marian

-has her turn," and Marian, taking the hint, motioned for the jay.

-

-It was over at last and Marian was told to go to her room. As she was

-leaving, Aunt Hester gave Ella a rapturous hug and said, "Our baby has

-all the prettiest birds." Aunt Hester didn't know Marian heard the

-remark until she saw the tears that could not be kept back, wetting the

-rosy cheeks. "Oh, you poor young one!" she exclaimed, and but for the

-presence of Aunt Amelia, she would have taken the sad little mortal in

-her arms.

-

-"She's crying 'cause her birds are all homely," said Ella.

-

-"Of course, she always wants the best," remarked Mrs. St. Claire, but

-Aunt Hester and Ella both gazed after the retreating figure of little

-Marian, with conscience-stricken faces. They had been three against

-one, and that one didn't know enough to take the choicest birds when

-she had the chance. They hadn't played fair.

-

-Marian, blinded by tears, stumbled over a rug at the door of her

-room and the sliced birds slipped almost unheeded from her apron.

-The nearest seat was the box she called her piano stool. She dropped

-upon it and buried her face in her arms on the piano. The sheet music

-tumbled forward upon her head, perhaps fearing it might be but an old

-almanac forever after. Bitter thoughts filled the little soul. Why

-would no one love her? Why did the sound of her voice annoy every one

-so she feared to speak? What was the trouble? Was she so bad or so

-homely that no one might love her? She had tried to be good and tried

-to do right, but what difference had it made? Aunt Hester thought her

-stupid because she allowed Ella to take what birds she would. Surely

-Aunt Hester was the stupid one.

-

-It was impossible for Marian to feel miserable long at a time. In a

-few minutes she sat up and straightened her sheet music, whereupon the

-almanac became a hymn-book. She turned the leaves slowly as did the

-young lady who played the organ prayer-meeting nights. Then, addressing

-the wax doll and the bed posts she announced in solemn tones, "We'll

-sing nineteen verses of number 'leventy 'leven."

-

-"Number 'leventy 'leven" happened to be "Come Ye Disconsolate," a

-hymn Marian was familiar with, as it was Aunt Amelia's favorite. The

-tune began dismally enough, but the disconsolate one took courage

-on the third line and sang out triumphantly at last, with a great

-flourish upon the piano, "'Earth has no sorrow that Heaven cannot

-heal.'" "Twenty Froggies Went to School" came next, and Marian was

-herself once more, which is to say, she became at a moment's notice,

-a famous musician, a school-teacher, a princess, a queen or whatever

-the occasion required, while the little room was easily changed into

-anything from the Desert of Sahara to a palace.

-

-The extent of Marian's knowledge was the only limit to the games

-she played. Pictures in the family Bible had given her many an hour

-of entertainment in the little room, thanks to the fact that Uncle

-George allowed Marian to look at the pictures on an occasional Sunday

-afternoon. The doll almost broke her nose the day before playing

-"Rebecca at the Well." The "Marriage at Cana" was a safer game for a

-wax doll that could not stand, especially as the doll made a beautiful

-bride. Turning from her piano, Marian saw something that made her

-laugh. The robin's head and the duck's feet had fallen one above the

-other.

-

-"Poor robin," she said, "I guess you would rather have your own feet.

-R-o-b-i-n, I know how to spell you, and I'll put you on your own feet

-and I'll give the duck his own head so he can quack." When the robin

-was put together it looked like an old friend. "You're nicer than the

-bird of paradise, after all," declared Marian, "because I know you so

-well. You and I used to be chums because I didn't have any little

-girls to play with."

-

-It was something of a puzzle to put all of the birds together, but

-when the work was finished Marian was pleased. "You're all so nice and

-common looking," she said. "I never saw the owl bird, but we used to

-hear him in the woods at night, didn't we, blue jay? He used to go,

-'Who--who--whoo--whoo!' We used to see you, old black crow, you always

-said 'Caw--caw--caw,' and you dear little wren, how I would like to

-hear you sing once more. Where are you all now? Somewhere way down

-South, because our teacher says so and when the snow is gone, you'll

-come flying back.

-

-"Oh, now we'll play something. It is autumn over here on the rug, the

-rug's the orchard, and the leaves are falling and all the flowers are

-fading and winter is coming. You see that sunshiny spot on the floor

-over there under the windows, birdies? Well, that is down South where

-you are going. I don't remember who goes first but I guess the little

-wren better fly away now, and we'll have lots of fun." One by one the

-birds went south, owl and all, and one by one they flew back to the

-orchard in the spring-time, where the wax doll welcomed them, listened

-to their songs and scattered strings about for them to use in building

-their nests.

-

-It was a pleasant game and Marian was called to the dining-room before

-she thought of putting the birds away.

-

-"I wonder if I didn't get the best half of the game after all," she

-suggested to the wax doll as she threw it a parting kiss.

-

-Had Marian known that the bird of paradise, the peacock and the other

-bright ones were laid upon a shelf as birds of no consequence and that

-Ella had complained all the forenoon of having nothing to do, she would

-have understood why Aunt Hester not only greeted her with a smile, but

-said at the same time, "You dear, happy child."

-

-It was enough that Aunt Hester said it and smiled, without puzzling for

-a reason. Surely Marian had chosen the better half of the game when

-such loving tones were meant for her. It was wonderful.

-

-

-

-

-CHAPTER XI

-

-THE WAY OF THE TRANSGRESSOR

-

-

-A YEAR passed away, in which time Marian was kept more and more outside

-of the family and more and more apart from all ordinary pleasures of

-childhood, but in spite of everything she was happy, ever hoping to win

-the approval of her aunt and uncle.

-

-Going to school was a never-failing joy because at noon-times and

-recess there were girls and boys to play with, and the long walks to

-and from school were always a delight to a child who was interested in

-everything from a blade of grass to the clouds.

-

-Ella attended a private school near home and was scarcely allowed to

-speak to Marian. She had many playmates, but all of them put together

-were not half so attractive from her point of view as the little cousin

-who played alone. One winter morning Ella told Marian behind the

-dining-room door that her grandmother and Uncle Robert were coming to

-stay all the spring-time and that Uncle Robert was a little boy only

-a few years older than Marian. Ella was delighted, but Marian wished

-Uncle Robert was a girl. She had reason for the wish before summer.

-

-Marian was prejudiced against boys for as much as a year after Ella's

-uncle went away. He believed it was his privilege to tease little

-girls, though in all his life he never had such a chance to torment

-any one as he had that spring. It was useless to play tricks on

-Ella, because she ran crying to her mother and that made trouble for

-Robert: but Marian could appeal to no one and teasing her was safe

-and interesting. To hold her doll by the hair while Marian begged and

-screamed, was daily amusement until the child learned to leave the doll

-in her room. To hide her few books was another pleasure and to frighten

-her on every possible occasion until her eyes seemed fairly popping out

-of her head, was a victory.

-

-Marian was glad to have some one to play with if that some one was a

-tyrant and often before her tears were dry, she was ready to forgive

-Robert for teasing her and to join in any game he proposed. One day

-he suggested something that shocked Marian. He asked her to steal

-sugar. He didn't say steal, he said "Hook," and at first Marian didn't

-understand. Robert told her to sneak into the pantry after Lala was

-through work in the afternoon, take a lump of sugar from the barrel and

-give it to him. She wouldn't listen in the beginning, but by dint of

-persuasion and threats, Robert succeeded in getting his lump of sugar:

-not only one, but many, for stealing sugar became easier as the days

-went by and no one caught the small culprit.

-

-Robert's ambition was to be a railroad engineer, and soon after the

-sugar stealing began, he made an engine of boxes and barrels in the

-locust grove. When it was finished and in running order, he allowed

-Marian to be his fireman. At first the child thought it was fun,

-but when she had shoveled air with a stick for five minutes without

-stopping, while Robert rang the bell, blew the whistle and ran the

-engine, she threw down her shovel. "It's my turn to be engineer now,"

-she declared.

-

-"Girls don't know enough to run engines," was the reply.

-

-"I'm not a girl," protested Marian, "I'm a fireman."

-

-"Then tend to your job, why don't you?" was the retort. "I wouldn't

-ring the bell for my fireman if I didn't think he was a good one. Come,

-coal up, tend to business."

-

-Somewhat flattered, the fireman smiled, shoveled coal until his arms

-ached, and then rebelled. "I say," she declared, "you've got to let me

-be engineer now! I won't be fireman another minute!"

-

-"Oh, you won't?" taunted the engineer. "We'll see about that! Of course

-you needn't shovel coal for me if you don't want to, but you had better

-make up your mind pretty quick, because if you won't be my fireman,

-I'll go and tell my sister Amelia that you steal sugar!"

-

-Marian was too stunned for words until Robert laughed. Then her face

-grew scarlet, and her eyes had a look in them the boy had never seen

-before.

-

-"You dare not tell!" she screamed, leaning towards Robert, anger and

-defiance in every line of her slight figure. "I say you dare not!"

-

-"I wonder why?" sniffed the boy.

-

-"You know why; you told me to take the sugar, and I got it for you and

-I never tasted a bit of it. You were such an old pig you wouldn't give

-me back a crumb--old rhinoceros--hippopotamus--I'd call you an elephant

-too, only elephants are so much nicer'n you."

-

-Again the boy laughed. "You hooked the sugar, didn't you?" he demanded.

-

-"What if I did, didn't I do it 'cause you told me to, and didn't you

-eat it, you old gorilla?"

-

-"What if I did, Miss Marian Spitfire? I'll say it's one of your lies,

-and no one will believe what you say. You know you can't look my sister

-in the face and tell her you didn't take the sugar, but I can stand up

-and cross my heart and hope to die if I ever saw any sugar, and they'll

-believe me and they won't believe you. Now will you shovel coal?

-Toot-toot-toot--chew-chew-chew--ding-a-ling-a-ling--engine's going to

-start! Ha, ha, ha!"

-

-"You mean thing, you horrid boy! I hate you!" sputtered Marian, but she

-shoveled coal. In fact the child shoveled coal the rest of the spring

-whenever Robert chose to play engine, until the day his taunts proved

-too much and she kicked his engine to pieces, threatening to "give it

-to him," if he didn't keep out of the way.

-

-"Now tell," she screamed from the midst of the wreck, "tell anything

-you're a mind to, I don't care what you do."

-

-Robert walked away whistling "Yankee Doodle." "I'm tired of playing

-engine," he called over his shoulder, "and I'm much obliged to you

-for saving me the trouble of taking it to pieces. I don't wonder

-nobody likes you. My sister Amelia knows what she's talking about when

-she says you've got the worst temper ever was! I bet you'll die in

-prison----"

-

-"You'll die before you get to prison if you don't get out of my sight,"

-was the retort.

-

-Robert walked away so fast Marian was certain he was going to tell

-about the sugar and she waited, defiantly at first, then tremblingly.

-What would become of her? What would they do? For reasons best known to

-himself, Robert didn't mention sugar, and after a few days of suspense,

-Marian breathed easier, although she wasn't thoroughly comfortable

-until Robert and his mother were on their way home.

-

-A few weeks later Aunt Amelia made a jar of cookies for Ella's birthday

-party. She made them herself and put them on a low shelf in the pantry.

-Marian asked for a cookie and was refused. She didn't expect to get

-it. The more she thought of the cookies, the more she wanted one. She

-remembered the sugar. No one but Robert knew about that sugar, and if

-she helped herself to a cooky that would be her own secret. Marian took

-a cooky and ate it back of the orchard. Her old friends, the chipping

-sparrows, flew down for the crumbs that fell at her feet. The little

-birds were surprised when Marian frightened them away. She had been so

-kind to them they had lost all fear of her.

-

-The second cooky Marian took she ate in the locust grove where she was

-much annoyed by the curiosity of a chipmunk. He asked her questions

-with his head on one side and his hand on his heart. His chatter made

-her angry. What was it to him if she happened to be eating a cooky? She

-did wish folks would mind their own business. From that day, Marian

-grew reckless. She carried away cookies two or three at a time and

-talked back to the birds and the squirrels and all the inhabitants of

-the orchard and the locust grove who were not polite enough to hide

-their inquisitiveness.

-

-For once in her life, Marian had all the cookies she wished, although

-they agreed with neither her stomach nor her conscience. She didn't

-feel well and she was cross and unhappy. At last Marian knew that the

-day of reckoning was near at hand. She could almost touch the bottom

-of the cooky jar when she realized that the cookies had been made for

-Ella's party and had not been used upon the table. No one had lifted

-the cover of the jar but herself since the day they were baked. It

-was a frightful thought. There was no more peace for Marian. Awake or

-dreaming, the cookies were ever before her. In school and at home they

-haunted her. What should she do, what could she do?

-

-Quietly the child went about the house. She no longer sang nor laughed.

-Uncle George wondered, Aunt Amelia rejoiced. She thought Marian's usual

-high spirits unbecoming a child dependent upon charity, as Marian had

-often heard her remark.

-

-"She may be working too hard in school," suggested Uncle George.

-

-"Whatever is the cause she has behaved so well lately, I shall allow

-her in the sitting-room with the children when Ella has her party,"

-conceded Aunt Amelia.

-

-Even a shadow of kindness touched Marian's heart. Oh, why had she done

-wrong? From the depths of her soul, the child repented. Why had she

-been called bad in the days when she tried to be good, and at last when

-she was so bad, why would Aunt Amelia declare that there was a great

-improvement in her behavior, and why would Uncle George speak to her

-almost as pleasantly as he did to Ella? If only she had remembered

-the words of Mrs. Moore before it was too late; to "Be good and to do

-right." Mrs. Moore also said, "Be brave." It would be brave to go to

-Aunt Amelia and tell her the truth about the cookies. Marian had not

-been good, she had not done right and she could not be brave.

-

-Many and many a time the child studied the grim face of Aunt Amelia,

-repeating over and over to herself "Be brave." It seemed to Marian

-that if she attempted telling Aunt Amelia of her sin, she would die on

-the spot, choke to death, perhaps, trying to get the words out. Her

-throat closed tight together at the very thought. It might, under some

-circumstances, be possible to tell Uncle George, although to confess

-was to be forever an outcast. Neither Uncle George nor Aunt Amelia

-would ever love her, nor would she ever be allowed to play with Ella.

-All the golden texts Marian had ever learned, haunted her memory. "The

-way of the transgressor is hard." "Be sure your sin will find you out."

-"Enter not into the path of the wicked." "Evil pursueth sinners."

-There were many others, so many, the child was sorry she had ever gone

-to Sunday-school.

-

-The day of the party was bright and beautiful. All the little girls

-came who were invited, Ruth Higgins, Dorothy Avery and Dolly Russel

-among the number. Marian went into the sitting-room with drooping head

-and misery in her soul, until joining in the games and merriment,

-she forgot the cookies and had a good time. Not a thought of trouble

-disturbed her pleasure even though she heard Lala setting the table in

-the dining-room.

-

-Her conscience awoke only when Aunt Amelia appeared to summon her into

-the kitchen. Every bit of color left the child's face. She could hear

-nothing clearly because of the ringing in her ears. As she followed

-Aunt Amelia through the dining-room the floor seemed rising up at every

-step and the candles on the birthday cake danced before her eyes. On

-the table in the kitchen was the empty cooky jar, the eloquent witness

-of her guilt. On a rosebud plate beside it were less than a dozen

-cookies. Marian gazed stupidly at the jar and at the plate of cookies.

-

-"What have you to say for yourself, Marian Lee?" Aunt Amelia's voice

-sounded far away. There were such lumps in Marian's throat she couldn't

-speak.

-

-"Answer me," commanded Aunt Amelia, "what have you to say?"

-

-Marian's tongue felt paralyzed. Perhaps it was unwilling to do its

-owner's bidding. It was certainly hard for that truthful little tongue

-to say the one word "Nothing." Aunt Amelia's face was terrible. "Do you

-mean to tell me that you haven't touched those cookies?"

-

-There was no retreat. Marian nodded her head.

-

-"Speak!" continued Aunt Amelia, "say yes or no? Do you dare to tell me

-that you didn't take the cookies?"

-

-It was all Marian did dare to do and her reply was "Yes."

-

-Aunt Amelia raised a long forefinger as she said, "Don't stand there

-and lie, Marian Lee, you took those cookies."

-

-"I did not." Lala grew pale when she heard that answer and saw the

-terrified eyes of the child.

-

-"Own up," she whispered as she passed the trembling sinner on her way

-to the dining-room.

-

-Marian looked beseechingly at Aunt Amelia, but her face was hard

-and pitiless. The child dared not "Be brave." "I did not touch the

-cookies," she repeated again and again.

-

-"How do you account for the disappearance of a whole jar of cookies,

-Marian, if you didn't eat them?" asked Uncle George upon his arrival.

-

-Marian had not thought of accounting for the loss of the cookies, but

-she took a deep breath and made a suggestion. "I s'pose a hungry tramp

-took 'em."

-

-The reply wasn't satisfactory. Uncle George frowned and Aunt Amelia

-smiled. The smile wasn't the kind she was in the habit of bestowing

-upon Ella. It was the sort that froze the blood in Marian's veins. She

-sank in a miserable little heap upon the floor and cried and cried.

-

-"Reform school is the place for children who steal and lie," said Aunt

-Amelia.

-

-Uncle George tried to make the child confess, but his efforts were

-vain. She would not. Threats were powerless. The more frightened Marian

-became the more vehemently she denied her guilt. Although it was Ella's

-birthday, and shouts of laughter could be heard from the sitting-room,

-Aunt Amelia produced a certain strap Marian was familiar with through

-past experience. "Spare the rod, spoil the child," was Mrs. St.

-Claire's favorite motto so far as her husband's small relative was

-concerned.

-

-"You can whip me till I die," sobbed Marian when she saw the strap,

-"but I can't say I took the cookies, because I didn't. How can I say I

-did, when I didn't?" Nor could Aunt Amelia nor Uncle George compel the

-child to say anything different.

-

-"You can whip me till I die," she insisted over and over, "but I can't

-say I took those cookies," and they finally believed her.

-

-"Go to bed," commanded Aunt Amelia. "I don't want to see a child who

-could die easier than she could tell the truth. Go!"

-

-A smothered sob caught Marian's ear. Lala was crying; and because Lala

-cried and was soon after found in Marian's room trying to quiet her,

-she was sent away the next day. Tilly was her successor. Before she had

-been in the house a week, she openly befriended Marian. "Poor little

-thing," she said, "if you had stolen a barrel of cookies from a baker

-you wouldn't have deserved half of the punishment you get. There isn't

-anything left they can do to you, is there?"

-

-"Yes, they can send me to the reform school," was the reply, "and, oh,

-dear, I'm afraid to go. What will become of me?"

-

-"If I were you," Tilly advised, "and I took the cookies, I would own

-up. They can't any more than kill you and I guess they'll do that

-anyway."

-

-Marian shook her head. The time to own up was long passed. She stayed

-in her room and ate bread and water a week without protest. On

-Sunday afternoon she listened to the story of Ananias and Sapphira

-with teeth and fists tightly closed. She heard long speeches on the

-fearful consequences of stealing and lying, without a word. Only when

-questioned would she say in low spiritless tones, "I did not touch the

-cookies."

-

-When it was all over, and Aunt Amelia and Uncle George gave up trying

-to wring a confession from her and the child was simply in disgrace,

-her own conscience began its work. It gave her no peace. Marian had

-said her prayers every night as Mrs. Moore had taught her when she was

-a baby; but she had repeated them quickly with her back turned towards

-heaven and had made no mention of cookies. At last, troubled by her

-conscience, and not knowing where to turn for comfort, Marian knelt by

-her bedside one night and tried an experiment.

-

-"O Lord," she began, "I am not going to lie to you about the cookies.

-Thou knowest I took them. That is why I haven't said any made up

-prayers for so long. I knew Thou knewest how wicked I am and I know

-what the Bible says about lying lips. I am afraid of Aunt Amelia or I

-would own up. She says I won't go to heaven when I die because I am

-too bad to live there. Now, O Lord, I know I could be good in heaven,

-but it has been hard work on earth, and after I took the cookies I got

-wickeder and wickeder, but honest and truth I'll never do anything

-wrong again and I'll never tell another lie. Thou knowest I could be

-good in heaven. Please, O Lord, forgive me and take me straight up to

-heaven when I die. Amen."

-

-That prayer didn't help Marian a bit. She could scarcely get off her

-knees when she had said "Amen." Her head seemed bowed down beneath a

-weight of cookies.

-

-"You know what you must do," insisted her conscience, "you must go to

-your Uncle George and your Aunt Amelia first, first, I say."

-

-"But I can't do that, and I'm so unhappy," sobbed Marian, but her

-conscience was pitiless. It would allow no compromise. "Oh, if I could

-see Nanna," whispered Marian as she crept into bed. No one had ever

-kissed her good-night but once since she had left the Home, and now, no

-one ever would again. The Father in heaven had turned away His face.

-Marian cried herself to sleep as she had many a night before.

-

-In the middle of the night she awoke and sat up in bed, cold and

-trembling. Thunder was rolling through the sky and an occasional flash

-of lightning made the little room bright one minute and inky black the

-next. Perhaps the end of the world was coming when the graves would

-give up their dead and the terrible Judge would descend to deal with

-the wicked. A crash of thunder shook the house. Marian dived beneath

-the blankets, but a horrible thought caused her to sit bolt upright

-again. Aunt Amelia had told her that sinners, on the last day, would

-call for the rocks and mountains to fall upon them. Perhaps hiding

-beneath blankets meant the same thing. Another crash came and a

-blinding flash of lightning. Then another and another. Springing from

-her bed, Marian ran down the hall to Mrs. St. Claire's room. The door

-was closed but the room was lighted.

-

-"Oh, let me come in," she cried, knocking frantically at the door and

-keeping her eye upon the crack of light at the bottom.

-

-The response was immediate. Aunt Amelia stepped into the hall and

-closed the door behind her. "Go back to your room," she said, "and

-don't you dare leave it again. I should think you would expect the

-lightning to strike you!"

-

-Marian shrank back as a flash of lightning illumined the hall. For one

-moment she saw Aunt Amelia, tall and terrible in her white night-dress,

-her voice more fearful than the thunder, and her form seeming to

-stretch upward and upward, growing thinner and thinner until it

-vanished in the awful darkness.

-

-Marian fled, closing the door of her little room and placing a chair

-against it. Kneeling by the window, she closed her eyes to shut out

-glimpses of the unnatural garden below and the angry sky above. The

-thought of sudden death filled her with terror. What would become

-of her soul if she died with her sins unconfessed? "Dear Father in

-heaven," she cried, "if you have to kill me with lightning, forgive me

-and take me to heaven. I'll be good there. I'll never steal anything

-there nor ever lie again. I was going to own up to Aunt Amelia, but

-O Lord, I was so afraid of her I didn't dare. If you'll let me live

-through this night, I'll go and tell her in the morning and then I'll

-never do wrong again. O Lord, I'm so sorry, and I'm awful afraid of

-lightning. I don't want to die by it, but if I have to, please take me

-up to heaven. Amen."

-

-Then Marian went back to bed. Her conscience didn't say a word that

-time and she went to sleep before the storm was over, long before Ella

-was quieted or ever Aunt Amelia closed her eyes.

-

-Marian's first waking thought when she looked out on the fresh

-brightness of another day was one of thankfulness. It was good to be

-alive. Another second and she groaned. Perhaps she would have been

-dead but for that midnight promise, the promise she must keep. Marian

-dressed quickly and sought Aunt Amelia before she lost courage. She

-wasn't gone long. Back she flew to the little room where her prayer was

-short although her sobs were long.

-

-"Oh, Lord, I couldn't, I just couldn't."

-

-There were many thunder-storms that summer and for a while every one

-of them frightened Marian. In the night, she would resolve to confess,

-but daylight took away her courage. "If I should be sick a long time,"

-Marian argued, "perhaps then Aunt Amelia would like me some and just

-before I died I could shut my eyes and tell her about the cookies. Then

-God would surely forgive me and I would go straight up to heaven and it

-would be all right. But if I should die suddenly, before I had any time

-to say any last words, what would become of me?" she asked herself.

-After thinking of it some time, Marian hit upon a plan that brought her

-peace of mind. She wrote the following confession:

-

-"Nobody knows how much I have suffered on account of some cookies. I

-used to like cookies but not now. It began by sugar. I took lumps of

-sugar out of a barrel for a boy. I thought if I could take sugar I

-could take cookies, too, and I did, but I said I didn't. I did take

-the cookies. I hope my folks will forgive me now I am dead. I suffered

-awful before I died on account of cookies. Give my wax doll and all my

-things to Ella. The doll is good if I wasn't. I tried but it is hard

-for some children on earth. I am awful sorry on account of being so

-much trouble to everybody. I took those cookies. Marian Lee."

-

-Having folded this paper, Marian was happier than she had been for

-weeks. She felt that she had saved her soul.

-

-

-

-

-CHAPTER XII

-

-MARIAN'S DIARY

-

-

-"JUNE 20.--It is hard to begin a diary. You don't know what to say

-first. Bernice Jones says a diary is a book to put the weather in.

-She ought to know on account of her grandmother keeping one. Leonore

-Whiting, the girl that sits behind me and wears the prettiest ribbons

-in school, says a diary is to put your feelings in. Leonore thinks she

-ought to know because her sister is a poetry writer.

-

-"When I asked Uncle George for an empty diary and what you write in

-it, he laughed and said he would give me all the paper I wanted to

-write things in and I had better put down everything. He said it would

-be a good thing for me to write more and talk less, so I guess I will

-have the fullest diary of any of the Diary Club. That's our name. Maud

-Brown was the one that got up the name. She says everybody belongs to

-a Club. Her mother does and her father and her brothers too. Maud says

-she has got to be in a Club or she never will be happy. She is only

-going to keep weather because she doesn't like to write. Leonore and a

-lot of the other girls are just going to keep a few feelings, but I am

-going to write down weather and feelings and everything.

-

-"The weather is all right to-day.

-

-"It is too bad about vacation. It is almost here and then I won't have

-anybody to play with. Uncle George says he never saw a little girl like

-to go to school as well as I do. It really isn't school I like to go

-to, it is recesses. I guess he had some other boys to play with when he

-was little or he would know. I would like to play with Dolly Russel but

-my aunt never will let me go over there and she tells Dolly's mother

-'No,' about everything she wants me to do. She did let Ella go, only

-they don't invite Ella any more. I wonder if she talked too much, or

-broke anything, or why? Lala works over there now, but my aunt told me

-not to talk to Lala so I don't dare.

-

-"I found out something to-day at school. The children that live in

-houses don't all go to bed in the dark. I cried and cried when I first

-had to go to bed in the dark because where I used to live, we didn't

-have to. I wish I could sit up late at night.

-

-"Another thing about a diary is how nice it will be for your

-grandchildren to know what you used to think about and what you used

-to do. I can hardly believe that I am the grandmother of my own

-grandchildren, but of course it is so.

-

-"June 21.--We took our diaries to school. I had the most written of

-anybody, but I don't think it is nice to read your diary out loud

-because they ask questions. The girls wanted to know where I used to

-live and I wanted to tell them but I didn't dare to, and now I wonder

-about things. Louise Fisher said that Dolly Russel's mother told her

-mother that my aunt is not good to me, and a good many more things,

-and they are all sorry for me and they say it is too bad I can't have

-pretty clothes like Ella. I didn't say much because I don't want

-everybody in school to know how bad I am and that nobody can love me,

-and about the cookies. I guess I would die if they knew it all. Their

-mothers wouldn't let them play with me at recess.

-

-"I wish I had a white dress to wear the last day of school when I sing

-a song alone and speak my piece. I don't like to sing and speak pieces

-because I am afraid. I am not going to take my diary to school any more.

-

-"June 22.--I don't know what to think. I heard some more things about

-me at school to-day. Folks wonder who I am and where I came from, and

-Louise Fisher says she knows Uncle George is not my own uncle and if

-she was me she would run away. I can't run away because I don't know

-where to run to and I am afraid. Ella knows things about me and if she

-ever gets a chance I guess she will tell me, but her mother won't let

-her speak to me if she can help it. I guess her mother doesn't know how

-hard I try to set Ella a good example of being polite and not slamming

-doors and speak when you're spoken to, and children should be seen and

-not heard, and if you behave as well as you look you'll be all right.

-

-"I know it was bad about the cookies, but Ella never can do a cooky

-sin because her mother always says to her, 'Help yourself, darling,'

-and that's different. Besides that, Ella thinks a tramp did take the

-cookies. I will tell her some time because she cried and was sorry I

-had so much trouble. Then she will never speak to me again, but it is

-better to tell the truth than to do any other way. When I think I am

-going to die, sure, then I will tell my aunt if it kills me.

-

-"I wonder if Uncle George is my uncle or what?

-

-"June 23.--It was the last day of school to-day. I sung my song and

-spoke my piece and Dolly Russel's mother kissed me. I wish she was my

-mother. I wish I had a mother. I am glad she kissed me. Aunt Amelia

-wasn't there. Ella cried because she couldn't go. It didn't rain. You

-don't think about weather when it is nice.

-

-"September 5.--The queerest thing happened. I thought I would be the

-one that would write the most in my diary this summer, but I wasn't,

-and good reason why. It was just a little after daylight the day after

-the last day of school, that Aunt Amelia came and called me and told me

-to get dressed quick, and she gave me all clean clothes to put on and I

-was frightened. I said what had I done and she said I had done enough.

-I was scared worse than ever. She told me to go down in the kitchen and

-I would find some breakfast ready. I thought I couldn't eat, everything

-was so queer and early, but I did, and then I had to put on my hat and

-Uncle George said, 'Are you ready?' I said where am I going, is it

-reform school, and Aunt Amelia said it ought to be, and then I got in

-a carriage with Uncle George and the driver put a little new trunk on

-behind and we drove to the depot.

-

-"It was awful early and the grass and the trees looked queer and the

-birds were singing like everything. Uncle George told me to cheer up, I

-was going to a nice place where I would have a good time, and he told

-me to write to him every week and he would write to me. He said I

-mustn't tell the folks where I was going that I was ever bad. He said

-he thought I was a pretty good little girl, and when he put me on the

-train and told the conductor where I was going and to take care of me,

-because I was his little girl, I put my arms around his neck and kissed

-him good-bye. He is a good man. I hope he is my uncle, but I don't know.

-

-"Well, I had a nice time in that village where I went and Uncle George

-came after me yesterday. I was glad to see him, but I didn't want to

-come home. I wanted to stay and go to the country school, but he said

-that my grandchildren would want their grandmother to know something.

-

-"Then he told me he found my diary and that he put it away where nobody

-could see it until I got back. He said he thought he had better tell

-me to keep my diary out of sight, because that was the style among

-diary-writing folks. So I will hide my diary now. I wonder if he read

-it. Anyway, I know Aunt Amelia didn't get a chance, because he told me

-most particular about how he found it first thing and put it where

-it wouldn't get dusty. He says he is my Uncle George. I was afraid

-maybe I was just adopted for a niece, and I am not sure yet. He didn't

-say he wasn't my adopted Uncle George, and maybe he thought I was his

-brother's little girl when I wasn't. The folks I stayed with told Uncle

-George I am a lovely child. He didn't look surprised, only glad.

-

-"September 6.--All the girls had new dresses at school. I am in the

-fourth grade this term. I am in fractions and on the map of South

-America. We played London Bridge and King William at recess.

-

-"September 7.--Too many things to play after school. Can't write. Aunt

-Amelia makes me get straight to bed after I come to my room at night.

-It doesn't seem like night, though. I don't like to go to bed in the

-afternoon very well, but after all, I am glad it doesn't get dark

-early. I go to sleep in the daytime and wake up in the daytime and the

-birds are always singing.

-

-"September 8.--Nothing happened in school to-day. It rains and I can't

-go out in the orchard. I was going to play 'Landing of the Pilgrims,'

-but I guess I will write in my diary. Where I was this summer they had

-a library, not a big one like the one down-stairs, but the shelves were

-low so I could reach the books, and the folks let me read all I wanted

-to. I was pretty glad of it, rainy days and Sundays.

-

-"The book I liked best was full of stories about the Norsemen. They

-gave me the book to keep. I take it way up in the top of my favorite

-apple-tree and read and read. Sometimes I play I'm Odin and sometimes

-I am Thor. I am not so afraid of thunder since I read about Thor. When

-it thunders and lightens I play I am an old Norseman and that I really

-believe Thor is pounding with his big hammer and that he is scaring

-the bad frost giants. I am glad Aunt Amelia says she never read Norse

-stories. If she had, she would call me Loki, so there's somebody that's

-bad she can't say I am.

-

-"What I like best is to sit in the top of the apple-tree and shut the

-book and think about the Rainbow Bridge that stretched from earth to

-heaven. Every one couldn't cross, but if my father and my mother were

-on the other side of the shining bridge, I would look straight towards

-them and I wouldn't look down and my mother would hold out her arms and

-I wouldn't be afraid. May be the Rainbow Bridge is wide. I am sure it

-is when I stop to think, because the gods used to drive over it when

-they came to visit the earth. Perhaps they would let me cross if they

-saw me coming because it was only the bad giants they tried to keep

-out of heaven. Oh, dear, I guess I am a bad giant myself, even if I am

-little, because the book says, 'The giants in old Norse times were not

-easy to conquer: but generally it was when they hid themselves behind

-lies and appeared to be what they were not that they succeeded for a

-time.' I hid myself behind lies.

-

-"September 9.--One sure thing, I will always tell the truth as long as

-I live. I didn't come straight home from school to-night. A lot of us

-girls went in the old cemetery and read what's on the tombstones, and

-I didn't get home early. I tried to get through the gate when my aunt

-wasn't looking, but that would have been what you call good luck. She

-took me in and said, 'Where have you been?' I said, 'In the graveyard.'

-She said, 'Why didn't you stay there?' I didn't know what to answer so

-I kept still. Then my aunt said, 'You can't go out to play,' and that

-was all. So I am always going to tell the truth and feel comfortable

-inside, no matter what happens. I was more afraid of how I would feel

-when it was time to say my prayers if I told a lie, than I was of my

-aunt.

-

-"September 10.--I didn't get home early to-night because I walked

-around the pond with Louise Fisher and Maud Brown. I owned up when I

-got home. I am not going to write down what happened, but it was worse

-than just being sent to your room. I don't want my little grandchildren

-to read about it. I am coming straight home next Monday night.

-

-"September 11.--Aunt Amelia says I act worse all the time. I don't know

-what I did that was bad to-day, but I got scolded all the time.

-

-"September 12.--Went to church and Sunday-school and the boys made fun

-of my shoes. They couldn't make me cry. I should think I would get used

-to being made fun of because I have to wear a sunbonnet to school and

-all the other little girls wear hats. I wear my sunbonnet as far as my

-aunt can see and then I take it off and swing it by the strings. She

-would be angry if she knew. I would almost rather be baldheaded than

-wear a sunbonnet when all the other girls wear hats. I wish I could

-have pretty shoes for Sundays, but I won't let the boys know I care.

-

-"September 13.--I came straight home to-night. I wish school began at

-daylight and didn't let out till dark, there is so much trouble at

-home. Uncle George says it is all on account of me.

-

-"September 14.--I came straight home and got scolded.

-

-"September 15.--Got scolded again.

-

-"September 16.--Got scolded some more.

-

-"September 17.--Got put to bed without any supper on account of sitting

-down by the side of the pond to watch a frog. It was a funny frog and

-when I had to go to bed, I went to sleep thinking about it. When it was

-almost dark Uncle George came and woke me up to give me something to

-eat. He didn't scold. I am writing this the next morning for yesterday.

-

-"September 18.--It was a beautiful Saturday. My aunt had company and

-I played out in the orchard all day long. Ella and my aunt and the

-company went to drive in the afternoon so there wasn't anybody to scold

-me. I saw the mole to-day. He came out and walked around a little. I

-guess he knew my aunt was gone. Everything was happy in the orchard. I

-watched a caterpillar a long time. He went so fast he made me laugh. I

-guess he was going home from school and wanted to get there in time.

-

-"September 19.--This is Sunday. Uncle George called me in the parlor to

-sing for the company and some other folks that came. Aunt Amelia played

-on the piano and when she couldn't play any more on account of a cramp

-in her wrist, they told me to sing without any music and I did. The

-company wiped away some tears, and she said I could sing just the way

-my father did when he was a little boy, and then she took me in her lap

-and said she thought I looked like my mother. I was going to ask some

-questions, but my aunt said not to talk about some things, and then

-the company said it was going to rain, she guessed, and would I sing

-another song. I did and then my aunt sent me to my room, cross. I mean

-she was cross. I felt pretty bad at first but I got over it.

-

-"September 20.--Ella says there is a picture of my father in the album,

-and she will show it to me first chance she gets.

-

-"September 21.--My aunt was away when I got home from school so Ella

-said, 'Now's your chance,' and we went into the parlor and she showed

-me the picture. I smiled back at the face because it smiled at me. My

-father is pleasant and kind.

-

-"September 22.--I went in the parlor and looked at the picture again. I

-was afraid my aunt would come in and find me.

-

-"September 23.--It happened to-day. I was looking at the picture and

-my aunt came in still and caught me. She said dreadful things, and I

-cried and I don't know what I did, but she said I was saucy and she

-didn't know what to do with me. Uncle George heard the noise and came

-in and he scolded, too. I never saw him so cross. I almost thought he

-was angry with Aunt Amelia, but of course that was not so. At last he

-took my father's picture out of the album and gave it to me, and told

-me to keep it, and he told me not to go in my aunt's parlor because

-she didn't want me there. I knew that before, because I wanted to take

-lessons on the piano same as Ella, and she wouldn't let me.

-

-"I am so glad I have my father's picture. It is like having folks of

-your own to have a picture of somebody that was yours. I haven't missed

-a single question in school on the map of South America. I guess that

-is one map I can't forget. I wish I knew where my father went in South

-America. I don't dare ask Uncle George. He says I am the trial of his

-life, and he doesn't see why I don't behave like other children.

-

-"October 1.--I am getting so I don't care what happens to me. I don't

-come straight home from school any more. I always think I will until I

-get started home, and then I dread to come because nobody loves me and

-I will get scoldings and things anyway, so I stop and look at toads and

-frogs and have a good time before I get home, and sometimes nothing

-happens. My aunt says I tell things, but I don't. What would I tell

-for? I don't even write sad things in my diary because I don't want to

-make my grandchildren cry. It would make me feel pretty bad if I found

-out that nobody loved my grandmother.

-

-"October 2.--Had a lovely time playing Pocahontas in the grove.

-

-"October 3.--I tried to count the stars last night, but I couldn't. I

-wonder why we don't fall off the earth when China's on top? Aunt Amelia

-says I ought to know better than to ask her questions. I do.

-

-"October 20.--I listened to what the minister said to-day. It was about

-heaven. I've got to try to be awful good on earth so I can surely go

-there. Then I guess somebody will love me and when I walk in through

-one of the pearly gates, the angels won't look cross.

-

-"October 21.--You get tired of keeping your diary. I am going to write

-a book. Its name will be 'The Little Daughter of Thor.' I guess Thor

-never had a little girl, but I am going to write it in a book that he

-did, and one day when the little girl was a baby and she was playing

-with the golden apples, she fell right through the sky on to the earth.

-Then I am going to write about how the little girl watched for the

-Rainbow Bridge. She was a little stray child on earth, and even the

-giants were kind to her. Of course Thor's little daughter would know

-enough to know that the only way home was over the blue and golden

-Rainbow Bridge that she couldn't see only sometimes.

-

-"At the end of the story, Thor himself will find the little girl and

-will take her in his chariot across the Rainbow Bridge to the shining

-bright city in the clouds where her mother will hug her pretty near to

-pieces. Maybe when I get the book done, I will write another about what

-Thor's little daughter did when she got home. About the songs she used

-to sing with her mother, and the flowers they used to pick and about

-everything that is happiness. It will be nicer to do than keeping an

-old diary about real things.

-

-"The nicest looking man's picture I ever saw is my father, so I am

-going to have him for Thor. My father looks kind and smiling, but he

-looks, too, as if he would know how to use Thor's big hammer if the bad

-giants tried to cross the Rainbow Bridge. I think it is queer that I

-like the god of thunder so well that I will let him have my father's

-face in my book.

-

-"October 22.--I am going to put some last words in my diary, just

-to say that it is a good thing to write a book. Something dreadful

-happened after school to-night. I felt dreadful, nobody knows. I got

-over it though, and then because I had to stay in my room and have dry

-bread and water for my supper, I started my book and it was lots of

-fun. It is the best thing there is to do when you want to forget you

-are a little girl that nobody loves. If I live here until I am an old

-lady I presume I will turn into an author.

-

-"If it wasn't for the orchard and the locust grove and the way home

-from school, and recesses and my doll and my books, and the birds and

-the wild flowers and the lovely blue sky I can see from my window this

-minute, and a good many other things, I would wish I had died when I

-was a baby. That makes me laugh. It is a nice world to live in after

-all. A beautiful world."

-

-

-

-

-CHAPTER XIII

-

-DIPHTHERIA

-

-

-EARLY in the winter, diphtheria broke out in the schools. Marian said

-little about it at home, fearing she might not be allowed to go, though

-the daily paper told the whole story. Why the schools were not closed

-was a question even in the long ago days when Marian was a child.

-Uncle George was indignant, but influenced by his wife's arguments,

-he allowed Marian to have her way. Mrs. St. Claire said Marian was

-better off in school than at home, and in no more danger of catching

-diphtheria than she would be hanging over the fence talking to passing

-children. Marian didn't tell her Uncle George that she was never

-allowed to speak to passing children. He might have kept her home.

-

-Weeks passed and many little ones died. The schoolroom became a solemn

-place to Marian. It seemed strange to look at empty seats and know

-that the ones who used to sit in them would never come to school again.

-Even the boys were quieter than ever before. There were no longer paper

-wads flying the minute the teacher's back was turned, perhaps because

-the chief mischief maker's curly head was missing. He was Tommy Jewel,

-and he made things lively at the beginning of the term.

-

-Marian felt that it was something to have known so many girls and boys

-who died. At recess in the basement she used to ask children from the

-other rooms how many of their number were missing. Marian felt so well

-and full of life it never entered her head that she might be taken ill

-herself, and the thought of death was impossible, although she often

-closed her eyes and folded her hands, trying to imagine her school-days

-were over.

-

-At home the children met but seldom after the outbreak of diphtheria.

-Marian ate her breakfast alone and Ella had hers when the little cousin

-had gone to school. It was easily possible for Mrs. St. Claire to keep

-the children entirely separate. To guard Ella from all danger of

-contagion was her daily care and the smell of burning sulphur was ever

-present in the house.

-

-One morning Marian's throat was sore and she felt ill. The child

-dressed quickly and went down to tell Uncle George. Tilly the maid was

-at her home on a short visit, and Uncle George was building the kitchen

-fire.

-

-"I've got the diphtheria," announced Marian, and there was terror in

-her face.

-

-"Let me look in your throat," said Uncle George. "Why it looks all

-right, Marian, just a little red."

-

-"I don't care, I feel sick all over," insisted the child, "and I tell

-you now and then, I know I've got it."

-

-When Aunt Amelia was called she said Marian imagined that her throat

-was sore and as Marian ate breakfast, she was sent to school. The child

-went away crying. She didn't swing her little dinner pail around and

-around that morning just to show that she could do it and keep the

-cover on. Uncle George was inclined to call her back, but Aunt Amelia

-laughed at him.

-

-"Any child," argued Mrs. St. Claire, "that could eat the breakfast she

-did, isn't at death's door, now you mark my words. She has let her

-imagination run away with her. Our darling Ella is far more apt to have

-diphtheria than that child. She would be willing to have the disease to

-get a little sympathy."

-

-Marian felt better out in the fresh air and as she met Ellen Day soon

-after leaving home, the way to school seemed short. The chief ambition

-of Marian's school life was to sit on a back seat, yet from the

-beginning, it had been her lot to belong to the front row. The teachers

-had a way of putting her there and Marian knew the reason. It wasn't

-because she was the smallest child in the room, although that was the

-truth. Tommy Jewel used to sit on a front seat, too, and once Marian

-had to share the platform with him. The teacher said they were a good

-pair and the other children laughed. Possibly the memory of Tommy's

-mischievous face caused the teacher to notice how quiet Marian was the

-morning her throat was sore. The child sat with her elbows on her desk,

-her face in her hands, staring solemnly into space.

-

-"Are you ill, Marian?" asked the teacher.

-

-"No, Miss Beck," the child answered, recalling her aunt's remarks.

-

-At last, conscious of pathetic eyes following her about the room and

-having heard of Aunt Amelia, the teacher again questioned Marian. "What

-is the trouble, little girl? Is there anything you would like to do?

-Would you like to write on the blackboard?"

-

-Marian's face lighted. "I wish I could sit in that empty back seat all

-day," she eagerly suggested.

-

-The teacher smiled. "You may pack your books, Marian, and sit there

-until I miss you so much I shall need you down here again."

-

-Marian knew what that meant. "I'll be awful good," she promised. "I

-mean, I'll be ever so good."

-

-So Marian sat in a back seat that last day and in spite of her sore

-throat and headache, she was happy. It was triumph to sit in a back

-seat. She was glad the children looked around and smiled. They might

-get bad marks for turning their heads, to be sure, but what of it?

-At recess Marian walked across the schoolroom once or twice, then

-returned to her seat. At noon she refused to go to the basement with

-the children to eat her luncheon. In fact, she couldn't eat. Marian

-wondered why time seemed so long.

-

-When the history class was called to the recitation seat early in the

-afternoon, one little girl was motionless when the signals were given.

-

-"Marian Lee's asleep," volunteered the child who sat in front of her.

-

-At that, Marian raised her head and stumbled to her class.

-

-"Don't you feel well?" asked the teacher.

-

-Marian shook her head. Her cheeks were crimson. She had never felt so

-wretched.

-

-"Don't you think you had better go home?" continued Miss Beck.

-

-"Oh, no," answered the child in tones of alarm. "Oh, she wouldn't let

-me come home before school is out."

-

-"There, there, don't cry," begged the teacher. "You may go back to

-your seat if you wish."

-

-Marian did so and was soon asleep again. At recess she awoke to find

-herself alone in the room with Miss Beck.

-

-"You had better go home, dear," the teacher urged. "I am sure you are

-ill. Let me help you put on your coat and hood."

-

-"I can't go home until school is out," and Marian began to cry.

-

-"Why not?"

-

-"Because on account of my aunt. She wouldn't let me come home."

-

-"But you are ill, Marian."

-

-"She won't let me be sick," was the sobbing reply, "and I don't dare go

-home. You don't know my aunt. I guess I feel better. I want to go where

-it isn't so hot."

-

-The teacher was young and hopeful. "Perhaps you will feel better if you

-go out to play," was her reply.

-

-Instead of going out of doors, Marian went into the basement and joined

-in a game of blind man's buff. Only a few minutes and she fell upon

-the floor in a dead faint. When the child opened her eyes she found

-herself the centre of attraction. The basement was quiet as though the

-command had been given to "Form lines." A strange teacher was holding

-Marian and Miss Beck was bathing her face with a damp handkerchief.

-Her playmates stood about in little groups, whispering the dread word

-"Diphtheria." Miss Beck came to her senses and ordered the children

-into the fresh air. How to send Marian home was the next question. The

-child listened to the various suggestions and then, struggling to her

-feet declared that she would walk home alone. She couldn't imagine what

-her aunt might say if she did anything else.

-

-The child had her way. Through the gate and down the road she went

-alone. The journey was long and the wind was cold. The little feet were

-never so weary as that December day. It seemed to Marian that she could

-never reach home. Finally she passed the church. Seven more houses

-after that, then a turn to the right and two more houses. If she dared

-sit down on the edge of the sidewalk and rest by the way, but that

-wouldn't do. "I could never stir again," she thought and plodded on.

-

-At last she reached her own gate and saw Ella at the window. Would Aunt

-Amelia scold? It would be good to get in where it was warm, anyway. Oh,

-if Aunt Amelia would open the front door and say, "Come in this way,

-Marian," but she didn't and the child stumbled along a few more steps

-to the back entrance. She was feeling her way through the house when

-Aunt Amelia stopped her in the dining-room.

-

-"Don't come any further," said she. "I have callers in the parlor. What

-are you home in the middle of the afternoon for?"

-

-"I've got the diphtheria," the child replied, and her voice was thick.

-

-Aunt Amelia made no reply but returned immediately through the

-sitting-room to the parlor.

-

-"I guess she knows I'm sick now," Marian whispered as she sank into a

-chair by the table and pushed her dinner pail back to make room for

-her aching head. The callers left. Marian heard the front door open

-and close. Then Aunt Amelia hastily entered the dining-room, threw

-a quantity of sulphur upon the stove and went back, closing the door

-behind her. Another door closed and Marian knew that her aunt was in

-the parlor with Ella.

-

-The child choked and strangled and called to her aunt. She tried to

-walk and couldn't stand. The fumes of burning sulphur grew stronger and

-stronger. The air was blue. Marian became terrified as no one replied

-to her calls, but in time a merciful feeling of rest and quiet stole

-over her and her head fell forward upon the table.

-

-For a long time she knew nothing. Then came dreams and visions. Part

-of the time Marian recalled that she was home from school early and

-that she had not taken off her hood and coat. Again she wondered where

-she was and why it was so still. Then came an awful dread of death.

-Where was everybody and what would become of her? The thought of

-death aroused Marian as nothing else had done. Would she be left to

-die alone? She remembered that some of her schoolmates were ill with

-diphtheria but a few hours before the end came. Where was Aunt Amelia?

-Had she gone away from the house? Marian could not lift her head and

-when she tried to call her aunt her voice was a smothered whisper. What

-she suffered before her uncle came was a story long untold. Things

-happened when Uncle George walked into the house. He aired the room and

-there was wrath in his voice as he demanded explanations.

-

-"Have patience a minute more, little girl, and it will be all right,"

-he said to Marian, as he brought a cot into the room and quickly made a

-bed. Then he undressed her, put her in bed and grabbed his hat.

-

-"Oh, don't leave me," begged Marian, "please don't, Uncle George, I'm

-awful sick and I'm afraid when I'm alone."

-

-"I'm going for the doctor," was the reply; "lie still and trust Uncle

-George."

-

-The man was gone but a moment and soon after he returned, the doctor

-came. It was no easy matter to look in Marian's throat. It needed more

-than the handle of a spoon to hold down the poor little tongue.

-

-"Am I going to die right off?" demanded the child. "Oh, if I can only

-live I'll be so good. I'll never do anything bad again. Tell me quick,

-have I got to die to-night?"

-

-For a time it seemed useless to try to quiet the little girl. "Oh, I'm

-afraid to die," she moaned, "I don't dare to die. Aunt Amelia says I

-won't go to heaven and I'm afraid. I don't want to tell what she does

-say. Oh, Uncle George, don't let me die. Tell the doctor you want me to

-get well. Tell him I'll be good."

-

-Uncle George sat down and covered his face with his hands when Marian

-told him she couldn't hear what he said, that it was dark and she

-wanted more light so she could see his face that she might know if he

-was angry. Then she called for Aunt Amelia, and Aunt Amelia would not

-come; she was afraid of the diphtheria.

-

-"But if I'm going to die, I've got to tell her," cried the child,

-clutching at the air, and it was some time before Uncle George

-understood.

-

-"Child, child, don't speak of cookies," he begged, "that was all right

-long ago;" but the assurance fell upon unheeding ears.

-

-The nurse came and went up-stairs to prepare a room for Marian. The

-woman's appearance convinced the child that there was no hope--she was

-surely going to die. Uncle George groaned as he listened to her ravings.

-

-At last the doctor put down his medicine case and drew a chair close

-beside the cot. He was a big man with a face that little children

-trusted. He took both of Marian's small, burning hands in one of his

-and told her she must look at him and listen to what he had to tell

-her. Uncle George moved uneasily. He thought the doctor was about to

-explain to Marian that unless she kept more quiet, nothing would save

-her, she would have to die. The man was surprised when he heard what

-the kind physician said. He talked to Marian of the friend of little

-children and of the beautiful home beyond the skies. Nor would he allow

-her to interrupt, but patiently and quietly told her over and over

-that the One who took little children up in His arms and blessed them,

-didn't ask whether they were good or bad. He loved them all. The sins

-of little children were surely forgiven.

-

-The troubled brain of the child grasped the meaning at last. There

-was nothing to fear. She closed her eyes and was quiet for a few

-moments. When she began to talk again, it was of summer mornings and

-apple-blossoms, of the wild birds and the chipmunk that lived in the

-locust grove. Many days passed before Marian realized anything more:

-then she knew that Uncle George took care of her nights and the nurse

-came every morning.

-

-"Where is my aunt?" asked the child. "Doesn't she come up here?"

-

-"Your aunt and little cousin," replied the nurse, "stay by themselves

-in the front part of the house down-stairs. They are afraid of the

-diphtheria."

-

-Marian stared at the wall. She was glad to know there was no danger

-that Aunt Amelia might walk in, but somehow it seemed better not to

-tell the nurse.

-

-"Am I going to die?" she asked.

-

-The question came so suddenly the nurse was taken by surprise.

-"Why--why we hope not," was the reply.

-

-Something in the tones of the woman's voice impressed the truth upon

-Marian's mind. She was far more likely to die than to live. "I only

-wanted to know," she remarked, "I'm not afraid any more. I only hope I

-won't be a grown up angel the first thing. I should like to be a little

-girl with a mother and live in one of the many mansions for a while,

-like other children. I'd pick flowers in the front yard."

-

-Soon after, the child fell asleep. When she awoke she was delirious,

-talking continually about the Rainbow Bridge. The doctor came, but it

-was hours before the Rainbow Bridge faded away and Marian was quiet.

-That was the day the little pilgrim seemed near the journey's end.

-Until sunset, Uncle George watched each fluttering breath. In the

-silent room below, Ella wept bitterly and Aunt Amelia waited to hear

-that the little soul was gone. She waited calmly, declaring that she

-had done her duty by the child up-stairs.

-

-Marian lived. A few weeks more and Aunt Amelia heard her ringing

-laugh and knew that she was happy. At last Marian was well enough to

-leave her room but it was days and days after the house was fumigated

-before she was allowed to see Ella or sit at the table with the family.

-Everything seemed changed. The rooms were brighter and more cheerful.

-The pictures on the walls had a different meaning. The very chairs

-looked new. Nothing appeared just as Marian left it. Even Aunt Amelia

-was better looking and spoke more kindly to the child. Nothing was ever

-the same after Marian had diphtheria. She never returned to the little

-back room where she was away from all the family at night, nor did she

-ever again doubt that Uncle George was her own uncle.

-

-Many bright days crowded one upon another during the remaining weeks

-of winter. The neighbors invited Marian to their homes and took her

-driving with them. Dolly Russel's mother gave a house party for her,

-inviting little girls from the country for a week in town. That was the

-time Marian was so happy she almost believed herself a princess in

-a fairy tale. When she was home again, the child added a line to her

-diary.

-

-"February 29.--I had diphtheria this winter and it was a good thing. I

-got well and now I am having the best time that ever was written down

-in a diary. I have changed my mind about being an author. I won't have

-time to write books. There is too much fun in the world."

-

-

-

-

-CHAPTER XIV

-

-MUSICAL CONVERSATIONS

-

-

-ONCE in a great while Marian and Ella had a chance to play together.

-These rare occasions were times of joy.

-

-Mrs. St. Claire usually took Ella with her wherever she went, but

-sometimes she was compelled to leave the child at home with her father

-or Tilly, and there was merriment in the house. The little cousins

-had gay times and their only regret was that such hours of happiness

-were few. At last Marian thought of a plan. Her new room was opposite

-Ella's. As Aunt Amelia insisted upon sending Marian to bed at seven,

-Uncle George declared that early hours were necessary for Ella's

-welfare. Accordingly, both children went to their rooms at the same

-time with instructions not to talk. No one cautioned them not to sing

-and singing was one of Marian's habits. After listening to the solos a

-few nights, Ella tried a song of her own and that gave Marian an idea.

-She listened until Ella stopped for breath and then expressed a few

-thoughts to the tune of "Home, Sweet Home."

-

-  "O-oh, I know what will be great fun

-  And I'll tell you what it is,

-  We will play go to gay old concerts,

-  And take our children too.

-

-  "First the other lady

-  Can sing a good long song,

-  And then it will be my turn next,

-  And I'll sing a song myself.

-

-  "Fun fu-un-fun, fun-fun,

-  I guess it will be fun-fun,

-  I guess it will be fun."

-

-It was fun. The other lady took the hint quickly. She and her children

-went to the concert without waiting to get ready. Furthermore she left

-herself sitting beside her children in the best seat in the hall and at

-the same time took her place on the stage. She even went so far as to

-become a colored man while she sang

-

-  "Way down upon the Suwanee River."

-

-Ella's mother came up-stairs for something as the gentleman was

-rendering this selection with deep feeling, but she had no idea that

-her little daughter was singing on the stage, nor did she know that the

-greatest soprano in America was the next performer, although she did

-hear Marian begin in tragic tones, "'There is a happy land, far, far

-away.'" "Far, far away" was tremulous with emotion.

-

-From that hour dated many a concert, and after the concerts, the ladies

-continued to sing everything they had wished to talk over during the

-day. Often the musical conversations were cut short by an admonition

-from the hall below, but even Tilly never learned the nature of those

-evening songs. As the children disturbed nobody and were put to bed

-long before they were sleepy, Uncle George said, "Let them sing." In

-this way Marian and Ella became well acquainted.

-

-One night Marian asked Ella if she knew anything about how she happened

-to be taken to the Little Pilgrim's Home when she was a baby.

-

-    "No-o-o," replied Ella in shrill soprano,

-    "They won't tell-ell me-e a thing now-ow days

-    But a long time ago-go

-    They used to talk about everything

-    Right before me-e, only the trouble is-s,

-    I was such a little goo-oose

-    I didn't think much about it."

-

-    "Do you know anything about my mother-other-other?"

-    Chanted the musician across the hall.

-

-    "No-o-o," was the response,

-    "I only know-o that my mother-other

-    Didn't know your mother-other, ever in her li-ife,

-    But I do-oo remember-ember that the folks at that Ho-o-me

-    Had some things that used to belong-long

-    To your mother-other.

-    And they are packed away-way somewhere in the house.

-    I guess they are in the attic-attic,

-    But of course I don't know-o.

-

-    "Once I saw-aw a picture of your mother-other

-    But I don't remember-ember

-    What she looked like, looked like-looked like.

-    Don't you wi-ish your mother wasn't dead?

-    If you had a mother-other

-    I could go to your hou-ouse

-    And your mother-other

-    Would let us play together-ether."

-

-    "Yes, yes, she would," Marian's voice chimed in,

-    "She would let us play-ay

-    All the day-ay.

-    And sometimes I thi-ink my mother is ali-ive,

-    And if she is, won't I be gla-ad.

-    If I do find my mother-other

-    And I go to live with her-er,

-    Why, may be your mother-other will die-i

-    And then you can come and live with u-us

-    And won't that be gay-ay.

-    You never know what's going to happen in this world."

-

-"What kind of a song are you singing?" called Aunt Amelia.

-

-"Opera house music," replied Marian, who feared that concerts were over

-for the season when she heard the question.

-

-"I thought," responded Aunt Amelia, "that a lunatic asylum was turned

-loose. Don't let me hear another sound to-night."

-

-The musicians laughed softly, and there were no more solos that evening.

-

-The following day Ella and Aunt Amelia went visiting and in the middle

-of the forenoon, when Tilly was busily working in the kitchen, Marian

-climbed the attic stairs with determination in her eye. An old portrait

-of George Washington on the wall at the landing seemed to question

-her motives. "Don't worry, Mr. Washington," remarked the child, "I'm

-not going to tell a lie, but sir, I'm looking for my mother and I'm

-going to find her if she's here." Marian gazed steadily at the face in

-the old oaken frame, and meeting with no disapproval there, passed on,

-leaving the Father of her Country to guard the stairway.

-

-There were numerous trunks, boxes, barrels and an old sea-chest in the

-attic. Marian hesitated a moment before deciding to try the yellow

-chest. Her knees shook as she lifted the cover. At first she was

-disappointed; there seemed to be nothing but blankets in the chest.

-Then a bit of blue silk peeping from beneath the blankets caught her

-eye and Marian knew she was searching in the right place. From the

-depths of the chest she drew forth a bundle, unfolded it and beheld a

-beautiful gown of pale blue silk, trimmed with exquisite lace. Tears

-filled her eyes as she touched the shimmering wonder. She had never

-seen anything like it.

-

-"This was my mother's," she whispered, and kissed the round neck as

-she held the waist close in her arms. "She wore it once, my mother."

-Marian would gladly have looked at the dress longer but time was

-precious and there was much to see. Embroidered gowns of purest white,

-bright sashes and ribbons were there, and many another dainty belonging

-of the woman whose name was never mentioned in the presence of her

-child. In a carved ivory box, were jewels. Marian closed it quickly,

-attracted by a bundle at the bottom of the chest. She had found it at

-last. The picture of her mother. It was in an oval frame, wrapped in a

-shawl of white wool.

-

-"Oh, if I had her, if she could only come to me," cried Marian, as the

-lovely face became her own. Though the child might never again see the

-picture, yet would it be ever before her.

-

-When she dared stay in the attic no longer, Marian kissed the picture,

-wrapped it in the white shawl and laid it tenderly away. As she did so

-she noticed for the first time a folded newspaper on the bottom of the

-chest. Inside the paper was a small photograph. Marian tiptoed to the

-attic stairs and listened a moment before she looked at the photograph.

-Then she uttered a low exclamation of delight. There was no doubt that

-the face in the oval frame was her mother's, for the small picture was

-a photograph of Marian's father and a beautiful woman. "It's the same

-head," whispered the child, "and oh, how pretty she is. I am so glad

-she is my mother!

-

-"I wonder what they saved an old newspaper so carefully for?" continued

-Marian. "Maybe I had better look at it. What does this mean? 'Claimed

-by Relatives,' who was claimed, I wonder? Oh! I was! Now I'll find out

-all I want to know because, only see how much it tells!"

-

-Marian laid the photograph down and read the article from beginning

-to end. She didn't see George Washington when she passed him on the

-landing on the way down-stairs and for the rest of the day the child

-was so quiet every one in the house marveled. There were no concerts

-that evening. The leading soprano had too much on her mind. The

-following morning Marian sharpened her lead pencil and opened her

-diary. After looking for a moment at the white page she closed the book.

-

-"No use writing down what you are sure to remember," she remarked, "and

-besides that, it is all too sad and finished. I am going outdoors and

-have some fun." Marian was in the back yard watching a cricket, when

-Ella sauntered down the path singing, "Good-morning, Merry Sunshine."

-

-"Where are you going, sweetheart?" called her mother from the kitchen

-window.

-

-"Just down here by the fence to get some myrtle leaves," Ella replied

-and went on singing.

-

-Marian bent over the cricket nor did she look up although Ella gave her

-surprising information as she passed.

-

-    "If I were you, Miss Marian Lee,

-    I'll tell you what I'd do,

-    I'd pack my doll and everything I wanted to take with me,

-    Because in the very early morning,

-    You're surely going away

-    To a country town where you will stay

-    Until school begins again.

-

-    "I knew they were going to send you somewhere,

-    But I didn't know just when,

-    Until I just now heard my father and mother

-    Both talking all about it.

-    I know you'll have a pretty good time,

-    I wish I were going too,

-    But maybe you'll find some girls to play with,

-    I'm sure I hope you do."

-

-Marian smiled but dared not reply, especially as the singer broke

-down and laughed and Aunt Amelia knew there were no funny lines in

-"Good-morning, Merry Sunshine."

-

-The hint was enough. Marian straightened her affairs for a journey and

-a long absence from home.

-

-

-

-

-CHAPTER XV

-

-LITTLE SISTER TO THE DANDELION

-

-

-MARIAN asked no questions the following morning until she was on her

-way to the station with Uncle George. "Where am I going?" she finally

-ventured.

-

-"Where you passed the summer last year," was the reply. "How does that

-suit you?"

-

-"Suit me," repeated Marian, "nothing ever suited me better. I'm pretty

-glad I'm going there. Why didn't you send me back to school, Uncle

-George? School won't be out for two months. I'm glad you didn't, but

-why?"

-

-"Well, sis, you told me you wanted to go to the country school."

-

-"Yes, but----"

-

-"Now's your chance," interrupted the man, "learn all you can and try to

-do some one thing better than any one else in school, will you?"

-

-"Well, but Uncle George, big boys and big girls go to country schools."

-

-"What of it, Marian? You do some one thing better than any one else in

-school, and when you come home this fall you may choose any book you

-wish at the book store, and I will buy it for you."

-

-"But, Uncle George, how will you know whether I really do something

-better than any one else or not?"

-

-"I'll take your word for it, Marian."

-

-"My word is true," the child remarked with dignity.

-

-"No doubt about it," added Uncle George, turning away to hide a smile.

-

-Just as the train pulled into the station, Marian caught a glimpse of a

-small blue butter-fly. It fluttered away out of sight as Uncle George

-said "good-bye." "Oh, I hate to leave that butter-fly," exclaimed

-Marian, and those were the last words Uncle George heard as he left

-her. The passengers smiled, but Uncle George looked thoughtful. There

-was so much to be seen from the car windows and so many folks to

-wonder about within the car, the journey seemed short.

-

-Two young ladies welcomed Marian at the train, hugging and kissing her

-the minute the small feet touched the platform. "I guess folks will

-think you're some relation to me," laughed the child.

-

-"So we are," replied Miss Ruth Golding. "We are your cousins."

-

-"Certainly," agreed Miss Kate, "your Uncle George knew us when we were

-little girls, so of course we are your cousins."

-

-"Of course!" echoed Marian, "and I know my summer of happiness has

-begun this day in April."

-

-"Your troubles have begun, you mean," warned Miss Ruth; "the

-school-teacher boards with us and you'll have to toe the mark."

-

-"Oh, goody!" exclaimed Marian. "I can walk to school with her."

-

-"You won't say 'goody' when you see the lady," predicted Miss Kate.

-"She's as sober as a judge, very quiet, and keeps to herself."

-

-"What's the matter with her?" asked Marian.

-

-"She's lived in the city all her life and eaten books," explained Ruth.

-"She eats them, Marian, covers, binding, pictures and everything. Too

-bad, but maybe you'll get used to it. Here is mother coming to meet

-you, and here comes Carlo."

-

-Marian ran ahead to throw her arms around Mrs. Golding's neck. "I am so

-glad they sent me back to you," she cried. "I didn't say anything about

-it to my aunt because she would have sent me somewhere else. It doesn't

-do to let her know when you're too happy. She isn't a bit like you, not

-a bit."

-

-"No, I think not," was the response. "You see, dear, your neighbor,

-Mrs. Russel, is one of my old friends, and she has told me so much

-about your aunt I feel as if I know her. I am sure we are not alike."

-

-"Why, I should say not!" laughed Marian. "Why she's as thin as--as

-knitting needles, and you're as plump as new pin cushions. Won't we

-have fun this summer, though? Well, Carlo, old fellow. Didn't forget

-Marian, did he? Nice old doggie."

-

-"Down, sir!" Mrs. Golding commanded. "He is so glad to see you, Marian,

-he can't express his feelings without trying to knock you over."

-

-"I wish Uncle George owned a dog," commented Marian; "there'd always

-be some one glad to see you when you got home. I like dogs. Does the

-teacher come home at noon, Mrs. Golding?"

-

-"No, sometimes we don't see her until supper time. She won't be such

-jolly company for you as my girls. She's too quiet."

-

-"Is she cross, Mrs. Golding?"

-

-"No, oh, no indeed."

-

-"Then I shall like her," was the quick reply.

-

-There were callers in the late afternoon, so Marian wandered out alone.

-She had gone but a short distance down the lane when she saw dandelions

-ahead. She gathered a handful of the short-stemmed blooms and walked

-on. In the distance she heard a bluebird singing. Marian ran to find it

-and was rewarded by a flash of glorious blue as the bird sought a tree

-across the river. Marian followed it as far as she could, being obliged

-to stop at the river's bank. As she stood gazing after the bird, she

-was startled by a woman's voice.

-

-"What have you in your hand, little girl?"

-

-Turning, Marian saw a young lady sitting on a log near by. "Just

-dandelions," the child replied, and would have hidden the bunch behind

-her if the young lady had not forbidden it.

-

-"We all love dandelions, little girl," she said; "come and show them to

-me."

-

-Marian wonderingly obeyed.

-

-"Did you ever look at a dandelion through a microscope?" continued the

-young lady.

-

-"No, I never did."

-

-The stranger passed Marian a microscope and asked her to tell what she

-saw.

-

-"Oh, I never knew a dandelion was like this," said Marian; "why there

-are a thousand little blossoms in it all crowded together, and they are

-the goldenest golden ever was! Oh, oh, oh! Wasn't it lucky you were

-here so I could see through your microscope? What if I had never seen

-that dandelion!"

-

-"Would you like to borrow the microscope often?" asked the young lady,

-smiling so pleasantly Marian straightway decided that she was pretty.

-

-"Well, I should say yes, Miss--Miss--you see I don't know what your

-name is?"

-

-"Oh, that's so, I am Miss Smith, Miss Virginia Smith. Who are you?"

-

-"My name," was the reply, "is Marian Lee, but who I am I don't really

-know."

-

-Miss Smith repressed her curiosity, believing that Marian was the

-little girl the Goldings were to meet that day.

-

-"It's everything to have a name," said she.

-

-"Yes, but I'd like some relatives," Marian explained, "some real

-sisters and cousins and aunts of my own."

-

-"Why don't you do as Hiawatha did?" Miss Smith suggested.

-

-"You mean play all the birds and squirrels are my brothers and sisters?

-I think I will. I'll be little sister to the dandelion."

-

-Miss Smith laughed with Marian. "I'll do the same thing," said she,

-"and if we are sisters to the dandelion, you must be my little sister

-and I'm your big sister and all the wild flowers belong to our family."

-

-"It's a game," agreed Marian. "I suppose little Indian children picked

-dandelions in the spring-time before Columbus discovered America."

-

-"There were no dandelions then to pick," Miss Smith remonstrated. "The

-plant was brought here by white men. Its name is from the French,

-meaning lion's tooth."

-

-"I don't see anything about a dandelion to mean lion's tooth," objected

-Marian; "do you?"

-

-"No, I don't, Marian, nor does any one know exactly how it came by

-its name. Some believe it was given to the plant because its root is

-so white; then again, in the old days lions were pictured with teeth

-yellow as dandelion blossoms. The explanation I like best is that the

-dandelion was named after the lion because the lion is the animal that

-used to represent the sun, and all flowers named after him are flowers

-of the sun."

-

-"Do you know anything more about dandelions?" questioned Marian.

-

-"If I don't," said Miss Virginia Smith, smiling as she spoke, "it isn't

-because there is nothing more to learn. Did you ever hear the dandelion

-called the shepherd's clock?"

-

-"No, Miss Smith, never. Why should they call it that?"

-

-"Because the dandelion is said to open at five and close at eight."

-

-"Well!" exclaimed Marian, "I guess you could write a composition about

-dandelions."

-

-"Possibly," was the laughing response. "As far as that goes, Marian,

-there isn't a thing that grows that hasn't a history if you take the

-time and trouble to hunt it up."

-

-"Skunk cabbages?" suggested Marian.

-

-"Yes, 'skunk cabbages,'" was the reply. "What flowers do you suppose

-are related to it?"

-

-"I don't know, unless Jack-in-the-pulpit, maybe, is it?"

-

-"That's right, guess again."

-

-"I'll have to give up, Miss Smith. I never saw anything except

-Jack-in-the-pulpit that looks a bit like old skunk cabbage."

-

-"The calla lily, Marian, what do you think of that?"

-

-"I don't know, Miss Smith, but such things happen, of course, because

-Winnie Raymond has a horrible looking old Uncle Pete, and Winnie's

-awful pretty herself. But how do you know so much about plants?"

-

-"By reading and observation, Marian."

-

-"Are there many books about wild flowers, Miss Smith?"

-

-"More than we can ever read, little girl. Better than that the country

-around this village is a garden of wild flowers. Down by the old mill

-and on the hills, in the fields and woods and along the river bank, we

-shall find treasures from now on every time we take the shortest walk."

-

-"Oh, dear," grumbled Marian, "isn't it too bad I've got to go to

-school?"

-

-"Why don't you like to go to school, child?"

-

-"At home I do, on account of recesses. I don't like the school part of

-it much, but here it would be recess all the time if I could go in

-the woods with you, besides having a good time with the Golding girls

-and playing all day long where I don't get scolded. Dear! I wish I

-didn't have to go to school, or else I wish they'd have lessons about

-birds and flowers and butterflies and little animals, instead of old

-arithmetic. I hate arithmetic."

-

-"Do you?" sympathized Miss Smith. "That's too bad, because we all need

-to understand arithmetic."

-

-"I don't," protested Marian. "I don't even think arithmetic thoughts."

-

-"Some day, Marian, you will wish you understood arithmetic," said Miss

-Smith. "Now if you and I went for a walk and we saw ten crows, three

-song sparrows, five bluebirds, seven chipping sparrows and twenty-seven

-robins, and Mrs. Golding asked us when we got home how many birds we

-saw, I wonder how you would feel if you couldn't add?"

-

-"Well, but don't you see," interrupted Marian, "I could add birds, yes

-and subtract and multiply and divide them. That's different. What I

-don't like is just figures and silly arithmetic things."

-

-"Well, Marian, I may as well tell you now that I'm the school-teacher

-and we'll have arithmetic stories about birds and flowers and little

-animals."

-

-"Oh, are you the teacher?" exclaimed Marian. "I thought she

-was--was--different, you know."

-

-"Different, how?"

-

-"Well, they told me the teacher was--was quiet."

-

-"So she is, usually," agreed Miss Smith, "but this afternoon she met

-one of her own folks. This little sister to the dandelion."

-

-"Won't we have fun!" was Marian's comment.

-

-

-

-

-CHAPTER XVI

-

-PROFESSOR LEE, BOTANIST

-

-

-MISS VIRGINIA SMITH knew how to teach arithmetic. Fractions lost

-their terror for Marian, even the mysteries of cube root were eagerly

-anticipated. History became more than ever a living story to the child,

-and geography was a never failing joy. On rainy days every stream and

-puddle between Mrs. Golding's home and the schoolhouse was named, and

-if several Mississippi Rivers emptied into Gulfs of Mexico, and if

-half a dozen Niles overflowed their banks over the country road, what

-difference did it make? When the sun shone bright and only dew-drops

-glistened in the shade, Marian saw deserts and plains, mountains and

-volcanoes along the dusty way.

-

-For a time the game of geography became so absorbing Marian played it

-at the table, forming snowy peaks of mashed potatoes and sprinkling

-salt upon the summits until the drifts were so deep, only the valleys

-below were fit to be eaten. Brown gravy was always the Missouri River

-winding its way across Marian's plate between banks of vegetables. Ice

-cream meant Mammoth Cave. A piece of pie was South Africa from which

-the Cape of Good Hope quickly disappeared. However hungry Marian might

-be, there was a time when she ate nothing but continents and islands.

-

-Whatever Miss Virginia Smith tried to teach the country children,

-Marian Lee appropriated for herself. She listened to all recitations

-whether of the chart class or the big boys and girls. Perhaps if Marian

-had attended more strictly to her own lessons, she might have made the

-kind of a record she thought would please Uncle George. As it was,

-Jimmie Black "Left off head" in the spelling class more times than she

-did, the first month. Belle Newman had higher standings in arithmetic

-and geography, and some one carried off all the other honors.

-

-Marian, however, knew something about botany before the end of May,

-and she gloried in the fact that she could name all the bones in her

-body. Mr. Golding was proud of her accomplishment and once when she

-went with him to see old Bess newly shod, he asked her to name the

-bones for the blacksmith: and the blacksmith thought it wonderful that

-a little girl knew so much. "Yes, but that's nothing," remarked the

-child, "all the big boys and girls in the fifth reader class know their

-bones."

-

-"Ain't you in the fifth reader?" asked the blacksmith.

-

-"No," was the reply, "I can read the whole reader through, but I'm

-not in that reader class. That's the highest class in the country. I

-suppose being in the fifth reader here is like being in the high school

-at home just before you graduate. I won't have to learn bones when I

-get up to the high school."

-

-"And still you say that ain't nothing," protested the blacksmith.

-

-Marian shook her head. "I haven't done one thing in school better'n

-anybody else," she said, "and to do something better'n anybody else

-is all that counts. Don't you try to be the best blacksmither in the

-country?"

-

-Old Bess flourished her tail in the blacksmith's face and the man spoke

-to her next instead of to Marian. He wasn't the best blacksmith and he

-knew it. Some years afterwards when he had won an enviable reputation,

-he told Mr. Golding that the first time he thought of trying to do

-unusually good work was when the little Lee girl asked him if he tried

-to be the best blacksmith in the country.

-

-Concerning botany, Miss Smith knew that Marian was interested in the

-wild flowers and had told her many a legend of wayside blooms when

-walking with her through the fields and across the hills: but she

-had no idea how much the child had learned from listening to the

-recitations of the botany class, until the Saturday morning when the

-wax doll went to school. Miss Smith happened to pass the corn-crib

-unnoticed by teacher or pupil.

-

-The doll was propped in an attitude of attention among the ears of corn.

-

-"Now, little girl," the instructor was saying, "if you ever expect to

-amount to anything in this world, you've got to use your eyes and

-ears. I'm the Professor of Botany your mother was reading about last

-night, who knew nothing about botany until she began to study it. Next

-winter when we can't get outdoors, I am going to give you lessons on

-seeds and roots and things and stems and leaves. The Professor of

-Botany has got to learn the names of the shapes of leaves and how to

-spell them. She really ought to own a book but she doesn't, and that

-can't be helped. You're sure to get what you want some time though, if

-you only try hard enough, and the Botany Professor will get a book. You

-just wait.

-

-"Don't think, little girl, because we are skipping straight over

-to flowers this morning that you are going to get out of learning

-beginnings. We're taking flowers because it is summer. Of course you

-know this is a strawberry blossom I hold in my hand. Well, if it

-wasn't for strawberry blossoms you couldn't have strawberry shortcake,

-remember that. That's the principal thing about strawberries. This

-little circle of white leaves is called the corolla. Now don't get the

-calyx mixed with the corolla as some children do. I tell you it makes

-me feel squirmy to hear some big girls recite. You ought to see this

-flower under a microscope. I guess I'll go and ask Professor Smith for

-hers."

-

-Marian turned around so quickly Professor Smith was unable to get out

-of sight. The doll's instructor felt pretty foolish for a moment, but

-only for a moment.

-

-"Marian Lee," said Miss Smith, "you shall join the botany class next

-Monday morning and I'll give you a book of mine to study."

-

-"What will the big girls say?" gasped Marian.

-

-"About as much as your doll in there," laughed Miss Smith, adding

-seriously, "I won't expect too much of you, Marian, but you may as well

-be in the class and learn all you can."

-

-On Monday morning, although the big girls smiled and the little girls

-stared, Professor Lee became a member of the botany class and learned

-to press the wild flowers.

-

-"I won't have the most perfect lessons of anybody in the class,"

-Marian confided to her doll, "because the big girls know so much; but

-I'll try and have the best specimens in my herbarium. I can do that, I

-am sure. I have just got to do something better than any one else in

-school before I go home."

-

-The following Saturday the doll listened with unchanging face to a

-confession. "Every one of the big girls can press specimens better than

-I can. Their violet plants look like pictures but mine look like hay.

-I guess Uncle George will be discouraged. I don't do anything best. A

-robin is building a nest just outside the window where my seat is in

-school and I forgot to study my spelling lesson. Of course I missed

-half the words. It was the robin's fault. She ought to keep away from

-school children."

-

-

-

-

-CHAPTER XVII

-

-THE COMPOSITION ON WILD FLOWERS

-

-

-ALL the children in Marian's class were writing in their copy-books

-"Knowledge is Power." The pens squeaked and scratched and labored

-across pages lighted by June sunshine. The little girls' fingers were

-sticky and boy hands were cramped. It was monotonous work. The "K" was

-hard to make and the capital "P" was all flourishes.

-

-Marian sighed, then raised her hand.

-

-"What is it?" asked Miss Smith.

-

-"Will you tell which one of us has the best looking page when we get

-through with 'Knowledge is Power'?"

-

-Miss Smith consented and Marian, determined to conquer, grasped her pen

-firmly and bent to the task. Two days later the page was finished and

-seven copy-books were piled upon Miss Smith's desk for inspection. At

-first Miss Smith smiled as she examined the various assertions that

-"Knowledge is Power," then she grew serious.

-

-"Did you try your best, children?" she asked, whereupon five girls and

-two boys looked surprised and hurt.

-

-"Well, then, I wonder what is the trouble?" continued Miss Smith. "I am

-ashamed of your work, children, it seems as if you could do better."

-

-"Which is best?" demanded Marian. It made no difference how poor her

-copy was if only it was better than the others. The child was sorry she

-had asked the question when she knew the truth. "I think it is pretty

-discouraging," she said, "when you try your best and do the worst."

-

-"We will begin something new," Miss Smith suggested. "Next week we will

-write compositions on wild flowers and to the one who does the neatest

-looking work, I will give the little copy of 'Evangeline' I have been

-reading to you. It will make no difference whether the compositions are

-long or short, but the penmanship must be good. Every one of you knows

-the spring flowers for we have had them here in school and have talked

-about them every day."

-

-"Will we have to write in our copy-books just the same?" asked Tommy

-Perkins.

-

-"No," was the reply; "you may work on your compositions all the time we

-usually write in the copy-books, and remember, it doesn't make a bit of

-difference how short your compositions are."

-

-That was exactly what Marian did not remember. At first she wrote:

-

-"No flower is so pretty as the anemone that blooms on the windy hill."

-

-At recess she consulted Miss Smith. "Is that long enough?" she asked.

-

-"Yes, that will do," was the reply.

-

-"Is it fair if I copy off her composition?" asked Tommy Perkins, "and

-practice writing it? I can't make up one."

-

-"That sentence will do as well as any other," agreed Miss Smith. "I

-simply wish you to write something you choose to do."

-

-Marian beamed upon Tommy. "I'll copy it for you," she said. "I don't

-really think anemones are the prettiest flowers, Tommy, but they are

-easy to write; no ups or downs in the word if the flowers themselves do

-dance like fairies all the day long."

-

-"I wish't you'd write me a composition," put in Frankie Bean.

-

-"I will," assented Marian, "after school calls, but now, come on out

-and play."

-

-After recess, Marian passed Frankie a piece of paper upon which was

-written this:

-

-"Clover loves a sunny home."

-

-"That's easy, Frankie, because 'y' is the only letter below the line.

-You can say sun-kissed if you would rather keep it all above the

-line. If I don't get the book, may be you will. I hope you won't be

-disappointed, though. I would try if I were you. Something may happen

-to me before next week, you never can tell."

-

-Monday and Tuesday Marian wrote compositions for the four girls to

-copy. They were more particular than the boys had been and their

-compositions were longer.

-

-By the time Marian was ready to settle down to her sentence on the

-anemone, she was tired of it and determined to write something new.

-Soon she forgot all about penmanship and Friday afternoon found her

-with a long composition to copy in an hour. Even then, after the first

-moment of dismay, she forgot that neatness of work alone, would count.

-

-Miss Virginia Smith read the composition aloud.

-

-

-"_Wild Flowers, by Marian Lee._

-

-"When you shut your eyes and think of wild flowers, you always want to

-open them and fly to the hills and the woods. You wish you had wings

-like the birds.

-

-"In an old flower legend book that tells about things most folks don't

-know, I found out what you were always sure of before you knew it. The

-anemones are fairy blossoms. The pink on the petals was painted by the

-fairies and on rainy nights elves hide in the dainty blooms.

-

-"Tulips are not wild, but how can I leave them out when the fairies

-used them for cradles to rock their babies in.

-

-"Some folks laugh at you when you hunt for four-leaved clover, but you

-can never see the fairies without one nor go to the fairy kingdom.

-

-"The old book says, too, that the bluebells ring at midnight to call

-the fairies together. I believe it because I have seen bluebells and

-have almost heard the music. I don't believe they ever were witches'

-thimbles.

-

-"You most always get your feet wet when you go after marsh marigolds,

-but it can't be helped. They are yellow flowers and live where they can

-hear the frogs all the time. I wonder if they ever get tired of frog

-concerts. I never do, only I think it is mournful music after the sun

-goes down. It makes you glad you are safe in the house.

-

-"There is one lovely thing about another yellow flower. It is the

-cinquefoil and you find it before the violets come if you know where to

-look. On rainy days and in damp weather, the green leaves bend over and

-cover the little yellow blossom. The cinquefoil plant must be afraid

-its little darling will catch cold.

-

-"If you ever feel cross, the best thing you can do is to go out where

-the wild flowers grow. You will be sure to hear birds sing and you may

-see a rabbit or a squirrel. Anyway, you will think thoughts that are

-not cross."

-

-"Evangeline" was given to Tommy Perkins. He had practiced writing the

-anemone sentence until his perfectly written words astonished Miss

-Virginia Smith.

-

-"I know my writing isn't good," admitted a little girl named Marian.

-"Only see how it goes up-hill and down-hill and how funny the letters

-are."

-

-

-

-

-CHAPTER XVIII

-

-MARIAN'S LETTER HOME

-

-

-MARIAN'S letters to her Uncle George were written on Sunday afternoons.

-She wrote pages and pages about Miss Smith and the country school and

-begged him not to come for her in August.

-

-"I haven't done anything better than any one else in school yet," she

-wrote, "but I am learning all kinds of things and having the best time

-ever was. I want to go to the country school until I graduate. I'll be

-ready for college before you know it if you will only let me stay.

-

-"I am good all the time because Mrs. Golding says so and Miss Ruth and

-Miss Kate take me almost everywhere they go--when they drive to town,

-circuses and things and I have lovely times every day.

-

-"I would tell you who I play with only you would forget the names of so

-many children. When I can't find any one else I go to the mill to see

-the miller's boy. That isn't much fun because the miller's boy is half

-foolish. His clothes are always covered with flour and he looks like

-a little old miller himself. He jumps out at you when you don't know

-where he is and says 'Boo!' and scares you almost out of your wits, and

-that makes his father laugh. I tried to teach him to read but I didn't

-have good luck. He read 'I see the cat' out of almanacs and everything.

-

-"The old miser died last night, Uncle George, and I saw him in the

-afternoon. Only think of it, I saw a man that died. After dinner I went

-to see the miller's boy and he wasn't there. His father said he was

-wandering along the river bank somewhere, so I stayed and talked to the

-miller. Pretty soon the boy came back making crazy motions with his

-arms and telling his father the old miser wanted to see him quick.

-

-"I went outside and watched the big wheel of the mill when the boy and

-his father went away, but it wasn't any time before the boy came back

-and said the old miser wanted to see me. Of course I went as fast as

-I could go, and when I got to the hut, the miller asked me if I could

-say any Bible verses, and if I could to say them quick because the old

-miser wanted somebody to read the Bible quick--quick. I thought it was

-queer, Uncle George, but I was glad I had learned so much out of the

-Bible.

-

-"The old miser was all in rags and I guess he didn't feel well then,

-because he was lying down on a queer old couch and he didn't stir, but

-I tell you he watched me. I didn't want to go in the hut, so I stood

-in the doorway where I could feel the sunshine all around me. Some

-way I thought that wasn't any time to ask questions, so I began the

-Twenty-third Psalm right straight off. When I got to the end of that I

-was going to say the first fourteen verses of John, but the old miser

-raised one hand and said, 'Again--again,' but before I got any further

-than 'The valley of the shadow,' he went to sleep looking at me and I

-never saw his face so happy. It smoothed all out and looked different.

-Poor old miser, the boys used to plague him. The miller motioned to

-his boy and me to go away. I guess he was afraid Jakey would wake the

-old miser. Of course I knew enough to keep still when a tired looking

-old man dropped to sleep.

-

-"I don't know just when the old miser died, Uncle George, nobody talks

-about it where I can hear a word. Mrs. Golding says when I grow up

-I will be glad that I could repeat the Twenty-third Psalm to a poor

-old man who hadn't any friends. She says it isn't true that he was a

-miser, he was just an unfortunate old man. I wonder if he was anybody's

-grandfather? You never can tell.

-

-"I am well acquainted with all the folks in the village, Uncle George,

-and lots of times I go calling. There are some old folks here who never

-step outside of their houses and they are glad to have callers. One old

-blind woman knits all the time. She likes to be read to, real well. And

-there is one woman, the shoemaker's wife, that has six children that

-bother her so when she tries to work; she says it does her good to see

-me coming.

-

-"Only think, Uncle George, how lonesome I will be when I get home where

-I am not acquainted. The only sad thing that has happened here all

-summer is that the miser died, and of course you know that might be

-worse.

-

-"I would like to be with Miss Smith more than I am but she studies

-almost all the time. I don't see what for because she knows everything,

-even about the stars. She likes me a great deal but I guess nobody

-knows it. You mustn't have favorites when you are a school-teacher, she

-told me so.

-

-"You don't know how hard it is, Uncle George, to do something better

-than anybody else. You might think it would be easy, but somebody

-always gets ahead of you in everything, you can't even keep your desk

-the cleanest. Some girls never bring in anything from the woods, so of

-course they can keep dusted.

-

-"I'm afraid you'll be disappointed in

-

-  "Your loving niece,

-   "MARIAN LEE."

-

-

-

-

-CHAPTER XIX

-

-THE MOST TRUTHFUL CHILD IN SCHOOL

-

-

-IN the early morning the schoolhouse was a quiet place, and there Miss

-Virginia Smith went to study. No one knew why she worked so hard,

-though Marian often wondered. It was her delight to please Miss Smith,

-and when the teacher waited several mornings until a certain mail train

-passed and the letters were distributed, Marian offered to stop at the

-post-office and get the mail.

-

-"Are you sure you won't lose anything?" asked Miss Smith.

-

-"Sure," promised Marian. "You go to school early as you used to do and

-I'll bring your letters when I come."

-

-Usually the postmaster gave Marian something to carry to Miss Smith,

-and all went well until a few days before school closed. Elizabeth

-Gray called for Marian that morning and together they went to

-the post-office where they waited on tiptoe for the postmaster to

-distribute the mail. There was one letter for Miss Smith, a thin,

-insignificant looking letter.

-

-"That's nothing but an old advertisement," declared Elizabeth; "it

-wasn't worth waiting for."

-

-"I guess you're right," agreed Marian, "see what it says in the corner.

-What's a seminary, anyway? Do you know?--'Young Ladies' Seminary.' Some

-kind of a new fashioned place to buy hats, may be, come on."

-

-"Yes, let's get started before the Prior kids and the Perkinses catch

-up with us. I can't bear that Tommy Perkins."

-

-"We could play De Soto if we had a crowd," suggested Marian. "You and

-I could be the head leaders and the Priors and the Perkins could be

-common soldiers."

-

-"How do you play De Soto?" asked Elizabeth. "I never heard of it."

-

-"You've heard of De Soto, the man that discovered the Mississippi

-River, I hope."

-

-"Of course, he's in the history."

-

-"Well, Elizabeth, I've been reading about him in one of Mr. Golding's

-books about early explorations and I knew in a minute that it would be

-fun to play De Soto on our way to school. Now, I'm De Soto."

-

-"No, I'm going to be De Soto," insisted Elizabeth.

-

-"You don't know how, Elizabeth Jane Gray, and you didn't think of it

-first. All right, though, you be De Soto if you want to. What are you

-going to do? Begin."

-

-"You always want to be the head one in everything, Marian Lee. You

-needn't think I'm Tommy Perkins!"

-

-"I don't, Elizabeth, I think you're that brave Spaniard Moscoso who

-was leader of the soldiers after De Soto died and was buried in the

-Mississippi River where the Indians couldn't find him. But if you want

-to be De Soto, go on, only I don't believe you know a thing about him

-except what the history says. Well, you're De Soto."

-

-"You'll have to tell me what to do, Marian."

-

-"I guess not, Miss Elizabeth, if you're De Soto you ought to know."

-

-Elizabeth walked on in silence for a few moments until seized by an

-inspiration. "I'll be De Soto to-morrow morning," she remarked; "it's

-your turn first, of course, because you thought of the game. I'm--who

-did you say I am, Marian?"

-

-"You're Moscoso, one of my officers, Elizabeth. Well, I'm De Soto and

-I have had wonderful adventures in my life. I was with Pizarro in the

-conquest of Peru and I went back to Spain rich, rich, rich. Now I am

-the Governor of Cuba and Florida and not long ago I had orders from

-Spain to explore Florida. Of course, Moscoso, you remember all about

-it, how we left Cuba with nine ships and landed at Tampa?"

-

-"I remember it, Soty, just as well as if it was yesterday," and

-Moscoso, laughing merrily, swung his dinner pail in a perfect circle.

-

-"Don't laugh, Moscoso, at serious things," continued De Soto; "and I

-think you really should call me Governor and I'll call you General.

-Well, General, we sent most of our ships back to Cuba, and now we're

-searching for gold in Florida, not in our little State of Florida, but

-the big, wide, long Florida that used to be. Now, Elizabeth, we'll

-play wander around for three years, living in Indian villages winters

-and camping out summers and having fights and discovering new birds

-to write to Spain about and having all kinds of adventures, until we

-get to that big ditch at the four corners and that will have to be the

-Mississippi River, and we'll cross it. We can tie our handkerchiefs to

-sticks for banners.

-

-"Let's play all the trees are Indians and all the little low bushes are

-wild beasts. The fences will do for mountains and I guess we'll think

-of other things to play as we go along. We'll have trouble with our

-soldiers, of course, they always do when they are hunting for gold. All

-these fields and woods, no, not woods, forests, I mean, are what you

-call the interior. Dandelions and buttercups will be gold that we steal

-from the Indians. We'll be awfully disappointed because this isn't a

-gold country like Peru, but we will take all there is, and I think we

-had better talk some about going home to Spain. Of course I don't know

-I'm going to die of fever beyond the Mississippi and you don't know

-you'll have to go back to the coast without me. I wish we could talk a

-little bit of real Spanish, don't you, Elizabeth?"

-

-"Hush," warned the General from Spain. "I hear Indians. Let's play the

-wind in the trees is Indian talk, Marian."

-

-"Sure enough, Elizabeth, we must advance cautiously, General Moscoso,

-they always 'advance cautiously' in the books, or else 'beat a hasty

-retreat.' We won't dare play retreat or we'll never get to school. Oh,

-they're friendly Indians, General, how fortunate."

-

-De Soto had crossed the Mississippi when he grew pale as death and

-suddenly deserted his followers. The banners of Spain trailed in the

-dust. "Elizabeth Jane Gray, where's that letter?"

-

-Two little girls gazed at each other in dismay.

-

-"Have you lost it?" gasped Elizabeth.

-

-"If I haven't, where is it?" asked Marian.

-

-"Can't you remember anything about it?" Elizabeth went on, "when you

-had it last, or anything?"

-

-"No, I can't. Let's go straight back over the road and hunt. I must

-have dropped it and perhaps we may find it if we look. I can't believe

-it is really lost. Oh, Elizabeth, what shall I do if it is? I adore

-Miss Smith and what will she think?"

-

-"She won't think anything if you keep still, Marian; the letter was

-only an old advertisement, anyway."

-

-"Oh, dear, dear, dear!" wailed Marian. "This is dreadful. I don't see

-a thing that looks like a letter anywhere. I am going to climb a tree

-and look way off over the fields." Although the children searched

-faithfully, they could not find the letter.

-

-"We'll hunt at noon," suggested Elizabeth, deeply touched by Marian's

-distress, "and if I were you I wouldn't say a word about it."

-

-"But Elizabeth, what if she asks me if there was a letter?"

-

-"Fib," was the response.

-

-"It's enough to make anybody, Elizabeth."

-

-"You'll be a goose, Marian, if you own up. I won't tell on you and the

-letter didn't amount to anything, anyway. Let's run for all we're worth

-and get there before school calls if we can. Sure's we're late she'll

-ask questions."

-

-Just as the bell was ringing, two breathless little girls joined their

-schoolmates. Their faces were flushed and their hair was tumbled.

-Miss Smith smiled when she saw them, but asked no questions. Noticing

-Marian's empty hands, she said evidently to herself, "No letter yet!"

-

-"You're going to get out of this as easy's pie, just keep your mouth

-shut," whispered Elizabeth.

-

-"I shall have to tell," groaned Marian.

-

-"Don't be silly," Elizabeth advised.

-

-During the morning exercises Marian determined to confess no matter

-what happened. When the chart class was called to the recitation seat

-she raised her hand and was given permission to speak to Miss Smith.

-Marian didn't glance towards Elizabeth Gray as she walked to the desk.

-Elizabeth had never stolen cookies. "Miss Smith," said Marian, "you

-had a letter this morning and I lost it."

-

-"You dear child, I am so glad you told me," and Miss Smith who had so

-often insisted that a school-teacher must never have favorites, put her

-arms around the little girl and kissed the soft, brown hair. "Now tell

-me what was printed on the envelope if you can remember."

-

-Word for word Marian described the letter.

-

-"It is the one I was expecting," said Miss Smith, and while the chart

-class waited, their teacher wrote a letter, stamped it and sent it to

-the post-office by Tommy Perkins.

-

-Two days later, Marian carried Miss Smith a letter exactly like the one

-she had lost. Miss Smith read it, smiled and asked Marian to stay after

-school.

-

-"You're going to get your scolding at last," predicted Elizabeth. "I

-told you not to tell."

-

-At four o'clock the children trooped out and flew down the road like

-wild birds escaped from a cage, leaving Marian uneasily twisting her

-handkerchief while she waited for Miss Smith to speak. Nothing was

-said until the sound of childish voices came from a distance. Then Miss

-Smith looked up and laughed. "Can you keep a secret for a few days,

-Marian?" she asked. "Come here, dear, and read the letter you brought

-me this morning."

-

-Marian read the short letter three times before she asked, "Are you

-going?"

-

-"Going," echoed Miss Smith; "that is the position I have long wished

-for, Marian. Only think how I shall enjoy teaching botany and English

-in a boarding-school. You see what they say, Marian, they want an

-immediate reply or it will be too late. If you hadn't told me about the

-letter you received the other day, I should have lost the position. I

-imagined what the letter was and sent for a copy. If you hadn't told me

-the truth, Marian, only think what a difference it would have made!"

-

-"I just have to tell the truth," said the little girl.

-

-"I believe you, dear, I never saw a more truthful child in my life."

-

-"Would you dare say I am the most honest child in school?" asked

-Marian, a sudden light making her face beautiful. "Will you write it

-down and sign your name?"

-

-"Well, you are the queerest mortal," exclaimed Miss Smith, but reaching

-for a piece of paper and a pen, she wrote this:

-

- "Marian Lee is the most truthful pupil in my school.

-

- "VIRGINIA SMITH, Teacher."

-

-"It's for Uncle George," Marian explained. "He told me to try to

-do something better than anybody else and I haven't done it. He's

-coming for me Saturday and please do ask him to send me to your

-boarding-school. He has often talked about sending me away to school,

-but I used to be afraid to go and made a dreadful fuss, and then I had

-diphtheria."

-

-Uncle George arrived on Friday in time to have a long talk with Miss

-Smith before she left on the evening train. Had Marian known the nature

-of their conversation, she might not have cried so bitterly when the

-hour of parting came.

-

-

-

-

-CHAPTER XX

-

-MORE CHANGES

-

-

-MARIAN had been home a month when Uncle George decided to send her to

-boarding-school.

-

-"It is a curious thing," he remarked to the child, "that other people

-find it so easy to get along with you, and here at home there is no

-peace in the house while you are in it."

-

-The man's tones were savage and Marian cried. Tears always angered

-Uncle George, and when Uncle George was angry with Marian, Aunt Amelia

-generally sighed and straightway did her duty: and Aunt Amelia's duty

-towards Marian consisted in giving a detailed account of the child's

-faults and a history of her sins. She never failed to mention cookies.

-When Marian was wise, she kept still. If she ventured a remonstrance

-serious trouble was sure to follow. Out in the fresh air and sunshine,

-the child managed to be happy in spite of everything: but within the

-four walls of Aunt Amelia's home it took courage to face life. She

-didn't know that her uncle had written to Miss Virginia Smith.

-

-"They're going to do something with you, I don't know what," confided

-Ella. "I'll let you know as soon's I find out." Ella was as good as

-her word. "They're going to send you to boarding-school," was her next

-secret announcement, "but when or where, I don't know."

-

-One morning Marian went to her room after breakfast and sat long by the

-open window, wondering what would become of her and why she had been

-taken from the Little Pilgrim's Home by an aunt who didn't want her.

-Tears splashed upon the window sill. Marian wiped her eyes quickly.

-Young as she was, the child realized how dangerous it is to be sorry

-for oneself. Without a backward glance, Marian walked from the room and

-closed the door she was never to open again. When she came home from

-school that night, the child played in the orchard until supper-time.

-Then she wondered why Aunt Amelia didn't send her to her room. An hour

-passed before the woman looked at the clock and spoke. Instead of the

-words Marian expected to hear, Aunt Amelia said calmly:

-

-"Your trunk is packed and the carriage is waiting to take you to the

-station. Get your coat and hat."

-

-"Where am I going and who is going with me?" demanded the child,

-beginning to tremble so she could scarcely stand.

-

-"I shall accompany you," replied Aunt Amelia, "and it makes no

-difference where you are going. You will know soon enough."

-

-Marian shot a grateful look towards Ella, who was sobbing in a corner.

-But for the little cousin's assurance, Marian would have believed she

-was about to start for the long dreaded reform school. Nevertheless

-it was a shocking thing to be suddenly torn from every familiar sight

-and to be going so blindly into the unknown. Marian looked appealingly

-at Aunt Amelia and Uncle George before she broke down and cried. Aunt

-Amelia's face was stony, Uncle George looked cross and annoyed.

-Marian's grief became wild and despairing.

-

-"I wish I could have my mother's picture to take with me," she sobbed,

-"I wish I could."

-

-"That's a reasonable request and you shall have it," said Uncle George.

-

-"It will be time enough when she is older," Aunt Amelia put in, while

-Marian held her breath. Would she get the picture or not? A word might

-ruin her chances, so she kept still, trying hard to smother her sobs.

-

-"Are you going for the picture or shall I?" demanded Uncle George. Aunt

-Amelia went.

-

-Marian was disappointed when she saw the small photograph of her father

-and mother. She wished for the face in the oval frame. She would have

-been more disappointed had she never seen the photograph, because

-instead of giving it to the child or allowing her to look at the

-picture, Aunt Amelia wrapped it in a piece of paper and put it in her

-own satchel.

-

-Outside in the cool, silent night, Marian stopped crying. There was

-comfort in the steadily shining stars. During the first long hours on

-the sleeping car, Marian tossed, tumbled and wondered where she was

-going. Asleep she dreamed of reform school: awake she feared dreams

-might come true. When trains rushed by in the darkness the child was

-frightened and shivered at the thought of wrecks. At last she raised

-her curtain and watched the stars. Repeating over and over one verse

-of the poem she had recited the last day of school in the country, she

-fell peacefully asleep. There were no more troubled dreams nor startled

-awakenings. When Marian opened her eyes in the morning, the verse still

-haunted her memory.

-

-    "I know not where His islands

-      Lift their fronded palms in air,

-    I only know I cannot drift

-      Beyond His love and care."

-

-

-

-

-CHAPTER XXI

-

-MARIAN REMEMBERS HER DIARY

-

-

-"OCTOBER 15.--You might as well keep a diary, especially in a school

-where they have a silent hour. It is the queerest thing I ever heard of

-but every night between seven and eight it is so still in this building

-you don't dare sneeze. It isn't so bad when you have a roommate because

-then you have to divide the hour with her. You stay alone half and then

-you go to the reading-room or the library and read something and try

-not to whisper to any of the girls, while your roommate stays alone her

-half of the hour.

-

-"Perhaps the reason I don't like silent hour is because I used to have

-so many of them at home and now because I haven't any roommate I have

-to stay alone the whole hour. I don't know what to do with myself and

-that is why I am going to keep a diary again.

-

-"There is a good reason why I haven't any roommate. When my aunt

-brought me here the principal said they were expecting a little girl

-just my age and they were going to put her in this room with me. It

-isn't much fun to be a new girl in this kind of a school, especially

-when most everybody is older than you are. When the girls saw my aunt

-they stared, and they stared at me, too. It wasn't very nice and I felt

-uncomfortable. As long as my aunt stayed I didn't get acquainted. I

-didn't even dare say much to Miss Smith. I just moped around and wished

-I was out in the country with the happy Goldings. They said here, 'Poor

-little thing, she's homesick,' but I am sure I wasn't if that means I

-wanted to go back home. My aunt stayed two days and one night. She said

-she was waiting to see my roommate but at last she gave up and went

-home and then I felt different. I began to wonder what kind of a girl

-my roommate would be and when she came I was so happy I could scarcely

-breathe because she was Dolly Russel. We thought we were going to have

-such a good time, and we did for a few days until I was a big goose.

-I wrote home and told my aunt who my roommate was and that ended it.

-Aunt Amelia wrote to the principal and she wrote to me, and then Dolly

-went to room with an old girl eighteen years old, from Kansas.

-

-"Dolly says her new roommate is nice, but she's too old and besides

-that she's engaged. Dolly told me all about it.

-

-"My aunt wouldn't let me room with Dolly because she said we would play

-all the time instead of studying our lessons. I guess she was afraid

-we would have a little fun. She told me in a letter that if she had

-known Dolly Russel was coming to this school she would have sent me

-somewhere else or kept me at home, no matter what Uncle George and Miss

-Smith said. I know why. Dolly has told the Kansas girl and some others

-about my aunt already, how cross she is and such things. I don't mind

-now what anybody says about Aunt Amelia since I have found out that she

-isn't any relation to me. She is just my aunt by marriage and you can't

-expect aunts by marriage to love you, and if your aunt doesn't love

-you, what's the use of loving your aunt.

-

-"If I hadn't passed the entrance examinations here I couldn't have

-stayed. Dolly and a girl whose name is Janey somebody and I are the

-only little girls here. Janey is tall and wears her hair in a long,

-black braid. Mine's Dutch cut. Dolly Russel's is Dutch cut too. Janey

-calls us little kids and she tags around after the big girls. We don't

-care.

-

-"October 16.--There's another girl coming from way out west. Her folks

-are going to be in Chicago this winter and they want her in this

-school. The Kansas girl told Dolly and me.

-

-"October 17.--The new girl has come and they have put her with me.

-She's homesick. Her father brought her and then went right away. I

-didn't see him. I think I shall like the new girl. Her name is Florence

-Weston and she has more clothes than the Queen of Sheba. Miss Smith

-helped her unpack and I felt as if I would sink through to China when

-the new girl looked in our closet. It is a big closet and the hooks

-were nearly all empty because I haven't anything much to hang up. I'll

-never forget how I felt when the new girl said to me, 'Where are your

-dresses?' Before I could think of anything to say, Miss Smith sent me

-for the tack hammer and I didn't have to answer.

-

-"My room looked pretty lonesome after Dolly moved out, but now it is

-the nicest room in school because Florence Weston has so many beautiful

-things. She says this is horrid and I just ought to see her room at

-home. She can't talk about her home without crying. I know I'd cry if I

-had to go back to mine.

-

-"October 20.--That Janey is a queer girl. She won't look at me and I

-really think it is because I haven't any pretty dresses. She is in our

-room half the time, too, visiting with Florence. They are great chums

-and they lock arms and tell secrets and laugh and talk about what they

-are going to do next summer and where they are going Christmas and

-everything. I wish more than ever that I had Dolly for my roommate.

-I wouldn't be surprised if her father is richer'n Florence Weston's

-father.

-

-"That Janey puts on airs. Her last name is Hopkins. She signs her name

-'Janey C. Hopkins.' She never leaves out the 'C,' I wonder why.

-

-"October 21.--I like Florence Weston. She is not a bit like that proud

-Janey.

-

-"November 1.--Sometimes I wish I had never come here to school. Once in

-a while I feel more lonesome, almost--than I ever did at home. It is on

-account of that Janey C. Hopkins. She wants to room with Florence and

-she tried to get me to say I would move in with Laura Jones, the girl

-she rooms with. Janey says she's going to the principal. Let her go.

-Miss Smith told me not to worry, they won't let chums like Florence and

-Janey room together because they won't study.

-

-"November 2.--What did I tell you? I knew she'd be sorry. They won't

-let Janey room with Florence. Florence says she's glad of it. I suppose

-it is on account of hooks. Janey couldn't let her have more than half

-the hooks in the closet.

-

-"November 3.--It wasn't on account of hooks. Florence told me one of

-Janey's secrets and I know now what the 'C' means in Janey's name and I

-know who Janey C. Hopkins is, and I should think she would remember me,

-but she doesn't. Janey told Florence that she is adopted and that her

-new mother took her from the Little Pilgrims' home before they moved

-out to Minnesota. I was so surprised I almost told Florence I came from

-that same home, but I am glad I didn't.

-

-"The only reason Florence doesn't want to room with Janey is because

-she lived in an orphan's home. She says you never can tell about

-adopted children and that maybe Janey's folks weren't nice, and anyway,

-that if she ever lived in an orphan's home she would keep still about

-it.

-

-"I think I shall keep still, but I could tell Miss Florence Weston one

-thing, my folks were nice if they did die. I could tell her what I read

-in that newspaper in the sea-chest, how my father just would go to

-South America with some men to make his fortune and how after a while

-my mother thought he was dead and then she died suddenly and all about

-how I happened to be taken to the Little Pilgrims' Home in the strange

-city where my mother and I didn't know anybody and nobody knew us.

-

-"I could tell Florence Weston I guess that my father left my mother

-plenty of money and she wasn't poor, and after she died the folks she

-boarded with stole it all and pretty near everything she had and then

-packed up and went away and left me crying in the flat, and it just

-happened that some folks on the next floor knew what my name was and a

-few little things my mother told them.

-

-"I won't speak of the Little Pilgrims' Home, though, because I can't

-forget how Uncle George acted about it. It was a pleasant, happy home

-just the same, and when I grow up and can do what I want to I am going

-back and hunt for Mrs. Moore and I won't stop until I find her. I have

-missed her all my life. You can't help wondering why some mothers live

-and some mothers die, and why some children grow up in their own homes

-and other children don't have anybody to love them.

-

-"November 4.--Sunday. The queer things don't all happen in books. I am

-glad I have a diary to put things in that I don't want to tell Miss

-Smith nor Dolly. Just before dark I was in the back parlor with a lot

-of girls singing. When we were tired of singing we told stories about

-our first troubles. I kept still for once, I really couldn't think

-what my first one was anyway. Two or three girls said that when their

-mothers died, that was their first sorrow, but Florence Weston said

-that her first one was funny. She couldn't remember when her own father

-died so she can't count that. The father she has now is a step one.

-

-"Florence says she was a little bit of a girl when her mother took her

-one day to visit an orphan's home and she cried because she couldn't

-stay and have dinner with the little orphans. She says she remembers

-that one of the little girls wanted to go home with her and her mother

-and when she cried that little orphan girl cried too. They all laughed

-when Florence told her story, all but me. I knew then what my first

-sorrow was. What would Florence think if she knew I was that little

-orphan? I must never tell her though or she wouldn't room with me. I

-should think Florence would be the happiest girl in the world. I should

-be if I had her mother. I can see her now if I shut my eyes. Her hair

-was shining gold and her eyes were like the sky when the orchard is

-full of apple blossoms.

-

-"November 25.--Florence has gone to Chicago to stay until Monday

-morning because to-morrow is Thanksgiving day and her folks wanted to

-see her. Florence has two baby brothers and one little sister.

-

-"Dolly Russel's father and mother have come here to be with Dolly

-to-morrow and they have invited me to have dinner with them down town.

-I wonder what Aunt Amelia would say if she knew I am going to be with

-the Russels all day to-morrow. Miss Smith got permission for me to go,

-she knew what to say to the principal, and she kissed me too, right

-before Mrs. Russel. I am already beginning to dread going home next

-June.

-

-"Janey C. Hopkins is going home this afternoon and the Kansas girl

-is going with her. There will be ten girls all alone in the big

-dining-room here to-morrow. I guess they will feel queer. I know one

-thing, I would rather stay here with nobody but the matron Christmas,

-than to go home, and I am glad Aunt Amelia says it would be foolish for

-any one to take such a long journey so I could be home for the holidays.

-

-"Mrs. Russel is going to dress me all up to-morrow in one of Dolly's

-prettiest dresses. I do have some streaks of luck."

-

-

-

-

-CHAPTER XXII

-

-FLORENCE WESTON'S MOTHER

-

-

-MARIAN was studying Monday morning when Florence returned from Chicago.

-She burst into the room like a wind blown rose, even forgetting to

-close the door until she had hugged Marian and hugged her again.

-

-"Now shut your eyes tight," she commanded, "and don't you open them

-until I tell you to. You remember when you asked me if I had a picture

-of my mother and I said I hadn't anything only common photographs?

-well, you just wait."

-

-Marian closed her eyes while Florence dived into her satchel for a

-small package.

-

-"I have something in a little red leather case that will make you

-stare, Marian dear, you just wait."

-

-"Well, I am waiting," was the retort, "with my eyes shut so tight I can

-see purple and crimson spots by the million. Hurry up, why don't you?

-Is it a watch with your mother's picture in it?"

-

-"No, guess again."

-

-"A locket?"

-

-"Dear me, no. It is something--three somethings that cost forty times

-as much as a watch or locket. Now open your eyes and look on the

-bureau."

-

-"Why don't you say something?" questioned Florence, as Marian stood

-speechless before three miniatures in gold frames. "That's my mother

-and our baby in the middle frame, and the girl on this side is my

-little sister and the boy in the other frame we call brother, just

-brother, since the baby came. Why Marian Lee! I never thought of it

-before, but you look like brother just as sure as the world!

-

-"Why, Marian! what's the matter, what makes you cry when you look at

-mamma's picture?"

-

-"Nothing, Florence, only I want a mother myself, I always wanted one."

-

-"You poor young one!" exclaimed Florence, "it must be dreadful not to

-have a mother."

-

-"It's like the Desert of Sahara!" Marian declared, dashing the tears

-from her eyes and making an attempt to smile. "You will see your mother

-again soon."

-

-"I know it, Marian, only think, three weeks more and then the holidays.

-Are you going home Wednesday night or Thursday morning?"

-

-"I am not going home until June," was the reply.

-

-"Can you stand it as long as that, Marian?"

-

-The mere thought of feeling badly about not being home for the holidays

-made the child laugh.

-

-"You are the queerest girl," exclaimed Florence, "you cry when I don't

-see anything to cry about and you laugh when I should think you would

-cry."

-

-Marian checked an impulse to explain. How could Florence understand?

-Florence, whose beautiful mother smiled from the round, gold frame,

-the girl whose sister and brothers waited to welcome her home.

-

-"If they were mine," said Marian, gazing wistfully at the miniatures,

-"I would never leave them. I would rather be a dunce than go away to

-school."

-

-"Then my father wouldn't own you," said Florence, laughing. "Mamma

-says she's afraid he wouldn't have any patience if I disgraced him

-in school. You ought to belong to him, Marian, he would be proud of

-you. You know your lessons almost without studying and you have higher

-standings than the big girls. You've been highest in all your classes

-so far, haven't you?"

-

-"Yes," was the reply, "except in geometry, but what of it? Nobody

-cares."

-

-"Don't your folks at home? Aren't they proud of you?"

-

-"I used to hope they would be, Florence; but I tell you, nobody cares."

-

-"Well, haven't you any grandfathers or grandmothers or other aunts or

-uncles?"

-

-"I am not acquainted with them," said Marian. "My uncle hasn't any

-folks, only distant cousins."

-

-"That's just like my father," Florence interrupted. "His folks are all

-dead, though I have heard him mention one half brother with whom he

-wasn't friends. Mamma won't let me ask any questions about him. But,

-Marian, where are your mother's folks?"

-

-Where were they, indeed? Marian had never thought of them. "Well, you

-see," the child hastily suggested, "they don't live near us."

-

-The next time Florence saw Dolly Russel, she asked some questions

-that were gladly answered. "Go home!" exclaimed Dolly, "I shouldn't

-think she would want to go home! You see the St. Claires live right

-across the street from us and I have seen things with my own eyes that

-would astonish you. Besides that, a girl that used to work for the St.

-Claires, her name is Lala, works for us now, and if she didn't tell

-things that would make your eyes pop out of your head! Shall I tell

-you how they used to treat that poor little Marian? She's the dearest

-young one, too--Lala says so--only mamma has always told me that it's

-wretched taste to listen to folks like Lala."

-

-"Yes, do tell me," insisted Florence, and by the time Dolly Russel had

-told all she knew, Florence Weston was in a high state of indignation.

-

-"Oh, her uncle and her little cousin are all right," remonstrated

-Dolly; "they are not like the aunt."

-

-"I know what I shall do," cried Florence. "Oh, I know! I shall tell

-mamma all about Marian and ask if I may invite her to Chicago for the

-holidays. She would have one good time, I tell you. I like Marian

-anyway, she is just as sweet as she can be. I should be miserable if

-I were in her place, but she sings all the day long. My little sister

-would love her and so would brother and the baby. I am going straight

-to my room and write the letter this minute."

-

-"Mrs. St. Claire won't let Marian go," warned Dolly; "you just wait and

-see. She doesn't want Marian to have one speck of fun."

-

-Nevertheless Florence Weston wrote the letter to her mother and

-in due time came the expected invitation. At first Marian was too

-overjoyed for words: then she thought of Aunt Amelia and hope left her

-countenance. "I know what I will do," she said at last, "I will ask

-Miss Smith to write to Uncle George. Maybe then he will let me go.

-Nobody knows how much I want to see your mother."

-

-Florence laughed. "I think I do," she said. "I have told my mother how

-you worship her miniature. I shouldn't be surprised to come in some day

-and find you on your knees before it. My mother is pretty and she is

-lovely and kind, but I don't see how anybody could care so much for her

-picture. Most of the girls just rave over brother, but you don't look

-at him. Just wait until you see him, Marian. I'll teach him to call you

-sister. He says 'Ta' for sister."

-

-"Oh, I wish you would," said Marian, "I love babies and I never was

-anybody's sister of course. He is just as cunning as he can be. I am

-going now to ask Miss Smith to write to Uncle George. She can get him

-to say yes if anybody can."

-

-Miss Smith wrote and rewrote the letter, then waited for an answer

-with even less patience than Marian. At last it came, in Aunt Amelia's

-handwriting. Marian's heart sank when she saw the envelope. Her fears

-were well founded. Aunt Amelia was surprised to find that Marian knew

-no better than to trouble Miss Smith as she had. She might have known

-that Uncle George would not approve of her going to a city the size

-of Chicago to pass the holidays with strangers. Miss Smith, Dolly and

-Florence were indignant. Even Janey did some unselfish sputtering.

-

-"Anything's better than going home," Marian reasoned at last, "and

-what's the use of crying about what you can't help. I ought to be glad

-it isn't June."

-

-As a matter of fact, the holidays passed pleasantly for Marian in the

-big deserted house. The matron and the teachers who were left did

-everything in their power to please the child, and on Christmas Day

-the postman left her more gifts than she had ever received before.

-There were no potatoes in her stocking that year. During the holidays,

-Marian kept the photograph of her own mother beside the miniatures, and

-as the days went by she became convinced that her mother and Florence

-Weston's mother looked much alike.

-

-"My mother is prettier," she said aloud the last day of the old year,

-"but she is dead and as long as I live I never can see her. Perhaps I

-may see this other mother and perhaps she may love me. I shall have

-to put my picture away because it will get faded and spoiled, and I

-think I will pretend that Florence Weston's mother is my mother. Then I

-won't feel so lonesome. I never thought of pretending to have a mother

-before."

-

-When Florence returned after the holidays, she was unable to account

-for the change in Marian. The child was radiantly happy. Tears no

-longer filled her eyes when she gazed too intently upon the miniatures.

-Instead, she smiled back at the faces and sometimes waved her hand to

-them when she left the room. How could Florence dream that Marian had

-taken the little brothers, the sister and the mother for her own.

-

-

-

-

-CHAPTER XXIII

-

-HOW MARIAN CROSSED THE RAINBOW BRIDGE

-

-

-JUNE sent her messengers early. Every blade of grass that pushed its

-way through the brown earth, every bursting lilac bud or ambitious

-maple, spoke to Marian of June. Returning birds warbled the story and

-the world rejoiced. Teachers and pupils alike talked of June until it

-seemed to Marian that all nature and educational institutions had but

-one object, and that was to welcome June. She dreaded it. June meant

-Aunt Amelia and the end of all happiness. Yet Marian was only one.

-Ninety-nine other girls were looking eagerly forward to the close of

-school. They talked of it everywhere and at all hours.

-

-It was the one subject of conversation in which Marian had no share,

-one joy beyond her grasp. Try hard as she would, Marian couldn't

-pretend to be glad she was going home. That was a game for which she

-felt no enthusiasm. The mother, the little sister and the baby brothers

-in the golden frames would soon be gone, and gone forever. "We're all

-going back West just as soon as school closes," Florence had told her.

-"Next winter we will be home."

-

-Nor was that all that Florence told Marian. She pictured the beautiful

-home in the West in the midst of her father's broad lands. She

-described her room, all sunshine and comfort, and the great house

-echoing with music and laughter. She told Marian of the gardens and

-the stables, of the horses, ponies and many pets. She described the

-river and the hills and the mountain peaks beyond. Florence almost

-forgot the presence of her wide eyed roommate in telling of the holiday

-celebrations at home and of the wondrous glory of the annual Christmas

-tree. Best of all, Florence spoke tenderly of her mother and her voice

-grew tender in speaking of the woman who never scolded but was always

-gentle and kind; the beautiful mother with the bright, gold hair.

-Florence had so much to say about the little sister, brother and the

-baby, that Marian felt as if she knew them all.

-

-Thus it was that Florence Weston was going home and Marian Lee was

-returning to Aunt Amelia. Miss Smith understood all about it and it

-grieved her. She had seen Aunt Amelia and that was enough. She didn't

-wonder that Marian's eyes grew sad and wistful as the days lengthened.

-At last Miss Virginia Smith thought of a way to win smiles from Marian.

-The botany class had been offered a prize. A railroad president,

-interested in the school had promised ten dollars in gold to the member

-of the botany class who made the best herbarium. Marian might not

-win the prize, but it would give her pleasure to try. She would have

-something more agreeable to think of than Aunt Amelia.

-

-It was with some difficulty that Miss Smith obtained permission from

-the principal for Marian to enter the class, and but for the experience

-in the country school, the objection that Marian was too young would

-have barred her out. Miss Smith was right. Marian was delighted and for

-hours at a time Aunt Amelia vanished from her thoughts. The members of

-the botany class were surprised that such a little girl learned hard

-lessons so easily, but Miss Smith only laughed.

-

-In the beginning when the spring flowers came and every wayside bloom

-suggested a specimen, fully half the class intended to win the prize,

-Marian among the number. One by one the contestants dropped out as

-the weeks passed, leaving Marian with perhaps half a dozen rivals. At

-that early day, Miss Virginia Smith, who had no favorites, rejoiced

-secretly in the belief that Marian would win the prize. The commonest

-weed became beautiful beneath her hands and the number of specimens

-she found on the school grounds alone, exceeded all previous records.

-There was never so much as a leaf carelessly pressed among Marian's

-specimens. At last the child began to believe the prize would be hers

-and for the first time, going home lost its terrors.

-

-If she won the prize, Uncle George would be proud of her and she would

-be happy. Finally Marian wrote to her uncle, telling him of the glories

-of commencement week. She was to recite "The Witch's Daughter" at the

-entertainment, to take part in the operetta and to sing commencement

-morning with three other little girls. More than that, she was sure to

-win the prize, even her rivals admitted it. "Now Uncle George," the

-letter proceeded, "please be sure and come because I want somebody that

-is my relation to be here. Florence Weston says her father would come

-from Honolulu to see her win a prize, so please come, Uncle George, or

-maybe Florence will think nobody cares for me."

-

-Marian was scarcely prepared to receive the answer that came to her

-letter from Aunt Amelia. Uncle George was too busy a man to take so

-long a journey for nothing. Aunt Amelia would come the day after

-commencement and pack Marian's trunk. So far as winning the prize

-was concerned, Uncle George expected Marian to win a prize if one

-were offered. That was a small way to show her gratitude for all that

-had been done for her. The child lost the letter. Janey C. Hopkins

-found and read it. Before sunset every one of the ninety-nine knew

-the contents. When night settled down upon the school, one hundred

-girls were thinking of Aunt Amelia, one in tears, the ninety-nine with

-indignation.

-

-The following morning Marian replied to her aunt's letter, begging to

-be allowed to go home with Dolly Russel and her mother, and assuring

-Aunt Amelia that she could pack her own trunk. Even that request was

-denied. Aunt Amelia would call for Marian the day after commencement

-and she wished to hear nothing further on the subject. She might have

-heard more had she not been beyond sound of the ninety-nine voices.

-Marian was too crushed for words. That is, she was crushed for a day.

-Her spirits revived as commencement week drew near and Miss Smith and

-the ninety-nine did so much to make her forget everything unpleasant.

-Marian couldn't understand why the girls were so kind nor why Janey

-C. Hopkins took a sudden interest in her happiness. The Sunday before

-commencement Marian wore Janey's prettiest gown to church. It was

-rather large for Marian but neither she nor Janey found that an

-objection. Miss Smith approved and Sunday was a bright day for Aunt

-Amelia's little niece.

-

-Monday, Dolly Russel's mother came and thanks to her, Marian appeared

-in no more garments that had disgraced the hooks in her closet. She

-danced through the halls in the daintiest of Dolly's belongings, and

-was happy as Mrs. Russel wished her to be.

-

-Every hour brought new guests and in the excitement of meeting nearly

-all the friends of the ninety-nine and being kissed and petted by

-ever so many mothers, Marian forgot Aunt Amelia. Tuesday evening at

-the entertainment she did her part well and was so enthusiastically

-applauded, her cheeks grew red as the sash she wore, and that is saying

-a great deal, as Dolly's sash was a bright scarlet, the envy of the

-ninety-nine.

-

-Florence Weston's father and mother were present at the entertainment,

-but Marian looked for them in vain. "They saw you just the same,"

-Florence insisted when she and Marian were undressing that night, "and

-mamma said if it hadn't been so late she would have come up to our room

-to-night, but she thought they had better get back to the hotel and

-you and I must settle down as quickly as we can. I can hardly keep my

-eyes open." Florence fell asleep with a smile upon her face. Marian's

-pillow was wet with tears before she drifted into troubled dreams of

-Aunt Amelia.

-

-"Isn't it too bad!" exclaimed Florence the next morning. "They are

-going to present the prize in the dining-room at breakfast and my

-father and mother won't be up here until time for the exercises in the

-chapel. I wanted them to see you get the prize. I'm so disappointed.

-Never mind, though, you will see mamma all the afternoon, because she

-is going to pack my things. We leave to-morrow. I am going down-town

-with papa and mamma when we get through packing and stay all night. You

-will have the room all to yourself. What? are you crying, Marian? Why,

-I'll come back in the morning and see you before I go. I wouldn't cry

-if I were you!"

-

-It was easy enough for a girl who had every earthly blessing to talk

-cheerfully to a weary little pilgrim.

-

-Marian experienced the bitterest moment of her life when the prize

-was presented in the dining-room. There were many fathers and mothers

-there, and other relatives of the ninety-nine who joined in cheering

-the little victor. Yet Marian wept and would not be comforted. Even

-Miss Smith had no influence. In spite of the sympathetic arms that

-gathered her in, Marian felt utterly forsaken. She had won the prize,

-but what could it mean to a motherless, fatherless, almost homeless

-child? After breakfast, Marian, slipping away from Miss Smith and the

-friendly strangers, sought a deserted music room on the fourth floor

-where she cried until her courage returned: until hope banished tears.

-Perhaps Uncle George would be pleased after all.

-

-"Where have you been?" demanded Florence when Marian returned to her

-room. "I have hunted for you everywhere. What a little goose you were

-to cry in the dining-room. Why, your eyes are red yet."

-

-The only answer was a laugh as Marian bathed her tear-stained face.

-

-"I want you to look pretty when mamma sees you," continued Florence,

-"so don't you dare be silly again."

-

-In spite of the warning, Marian was obliged to seek the obscurity of

-the fourth floor music room later in the day, before she thought of

-another refuge--Miss Smith's room. The sight of so many happy girls

-with their mothers was more than she could endure and Miss Smith

-understood. Even the thought of seeing Florence Weston's mother was a

-troubled one, for alas! she couldn't beg to go with the woman as she

-once did in the Little Pilgrims' Home.

-

-When the child was sure that Florence and her mother were gone and

-while Miss Smith was busy in the office, she returned to her room. "The

-trunks are here yet," observed Marian, "but may be they won't send for

-them until morning," and utterly worn out by the day's excitement, the

-child threw herself upon the bed and sobbed in an abandonment of grief.

-

-Half an hour later the door was opened by a woman who closed it softly

-when she saw Marian. "Poor little dear," she whispered, and bending

-over the sleeping child, kissed her. Marian was dreaming of her mother.

-

-"Poor little dear," repeated the woman, and kissed her again. That

-kiss roused the child. Opening her eyes, she threw her arms around the

-woman's neck, exclaiming wildly,

-

-"My mother, oh, my mother!"

-

-"But I am not your mother, dear," remonstrated the woman, trying to

-release herself from the clinging arms. "I am Florence Weston's mother.

-I have come for her little satchel that we forgot. Cuddle down, dear,

-and go to sleep again."

-

-At that, Marian seemed to realize her mistake and cried so pitifully,

-Florence Weston's mother took her in her arms and sitting in a low

-rocker held Marian and tried to quiet her.

-

-The door opened and Florence entered. "Why mamma, what is the matter?"

-she began, but without waiting for a reply, she was gone, returning in

-a moment with her father. "Now what is the matter with poor Marian?"

-she repeated.

-

-"Nothing," explained Marian, "only everything."

-

-"She thought I was her mother, Florence, the poor little girl; there,

-there, dear, don't cry. She was only half awake and she says I look

-like her mother's picture."

-

-"You do, you look just like the picture," sobbed Marian.

-

-"What picture?" asked the man; "this child is the image of brother.

-What picture, I say?"

-

-"Oh, she means mamma's miniature," said Florence.

-

-"I don't mean the miniature," Marian interrupted, "I mean my own

-mother's picture," and the child, kneeling before her small trunk

-quickly found the photograph of her father and mother. "There! doesn't

-she look like my mother?"

-

-There was a moment of breathless silence as Florence Weston's father

-and mother gazed at the small card. The woman was the first to speak.

-

-"Why, Richard Lee!" she exclaimed. "That must be a photograph of you!"

-

-"It is," was the reply, "it is a picture of me and of my dead wife, but

-the baby died too."

-

-"Well, I didn't die," cried Marian. "I was two months old when my

-father went away, and when my mother died, the folks wrote to the place

-where my father was the last time they knew anything about him, and I

-s'pose they told him I was dead, but I wasn't, and that's my mother.

-Uncle George knows it----"

-

-"Uncle George, my brother George," for a moment it was the man who

-seemed to be dreaming. Then a light broke over his face as he snatched

-Marian and said, "Why, little girl, you are my child."

-

-"And my mother will be your mother," Florence put in, "so what are you

-and mamma crying about now?"

-

-"Didn't you ever hear," said Marian, smiling through her tears, "that

-sometimes folks cry for joy?"

-

-It was unnecessary for Aunt Amelia to take the long journey. Marian's

-father telegraphed for Uncle George who arrived the next day with

-papers Marian knew nothing about, proving beyond question the identity

-of the child.

-

-The little girl couldn't understand the silent greeting between the

-brothers, nor why Uncle George was so deeply affected when she talked

-of his kindness to her and the many happy days she thanked him for

-since he found her in the Little Pilgrims' Home. Neither could she

-understand what her father meant when he spoke of a debt of gratitude

-too deep for words.

-

-Marian only knew that unpleasant memories slipped away like a dream

-when Uncle George left her with her father and mother: when he smiled

-and told her he was glad she was going home.

-

-         *       *       *       *       *

-

-                            Transcriber Notes

-

-            Tags that surround the words: _fish_ indicate italics.

-                                          =Gladys= indicate bold.

-

-            Words in small capitals are shown in UPPERCASE.

-

-            Retained anachronistic and non-standard spellings as printed.

-

-            Free use of quotes, typical of the time, is retained.

-

-        +------------------------------------------------------------+

-

-

-

-

-

-

-

-End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Rainbow Bridge, by 

-Frances Margaret Fox and Frank T. Merrill

-

-*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE RAINBOW BRIDGE ***

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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Rainbow Bridge, by 
+Frances Margaret Fox and Frank T. Merrill
+
+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/license
+
+
+Title: The Rainbow Bridge
+
+Author: Frances Margaret Fox
+        Frank T. Merrill
+
+Release Date: October 28, 2017 [EBook #55837]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE RAINBOW BRIDGE ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Alan and the Online Distributed Proofreading
+Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from
+images generously made available by The Internet Archive)
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+The Rainbow Bridge
+
+
+
+
+BOOKS BY FRANCES MARGARET FOX
+
+ =WHAT GLADYS SAW.= A NATURE STORY OF FARM AND FOREST. With
+ full page illustration. Containing 318 pages. Cloth bound. Price,
+ $1.25.
+
+ =THE RAINBOW BRIDGE.= A STORY. With full page colored frontispiece.
+ Containing 254 pages. Cloth bound. Price, $1.25.
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration: MRS. MOORE ROCKED A BABY BEFORE THE NURSERY FIRE.]
+
+
+
+
+                The Rainbow Bridge
+
+                    A Story
+
+                       By
+               FRANCES MARGARET FOX
+
+       _Author of "What Gladys Saw," "Farmer
+            Brown and the Birds," etc._
+
+                  ILLUSTRATED BY
+                 FRANK T. MERRILL
+
+[Illustration]
+
+                 W. A. WILDE COMPANY
+              BOSTON             CHICAGO
+
+
+
+
+                  _Copyright, 1905_
+                BY W. A. WILDE COMPANY
+
+                _All rights reserved_
+
+                 THE RAINBOW BRIDGE
+
+
+
+
+                         _To
+              the dear friend of my childhood
+                    and later years
+                Mrs. William W. Crouch_
+
+
+
+
+Contents
+
+      I. A LITTLE PILGRIM BEGINS A JOURNEY           11
+
+     II. MARIAN'S FIRST DAY IN SCHOOL                19
+
+    III. SHE GOES TO CHURCH                          27
+
+     IV. AUNT AMELIA                                 40
+
+      V. MARIAN'S NEW HOME                           48
+
+     VI. THAT YELLOW CUCUMBER                        58
+
+    VII. AN UNDESERVING CHILD                        66
+
+   VIII. IN THE NAME OF SANTA CLAUS                  73
+
+     IX. AT THE RICH MAN'S TABLE                     83
+
+      X. A GAME OF SLICED BIRDS                      94
+
+     XI. THE WAY OF THE TRANSGRESSOR                105
+
+    XII. MARIAN'S DIARY                             127
+
+   XIII. DIPHTHERIA                                 146
+
+    XIV. MUSICAL CONVERSATIONS                      163
+
+     XV. LITTLE SISTER TO THE DANDELION             173
+
+    XVI. PROFESSOR LEE, BOTANIST                    185
+
+   XVII. THE COMPOSITION ON WILD FLOWERS            192
+
+  XVIII. MARIAN'S LETTER HOME                       199
+
+    XIX. THE MOST TRUTHFUL CHILD IN SCHOOL          204
+
+     XX. MORE CHANGES                               215
+
+    XXI. MARIAN REMEMBERS HER DIARY                 220
+
+   XXII. FLORENCE WESTON'S MOTHER                   231
+
+  XXIII. HOW MARIAN CROSSED THE RAINBOW BRIDGE      241
+
+
+
+
+The Rainbow Bridge
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I
+
+A LITTLE PILGRIM BEGINS A JOURNEY
+
+
+THERE was always room for one more in the Home for Little Pilgrims.
+Especially was this true of the nursery; not because the nursery was
+so large, nor because there was the least danger that the calico cats
+might be lonesome, but Mrs. Moore loved babies. It made no difference
+to her whether the wee strangers were white or black, bright or stupid,
+she treated them all alike. They were dressed, undressed, bathed, fed
+and put to sleep at exactly the same hours every day, that is, they
+were laid in their cribs whenever it was time for them to go to sleep.
+Little Pilgrims were never rocked and Mrs. Moore had no time for
+lullaby songs, whatever may have been her inclination.
+
+Yet there came a night when Mrs. Moore rocked a baby before the nursery
+fire and sung to it all the songs she knew. That was the night Marian
+Lee entered the Home with bright eyes wide open. She not only had her
+eyes open when she was placed in Mrs. Moore's arms, but she kept them
+open and somehow compelled Mrs. Moore to break her own rules and do as
+she had never done with a new baby.
+
+To be sure, Marian Lee couldn't talk, having started on her pilgrimage
+only six months before, but in a way of her own, she declared herself
+well pleased with the Home and with the nursery in particular. She
+enjoyed her bath and said so. The warm fire in the grate pleased
+her and Mrs. Moore's face was lovely, if a baby's ideas were of any
+account. The trouble began when Marian was carried into the still room
+where the sleeping Pilgrims were, and placed in a crib. The minute her
+head touched the pillow she began to cry. When Mrs. Moore left her,
+she cried louder. That awakened tiny Joe in the nearest crib and when
+he began to wail, Bennie and Johnnie, Sam and Katie, as well as half
+a dozen others joined in the chorus. Not to be outdone by these older
+Pilgrims, Marian screamed louder than any of them until Mrs. Moore took
+her back to the fire and quiet was restored.
+
+Now it was strictly against Mrs. Moore's rules to humor a baby in that
+fashion, and Mrs. Moore told Marian so, although she added in the next
+breath, "Poor little dear." The "poor little dear" was cooing once more
+and there really seemed nothing to do but kiss, and cuddle and rock the
+baby as her own mother might have done. She was so unlike the others in
+the Home; so soft, round and beautiful.
+
+"You are no ordinary baby, precious one," said Mrs. Moore, whereupon
+Marian laughed, flourished her hands and seemed much pleased. "I
+think," continued Mrs. Moore, as she kissed the pink fists, "I think
+some one has talked to you a great deal. My babies are different, poor
+little things, they don't talk back as you do."
+
+Before long, the rows of white cribs in the other room were forgotten
+and Mrs. Moore began singing to Marian as though she were the only baby
+in the big Home. Lullaby after lullaby she sang while the fire burned
+low, yet the baby would not sleep. Softly at last, Mrs. Moore began a
+lullaby long unsung:
+
+  "All the little birdies have gone to sleep,
+    Why does my pet so wide awake keep?
+  Peep, peep, go to sleep, peep, peep, go to sleep.
+
+  "All the little babies their prayers have said,
+    Their mothers have tucked them up snugly in bed.
+  Peep, peep, go to sleep, peep, peep, go to sleep."
+
+When the blue eyes closed, Mrs. Moore suddenly realized it was but
+another Little Pilgrim that she held and not her own baby so often
+hushed to sleep by that old lullaby many years ago. For the sake of
+that baby, Mrs. Moore had loved all the motherless little ones in the
+Home--all the unfortunate, neglected waifs brought to its doors. She
+had loved them impartially until that night. She had never before asked
+who a baby was, nor what its surroundings had been. Its future was
+her only concern. To care for each baby while it was in the nursery
+and to be sure it was placed in a good home when taken away, was all
+she wished to know. No baby had ever crept into Mrs. Moore's innermost
+heart as Marian did that night. An hour later the superintendent was
+surprised when Mrs. Moore asked for the history of that latest Little
+Pilgrim.
+
+"She's a fine child," mused the superintendent, adding cheerfully,
+"we'll have no trouble finding a home for her; I doubt if she's here a
+month."
+
+Mrs. Moore said nothing but she was sure Marian would stay more than a
+month. After she heard the superintendent's story, she was more sure
+of it. Thus it happened that tiny Joe, who was not a bit attractive,
+and Bennie and Johnnie, who were disagreeable babies if such a thing
+may be, and Sam and Katie whose fathers and mothers were drunkards, as
+well as a dozen other little waifs, were given away long before Marian
+learned to talk: Marian, the beautiful baby, was somehow always kept
+behind Mrs. Moore's skirts. As the child grew older, she was still
+kept in the background. The plainest dresses ever sent in to Little
+Pilgrims, were given to Marian. Her hair was kept short and when
+special visitors were expected, she was taken to the playground by an
+older girl. All this time a happier baby never lived than Marian. No
+one in the Home knew how tenderly Mrs. Moore loved her. No one knew of
+the caresses lavished upon her when the infant Pilgrims were busy with
+their blocks or asleep in their cribs.
+
+At last the superintendent questioned Mrs. Moore. He said it seemed
+strange that no one wished to adopt so lovely a child. Mrs. Moore
+explained. She told the superintendent she hoped Marian would be
+claimed by folks of her own, but if not--Mrs. Moore hesitated at that
+and the superintendent understood.
+
+"We won't give her away," he promised, "until we find the right kind of
+a mother for her. That child shall have a good home."
+
+Too soon to please Mrs. Moore, Marian outgrew her crib and went
+to sleep in the dormitory. The child was pleased with the change,
+especially as Mrs. Moore tucked her in bed and kissed her every night
+just as she had done in the nursery. Marian was glad to be no longer
+a baby. The dormitory with its rows and rows of little white beds,
+delighted the child, and to be allowed to sit up hours after the babies
+were asleep was pure joy.
+
+The dining-room was another pleasure. To sit down to dinner with two
+hundred little girls and boys and to be given one of the two hundred
+bright bibs, filled her heart with pride. The bibs certainly were an
+attraction. Marian was glad hers was pink. She buttoned it to her chair
+after dinner just as she saw the others do.
+
+One thing troubled Marian. She wished Mrs. Moore to sit at the table
+beside her and drink milk from a big, white mug. "Do childrens always
+have dinner all alone?" she asked.
+
+Instead of answering the child, Mrs. Moore told her to run away and
+play. Then she looked out of the window for a long, long time. Perhaps
+she had done wrong after all in keeping the baby so long in a "Home
+with a capital H."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II
+
+MARIAN'S FIRST DAY IN SCHOOL
+
+
+THERE was no kindergarten in the Home for Little Pilgrims when Marian
+was a baby. The child was scarcely five when she marched into the
+schoolroom to join the changing ranks of little folks who were such a
+puzzle to their teacher. Every day one or more new faces appeared in
+that schoolroom and every day familiar faces were gone. For that reason
+alone it was a hard school to manage.
+
+The teacher, who had been many years in the Home, smiled as she found
+a seat for Marian in the front row. Marian at least might be depended
+upon to come regularly to school: then, too, she would learn easily
+and be a credit to her instructor. Plain dresses and short hair might
+do their worst, the face of the child attracted attention. The teacher
+smiled again as Marian sat in the front seat before her, with hands
+folded, waiting to see what might happen next.
+
+Roll call interested the child. She wondered why the little girls and
+boys said "Present" when the teacher read their names from a big book.
+Once in a while when a name was called, nobody answered. Finally the
+teacher, smiling once more, said, "Marian Lee." The little girl sat
+perfectly still with lips tightly closed.
+
+"You must say 'present' when your name is called," suggested the
+teacher.
+
+No response.
+
+"Say present," the teacher repeated.
+
+"But I don't like this kind of play," Marian protested, and then
+wondered why all the children laughed and the teacher looked annoyed.
+
+"But you must say present," the young lady insisted and Marian obeyed,
+though she thought it a silly game.
+
+The things that happened in the schoolroom that morning were many and
+queer. A little boy had to stand on the floor in front of the teacher's
+desk because he threw a paper wad. Then when the teacher wasn't looking
+he aimed another at Marian and hit her on the nose and when Marian
+laughed aloud, the teacher, who didn't know what happened, shook her
+head and looked cross. It distressed Marian so to have the teacher look
+cross that she felt miserable and wondered what folks went to school
+for anyway. A few moments later, she knew. The primer class was called
+and Marian, being told to do so, followed a dozen Little Pilgrims to
+the recitation seat where she was told that children go to school to
+learn their letters. Marian knew her letters, having learned them from
+the blocks in the nursery.
+
+"You must learn to read," advised the teacher, and Marian stared
+helplessly about the schoolroom. She felt sure it wouldn't be a bit of
+fun to learn to read. Nor was it, if her first lesson was a sample.
+
+It wasn't long before Marian was tired of sitting still. She wasn't
+used to it. At last she remembered that in her pocket was a china doll,
+an inch high. On her desk was the new primer. The cover was pasteboard
+and of course one could chew pasteboard. The china doll needed a crib
+and as there seemed nothing to make a crib of but the cover of her
+primer, Marian chewed a corner of it, flattened it out and fitted the
+doll in. It pleased her, and she showed it to the little girl in the
+next seat. Soon the teacher noticed that Marian was turning around and
+showing her primer to all the children near, and the children were
+smiling.
+
+"Marian, bring your book to me," said the teacher. Then there was
+trouble. Little Pilgrims had to be taught not to chew their books. The
+teacher gave Marian what one of the older girls called a "Lecture," and
+Marian cried.
+
+"I didn't have anything to do," she sobbed.
+
+"Nothing to do?" exclaimed the teacher, "why, little girl, you should
+study your lesson as you see the other children doing. That is why you
+are in school--to study."
+
+Marian went to her seat, but how to study she didn't know. She watched
+the other children bending over their books, making noises with their
+lips, so she bent over her primer and made so much noise the teacher
+told her she must keep still.
+
+"Why, Marian," said the young lady, "what makes you so naughty? I
+thought you were a good little girl!"
+
+Poor Marian didn't know what to think. Tears, however, cleared her
+views. She decided that as going to school was a thing that must be
+endured because Mrs. Moore would be displeased otherwise, it would do
+no good to make a fuss. She would draw pictures on her slate or play
+with the stones in her pocket--anything to pass the time. There was
+a great deal in knowing what one could or could not do safely, and
+Marian learned that lesson faster than she learned to read. When she
+was dismissed that afternoon, the little girl flew to the nursery to
+tell Mrs. Moore about her first school day. Soon after when Marian ran
+laughing into the hall on her way to the playground, she met Janey
+Clark who sat behind her in school.
+
+"Is Mrs. Moore your ma?" asked Janey.
+
+"What's a ma?" inquired Marian, seizing Janey's two hands.
+
+"A ma," was the reply, "why a ma is a mother. Is Mrs. Moore your
+mother?"
+
+"Maybe," agreed Marian. "Oh, no, she isn't either. I know all about
+mothers, we sing about 'em, of course. I guess I never had one."
+
+"My mother just died," declared Janey, tossing her head in an important
+way that aroused Marian's envy.
+
+"Well, mine died too!" responded Marian.
+
+"Did you have a funeral?" persisted Janey.
+
+"Did you?" Marian cautiously inquired.
+
+"Well I should say yes," was the reply.
+
+"Then I did too," observed Marian.
+
+"Well," remarked Janey, "that's nothing to brag of; I don't suppose
+there's anybody in this Home that got here unless all their folks died
+dead. We are here because we don't belong anywhere else, and we are
+going to be given away to folks that'll take us, pretty soon."
+
+That was too much for Marian. "Why, Janey Clark, what a talk!" she
+exclaimed, then turning, she ran back to the nursery.
+
+"Nanna, Nanna!" she cried, "where's my mother?"
+
+Mrs. Moore almost dropped a fretful baby at the question.
+
+"Did I ever have a mother?" continued the child, whose dark blue eyes
+looked black she was so much in earnest. "I thought mothers were just
+only in singing, but Janey Clark had a mother and she died, and if
+Janey Clark had a mother, I guess I had one too that died."
+
+The fretful baby was given to an assistant and Mrs. Moore took Marian
+in her lap. "What else did Janey tell you?" she asked.
+
+"Well, Janey said that all of us childrens are going to be gived away
+to folks. Mrs. Moore, did all the childrens that live here have mothers
+that died?"
+
+"Not all of them, Marian, some of the mothers are living and the
+children will go back to them: but your mother, little girl, will never
+come back for you. God took her away when He sent you to us. We keep
+little children here in our home until we find new fathers and mothers
+for them. Sometimes lovely mothers come here for little girls like
+you. How is it, Marian, do you want a mother?"
+
+The child nodded her head and looked so pleased Mrs. Moore was
+disappointed. It would be hard enough to part with the child anyway,
+but to think she wished to go was surprising.
+
+Two soft arms stole around Mrs. Moore's neck. "I'm going to have you
+for my mother," Marian explained, "and I'm going to live here always. I
+don't want to be gived away."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III
+
+SHE GOES TO CHURCH
+
+
+JANEY CLARK was taken ill one day and was carried to the hospital. When
+she returned months afterward, she had something to tell Marian.
+
+"You want to get yourself adopted," was her advice. "I'm going to,
+first chance I get. When I was too well to stay in the hospital and not
+enough well to come home, a pretty lady came and said would I like to
+go to her house and stay until I was all better."
+
+"Did she 'dopt you?" questioned Marian.
+
+"No, of course not, or I could have stayed at her house and she would
+be my mother. She didn't want to keep me but only to borrow me so
+the children she is aunt to would know about Little Pilgrims and
+how lucky it is not to be one their own selves. And at her house,"
+continued Janey, "if you liked something they had for dinner pretty
+well, you could have a second helping, if you would say please. You
+better believe I said it when there was ice cream. And the children
+she was aunt to took turns dividing chocolate candy with me, and the
+only trouble was they gave me too much and made me sick most all the
+time. What do you think! One day a girl said she wished I was a little
+cripple like a boy that was there once, because she liked to be kind
+to little cripples and wash their faces. Wasn't she just lovely? Oh,
+Marian, I want to be adopted and have a mother like that lady and a
+room all my own and everything."
+
+"But I would rather live with Mrs. Moore," objected Marian. "I've
+picked her out for my mother."
+
+"All right for you, stay here if you want to," agreed Janey, "but I'm
+not, you just wait and see."
+
+Janey Clark was adopted soon after and when Marian was invited to visit
+her, she changed her mind about living forever in the Home for Little
+Pilgrims. Mrs. Moore promised to choose a mother for her from the many
+visitors to the Home, yet she and Marian proved hard to suit.
+
+"I want a mother just like my Nanna," said Marian to the
+superintendent, who agreed to do all he could to find one. In spite of
+his help Marian seemed likely to stay in the Home, not because no one
+wanted her but because the child objected to the mothers who offered
+themselves. All these months the little girl was so happy and contented
+the superintendent said she was like a sunbeam among the Little
+Pilgrims and if the school-teacher had some ideas that he and Mrs.
+Moore didn't share, she smiled and said nothing.
+
+In time, Marian talked of the mother she wished to have as she did of
+heaven--of something beautiful but too indefinite and far away to be
+more than a dream. One never-to-be-forgotten morning, the dream took
+shape. A woman visited the Home, leading a little girl by the hand. A
+woman so lovely the face of the dullest Little Pilgrim lighted as she
+passed. It was not so much the bright gold of her hair, nor the blue
+eyes that attracted the children, but the way she smiled and the way
+she spoke won them all.
+
+She was the mother for whom Marian had waited. It didn't occur to the
+child that the woman might not want her.
+
+It was noon before the strangers were through visiting the chapel, the
+schoolroom, the nursery and the dormitories. Like a shadow Marian had
+followed them over the building, fearing to lose sight of her chosen
+mother. On reaching the dining-room the woman and child, with the
+superintendent, stood outside the door where they watched the Little
+Pilgrims march in to dinner. Noticing Marian, the superintendent asked
+her why she didn't go to the table, and Marian tried to tell him but
+couldn't speak a word. The man was about to send her in the dining-room
+when he caught the appealing look on the child's face. At that moment
+the stranger turned. Marian seized her dress and the woman, glancing
+down, saw the dear little one and stooping, kissed her.
+
+The superintendent smiled but Marian began to cry as the woman tried
+ever so gently to release her dress from the small, clinging fingers.
+
+"We must go now," the stranger said, "so good-bye, dear child."
+
+"I'm going with you," announced Marian. "I want you for my mother."
+
+"But, don't you see, I have a little girl? What could I do with two?"
+remonstrated the woman. "There, there," she continued, as Marian began
+to sob piteously, "run in to dinner and some day I will come to see
+you again. Perhaps they may let you visit my little girl and me before
+long. Would you like that?"
+
+"No, no," wailed Marian, "I want you for my mother."
+
+"Come, Marian, sweetheart, let's go find Mrs. Moore," suggested the
+superintendent, taking her by force from the visitor, whose eyes
+filled with tears at the sight of little outstretched arms. For years
+afterwards there were times when that woman seemed to feel the clinging
+fingers of the Little Pilgrim who chose her for her mother. She might
+have taken her home. The next time she called to inquire for the
+child, Marian was gone.
+
+An unexpected thing happened as Marian was borne away to the nursery.
+The stranger's little girl cried and would not be comforted because
+she couldn't stay and have dinner with the Little Pilgrims. She was
+still grieving over her first sorrow after Mrs. Moore had succeeded in
+winning back the smiles to the face of her precious Marian.
+
+"Well, I know one sure thing," declared the Little Pilgrim as she
+raised her head from Mrs. Moore's shoulder and brushed away the tears.
+"I know that same mother will come and get me some time and take me
+home and then you will come and live with me--and won't it be lovely!
+Let's have some dinner, I'm hungry!"
+
+Mrs. Moore smiled and sighed at the same time, but she ordered a
+luncheon for two served in the nursery and Marian's troubles vanished:
+also the luncheon.
+
+The next time the superintendent saw the child, she was sitting on the
+nursery floor singing to the babies. He was surprised and pleased when
+he heard the sweet, clear voice and straightway sought Mrs. Moore.
+
+"Let me take her Sunday," he suggested. "I didn't know our Marian was a
+singer."
+
+"Are you going into the country?" asked the nurse.
+
+"No, Mrs. Moore, not this time. We expect to have services in one of
+the largest churches right here in the city. We have made special
+arrangements and I shall take twenty-five of the best singers in the
+Home with me. Marian will have plenty of company."
+
+"She is young," objected Mrs. Moore.
+
+The superintendent laughed. "Petey Ross," said he, "was two years old
+when he made his first public appearance on the platform; Marian is
+nearly six."
+
+"Yes," agreed Mrs. Moore, "that is true and I remember that Petey
+Ross was adopted and in less than a week after that first appearance.
+Marian," she continued, "come here, darling. Do you want to go to a big
+church with the children next Sunday and sing one of the songs you and
+I sing to the babies?"
+
+"Yes, Nanna, what for?"
+
+"Because the superintendent wishes you to. Every Sunday he takes some
+of our little boys and girls away to sing in the different churches,
+where he tells the people all about the Home for Little Pilgrims."
+
+"Oh, yes, now I know," declared Marian. "Janey Clark used to go and
+sing. She said that was the way to get yourself adopted. I'd like to go
+if I don't have to get adopted and if Nanna may go too."
+
+"All right, Marian, I will go," assented Mrs. Moore, "and nobody shall
+adopt you unless you wish it. Now run back to the babies. Little Ned
+and Jakey are quarreling over the elephant. Hurry, Marian, or its ears
+will be gone."
+
+"She'll demand a salary in another year," remarked the superintendent,
+watching the little girl's successful management of the babies.
+
+"I shouldn't know how to get along without her," said Mrs. Moore, "and
+yet it isn't right to let her grow up here."
+
+Sunday morning it would have been hard to find a happier child than
+Marian anywhere in the big city. She had never been in a church before
+and quickly forgot her pretty white dress and curls in the wonder
+of it all. She sat on the platform, a radiant little Pilgrim among
+the twenty-five waifs. Soon the church was filled. After the opening
+exercises the service was turned over to the superintendent of the Home
+for Little Pilgrims. He made a few remarks, and then asked Marian to
+sing. Pleased by the friendly faces in the pews and encouraged by Mrs.
+Moore's presence, Marian sang timidly at first, then joyously as to the
+babies in the nursery.
+
+  "'I am Jesus' little lamb
+  Happy all the day I am,
+  Jesus loves me this I know
+  For I'm His lamb.'"
+
+As she went on with the song, the little girl was surprised to see many
+of the audience in tears. Even Mrs. Moore was wiping her eyes, although
+she smiled bravely and Marian knew she was not displeased. What could
+be the matter with the folks that bright Sunday morning? Janey Clark
+said everybody always cried at funerals. Perhaps it was a funeral. At
+the close of her song Marian sat down, much puzzled. After Johnnie
+Otis recited the poem he always recited on Visitors' Day at school,
+"The Orphan's Prayer," all the Little Pilgrims, Marian included, were
+asked to sing their chapel song. What was there sad about that, Marian
+wondered. She always sang it over and over to the babies to make them
+stop crying.
+
+  "It is all for the best, oh, my Father,
+    All for the best, all for the best."
+
+When the Little Pilgrims were seated, the superintendent made a speech
+to which Marian listened. For the first time in her life she knew the
+meaning of the Home for Little Pilgrims. She understood at last all
+that Janey Clark had tried to tell her. No wonder the people cried.
+Marian stared at the superintendent, longing and dreading to hear more.
+Story after story he told of wrecked homes and scattered families; of
+little children, homeless and friendless left to their fate upon the
+street.
+
+"Whatever may be the causes which bring these waifs to our doors,
+remember," said he, "the children themselves are not to blame. It is
+through no fault of theirs their young lives have been saddened and
+trouble has come upon them while your little ones are loved and cared
+for in comfortable homes."
+
+The superintendent grew eloquent as he went on. How could it be, Marian
+wondered, that she had never known before what a sad, sad place was
+the Little Pilgrims' Home? Where did her mother die and where was
+her father? Perhaps he was in the dreadful prison mentioned by the
+superintendent. It was such a pitiful thing to be a Little Pilgrim.
+Marian wondered how she had ever lived so long. Oh, if she could
+change places with one of the fortunate little ones in the pews. The
+superintendent was right. Every little girl needed a father and mother
+of her own. She wanted the lovely mother who had passed her by. What
+was the superintendent saying? something about her? The next thing
+Marian knew the man had taken her in his arms and placed her upon the
+little table beside him. She thought he said "'For of such is the
+Kingdom of Heaven,'"--she wasn't sure.
+
+In the quiet moment that followed, Marian looked all over the church
+for the mother of her dreams. Maybe she was there and perhaps she would
+take her home. If she could only see that one face for a moment.
+
+"I am going to ask our little girl for another song," the
+superintendent said, telling Marian what to sing. The child hesitated,
+then looked appealing towards Mrs. Moore. She had forgotten her during
+the speech--dear, kind Mrs. Moore.
+
+"Don't be frightened," whispered the superintendent, whereupon to the
+surprise of every one in the church, Marian put her head upon his
+shoulder and sobbed aloud, "I don't want to be a Little Pilgrim any
+more! Oh, I don't want to be a Little Pilgrim any more!"
+
+Another second and Mrs. Moore's arms were around the child and the
+superintendent was alone on the platform with the twenty-five.
+
+"He told me to take you for a walk in the park," whispered Mrs. Moore,
+"so don't cry, Marian, and we will leave the church quickly as we can.
+We will talk about the Little Pilgrims out in the sunshine where the
+birds are singing and we can see the blue sky."
+
+Mrs. Moore would have been tempted to have stayed in the church had she
+known the superintendent's reason for wishing her to take the child
+away; nor would the good man have done as he did, could he have guessed
+the immediate consequences. When Marian was gone, the superintendent
+told her story effectively. She might have had her choice of many homes
+within a week had it not been for the appearance of Aunt Amelia.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV
+
+AUNT AMELIA
+
+
+THERE was no question about it. Aunt Amelia had a perfect right to
+claim the child. The superintendent was sorry to admit it, but what
+could he do? Mrs. Moore was heartbroken, but she was powerless. The
+proofs were positive. Aunt Amelia's husband and Marian Lee's father
+were half-brothers and here was Aunt Amelia insisting upon her right to
+do her duty by the child.
+
+Marian never heard of Aunt Amelia until it was all over and the
+superintendent sent for her. She came dancing into the office, her
+face aglow until she saw Aunt Amelia. Then the sunshine faded from
+her eyes and she shrank past the stranger, scarcely breathing until
+the superintendent's arms were about her. From that safe shelter she
+surveyed Aunt Amelia.
+
+There was nothing in the woman's appearance to inspire confidence in
+a little child. She was tall, thin, bloodless. One felt conscious of
+the bones in her very forehead. She wore her scant, black hair in wiry
+crimps parted in the middle. Her eyes were the color of stone, while
+her lips formed a thin, pale lone line closing over projecting front
+teeth. There was a brittle look about her ears and nose as though a
+blow might shatter them. Angles completed the picture.
+
+"You say you have a child of your own, Mrs. St. Claire?" The
+superintendent asked the question doubtfully. It seemed probable that
+his ears had deceived him.
+
+"I have," was the reply.
+
+"Then Marian will be sure of a playmate." The man seemed talking to
+himself.
+
+"If she behaves herself--perhaps," was the response.
+
+"What do you mean?" demanded the superintendent.
+
+"I think I expressed myself clearly," said Mrs. St. Claire. "If Marian
+behaves and is worthy of my little daughter's companionship, we may
+allow them to play together occasionally."
+
+"Does she want to 'dopt me?" whispered Marian; "tell her no, quick--I
+got to go back to the nursery. Put me down."
+
+"I am your Aunt Amelia," announced the woman, "and I have come to take
+you to Michigan to live with your Uncle George and me."
+
+"Where did I get any Uncle George?" asked Marian, turning to the
+superintendent.
+
+"It isn't necessary to give a mere child too much information," put in
+Mrs. St. Claire; "it is enough for her to know that she has relatives
+who are willing to take her and do their duty by her."
+
+Regardless of this the man answered one of the questions he saw in
+Marian's solemn blue eyes.
+
+"Your uncle and aunt," he explained, "are visiting in the city; they
+were in church last Sunday when you sang. When relatives come for
+Little Pilgrims, Marian, we have to let them go."
+
+"You will not send me away with--her!" exclaimed the child, terror and
+entreaty expressed in the uplifted face.
+
+"Dear child, we must."
+
+"But I won't go, I won't go," cried Marian, clinging to the
+superintendent for protection. "Oh, you won't send me away, Mrs. Moore
+won't let them take me--I won't go! Please let me stay until the pretty
+mother comes again and I will ask her to take me and I know she will.
+Oh, if you love me, don't send me away with her!"
+
+"It is just as I told my husband Sunday morning," remarked Mrs. St.
+Claire as the superintendent tried to soothe Marian's violent grief. "I
+said the child was subject to tantrums. It is sad to see such traits
+cropping out in one so young. Lack of training may have much to do with
+it. Other influences----"
+
+"Pardon me, madam," interrupted the superintendent, "you forget that
+this little one has been with us since she was six months old. Mrs.
+Moore has been a mother to her in every sense of the word. It is only
+natural that she dreads going among strangers. She is a good little
+girl and we all love her. Hush, sweetheart," he whispered to the
+sobbing, trembling child, "perhaps your aunt may decide to leave you
+with us."
+
+"I--I--I won't--won't go," protested Marian, "I--I won't go, I won't
+go!"
+
+"Are you willing, madam, to give this child to us?" continued the
+superintendent; "perhaps you may wish to relinquish your claim, under
+the circumstances."
+
+"I never shrink from my duty," declared the woman, rising as she spoke,
+grim determination in every line of her purple gown; "my husband
+feels it a disgrace to find his brother's child in an orphan asylum.
+She cannot be left in a charitable institution while we have a crust
+to bestow upon her. She will take nothing from this place except the
+articles which belonged to her mother. I will call for the child at
+eight this evening. Good-morning, sir."
+
+"I--I won't go--I--won't go! You--you needn't come for me!" Marian had
+the last word that time.
+
+The babies were left to the care of assistant nurses that afternoon.
+Mrs. Moore held Marian and rocked her as on that night so long before
+when she became a little Pilgrim. For some time neither of them spoke
+and tears fell like rain above the brown head nestled in Mrs. Moore's
+arms. Marian was the first to break the silence. "I--I won't go, I
+won't go," she repeated between choking sobs, "I--I won't go, I won't
+go, she'll find out she won't get me!"
+
+Mrs. Moore tried to think of something to say. Just then a merry voice
+was heard singing in the hall outside,
+
+  "It is all for the best, oh, my Father,
+   All for the best, all for the best."
+
+"Will they let me come to see you every day?" asked Marian when the
+singer was beyond hearing. "Will they?" she repeated as Mrs. Moore made
+no answer. "Where is Michigan, anyway? What street car goes out there?"
+
+It was some time before Mrs. Moore could speak. Her strongest impulse
+was to hide the precious baby. What would become of her darling among
+unloving strangers? Who would teach her right from wrong? Suddenly
+Mrs. Moore realized that in days to come there might be time enough for
+tears. There were yet a few hours left her with the little girl which
+she must improve.
+
+Gently and tenderly she told Marian the truth. Michigan was far, far
+away. She must go alone, to live among strangers--yet not alone, for
+there was One in heaven who would be with her and who would watch over
+her and love her always, as He had in the Home. Poor Marian heard the
+voice but the words meant nothing to her until long afterwards. Mrs.
+Moore herself could never recall just what she said that sad day. She
+knew she tried to tell Marian to be brave, to be good; to tell the
+truth and do right: but more than once she broke down and wept with her
+darling.
+
+When Mrs. St. Claire called at eight, she was greeted by a quiet,
+submissive child who said she was ready to go. More than that, the
+little thing tried to smile as she promised to be a good girl. Perhaps
+the smile wouldn't have been so easily discouraged if Mrs. St. Claire
+had kissed the swollen, tear-stained face, or had said one comforting
+word.
+
+The time of parting came. When it was over, Mrs. Moore lifted the
+sobbing child into the carriage. Then she knew that in spite of the
+stars the night was dark.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V
+
+MARIAN'S NEW HOME
+
+
+THE second day of the journey to the new home, Marian laughed aloud.
+She had slept well the night before and had taken a lively interest in
+everything she saw from the time she was awakened by the first glimpse
+of daylight through the sleeper windows. Not that she was happy, far
+from it, but it was something that she wasn't utterly miserable.
+
+Uncle George was pleasanter than his wife, and although he said little
+from behind his newspaper, that little was encouraging: his tones were
+kind.
+
+Ella St. Claire, the cousin, three years younger than Marian, was
+inclined to be friendly. Left to themselves the children might have
+had a delightful time, but Mrs. St. Claire had no intention of leaving
+the two to themselves; it was not part of her plan. Marian made
+several attempts to get acquainted and Ella kept edging away from her
+mother, until in the middle of the forenoon, Mrs. St. Claire remarked
+that if she wished to have any peace she must separate the children.
+Accordingly she took Ella by the hand and went several seats back,
+leaving Marian alone. As she left, Ella begged for a cooky.
+
+"I'm hungry, too," added Marian.
+
+Mrs. St. Claire gave Ella the cooky and passed a bit of dry bread to
+Marian.
+
+"If you please," suggested Marian, "I like cookies, too."
+
+"You will take what I give you or go without," said Mrs. St. Claire;
+"you can't be starving after the breakfast you ate in Buffalo."
+
+Marian, sorry she had spoken, dropped from sight in the high-backed
+seat. There was a lump in her throat and so deep a longing for the
+Home she had left it was hard to keep the tears back. Just then an old
+man began snoring so loud the passengers smiled and Marian laughed in
+spite of herself. Having laughed once she grew more cheerful. There
+were green fields and bits of woodland to be seen from the car windows,
+cows, sheep, bright flowers growing along the track, country roads and
+little children playing in their yards, sitting on fences and waving
+their hands to the passing train. Wonderful sights for a child straight
+from the Little Pilgrims' Home in a big city.
+
+Uncle George, growing tired of his paper, crossed the aisle and sat
+down beside his niece. Marian looked up with a happy smile. "I wish the
+cars would stop where the flowers grow," she said, "I'd like to pick
+some."
+
+"The cars will stop where the flowers grow," answered the man. "When we
+get home you will live among the flowers; Marian, will you like that?"
+
+"Oh, goody!" the child exclaimed. "Oh, I am so glad! May I pick some
+flowers?"
+
+"Indeed you may, and we'll go to the woods where the wild flowers are.
+Were you ever in the woods?"
+
+Marian shook her head. "I've been in the Public Gardens and on the
+Common, though, and I know all about woods."
+
+"Who told you about the woods?"
+
+"Nanna--Mrs. Moore."
+
+"Was she your nurse?"
+
+"Yes, Uncle George, she was my everybody. I love her more than anybody
+else in the world. She is the prettiest, nicest one in the Home."
+
+"See here, little girl," interrupted the man, "will you promise me
+something?"
+
+"Why, yes, what is it?"
+
+"I want you to do me this one favor. Don't tell any one you were ever
+in an orphan's home."
+
+The child was silent. "What will I talk about?" she finally asked.
+
+Uncle George laughed. "Take my advice and don't say much about
+anything," was his suggestion. "You'll find it the easiest way to get
+along. But whatever you talk about, don't mention that Home."
+
+Later, Aunt Amelia added a word on the same subject, but in a manner so
+harsh Marian became convinced that to have lived in an orphan asylum
+was a disgrace equal perhaps to a prison record. She determined never
+to mention the Home for Little Pilgrims. Janey Clark must have known
+what she was talking about and even Mrs. Moore, when questioned, had
+admitted that if she had a little girl it would make her feel sad to
+know she lived in a Home. Before the journey was ended Marian was
+thankful that relatives had claimed her. Perhaps if she tried hard, she
+might be able to win Aunt Amelia's love. She would be a good little
+girl and do her best.
+
+One thing Marian learned before she had lived ten days with Aunt
+Amelia. The part of the house where she was welcome was the outside.
+Fortunately it was summer and the new home was in a country town where
+streets were wide and the yards were large. Back of Aunt Amelia's
+garden was an orchard, and there or in the locust grove near by, Marian
+passed untroubled hours. The front lawn, bordered with shrubs and
+flower beds, was pleasing enough, but it wasn't the place for Marian
+who was not allowed to pick a blossom, although the pansies begged for
+more chance to bloom. She could look at the pansies though, and feel
+of the roses if Aunt Amelia was out of sight. How Marian loved the
+roses--especially the velvety pink ones. She told them how much she
+loved them, and if the roses made no response to the endearing terms
+lavished upon them, at least they never turned away, nor said unkind,
+hard things to make her cry and long for Mrs. Moore.
+
+When Marian had been with the St. Claires a week, Aunt Amelia told her
+she could never hope to hear from Mrs. Moore, partly because Mrs. Moore
+didn't know where she lived, and also because Mrs. Moore would gladly
+forget such a bad tempered, ungrateful little girl.
+
+The pink roses under the blue sky were a comfort then. So were the
+birds. Day after day Marian gave them messages to carry to Mrs. Moore.
+She talked to them in the orchard and in the locust grove, and many
+a wild bird listened, with its head on one side, to the loving words
+of the little girl and then flew straight away over the tree-tops
+and the house-tops, away and away out of sight. Several weeks passed
+before Marian knew that she might pick dandelions and clover blossoms,
+Bouncing Bet and all the roadside blooms, to her heart's content. That
+was joy!
+
+Under a wide-spreading apple-tree, Marian made a collection of
+treasures she found in the yard. Curious stones were chief among them.
+Bits of moss, pretty twigs, bright leaves, broken china, colored
+glass--there was no end to the resources of that yard. One morning she
+found a fragile cup of blue. It looked like a tiny bit of painted egg
+shell, but how could an egg be so small, and who could have painted it?
+She carried the wonder to Uncle George who told her it was part of a
+robin's egg.
+
+"Who ate it?" asked Marian, whereupon Uncle George explained to her
+what the merest babies knew in the world outside the city. More than
+that, he went to the orchard, found a robin's nest on the low branch of
+an apple-tree, and lifted her on his shoulder so that she might see it.
+There were four blue eggs in the nest. Marian wanted to break them to
+see the baby birds inside, but Uncle George cautioned her to wait and
+let the mother bird take care of her own round cradle.
+
+In the meantime Madam Robin scolded Uncle George and Marian until they
+left the tree to watch her from a distance. That robin's nest filled
+Marian's every thought for days and days. When the baby birds were
+hatched she was so anxious to see them oftener than Uncle George had
+time to lift her on his shoulder, she learned to climb the tree. After
+that Marian was oftener in the apple-trees than under them. Had there
+been no rainy days and had the summer lasted all the year, Marian would
+have been a fortunate child. Aunt Amelia called her a tomboy and said
+no one would ever catch Ella St. Claire climbing trees and running like
+a wild child across the yard and through the locust grove.
+
+The two children admired each other. Had it been possible they would
+have played together all the time. Marian, who became a sun-browned
+romp, thought there never was such a dainty creature as her delicate,
+white-skinned cousin Ella, whose long black curls were never tumbled
+by the wind or play: and Ella never missed a chance to talk with her
+laughing, joyous cousin, who could always think of something new.
+
+Aunt Amelia said that Ella wasn't the same child when she was left
+with Marian for half an hour, and she could not allow the children to
+play together for her little daughter's sake. It was her duty as a
+mother to guard that little daughter from harmful influences.
+
+This was the talk to which Marian listened day after day. It grieved
+her to the quick. Again and again, especially on rainy days, she
+promised Aunt Amelia that she would be good, and each time Aunt Amelia
+sent her to her room to think over the bad things she had done and what
+an ungrateful child she was. Although Marian became convinced that she
+was a bad child, she couldn't sit down and think of her sins long at a
+time, and her penitent spells usually ended in a concert. Uncle George
+took her to one early in the summer, and ever after, playing concert
+was one of Marian's favorite games. She had committed "Bingen on the
+Rhine" to memory from hearing it often read in school at the Home, and
+on rainy days when sent to her room, she chanted it, wailed it and
+recited it until poor Ella was unhappy and discontented because she
+could have no part in the fun.
+
+Ella had a toy piano kept as an ornament. Marian's piano was a chair,
+her stool was a box and her sheet music, an almanac: but in her soul
+was joy.
+
+"What can you do with such a child?" demanded Aunt Amelia.
+
+"Let her alone," counseled Uncle George.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI
+
+THAT YELLOW CUCUMBER
+
+
+ONE summer day the St. Claires were the guests of a farmer who lived a
+few miles from town. Ella stayed in the house with her mother and the
+farmer's wife, but Marian saw the farm; the cows and the sheep and the
+fields of grain. She asked more questions that day than the hired man
+ever answered at one time in his life before, and when night came he
+and Marian were tired.
+
+"She knows as much about farming as I do," the man said with a laugh
+as he put the sleepy child on the back seat of the carriage when the
+family were ready to go home.
+
+"I've had a lovely time, Mr. Hired Man," Marian roused herself to
+remark, "and to-morrow I'm going to play farm."
+
+"Good haying weather," the man suggested with a smile; "better get your
+barns up quick's you can."
+
+"I'm going to," was the response; "it's a lovely game."
+
+Whatever Marian saw or heard that pleased her fancy, she played.
+Stories that were read to the little Ella were enacted again and again
+in Marian's room if the day was rainy, out in the orchard or the locust
+grove if the day was fair. Farming promised to be the most interesting
+game of all.
+
+Early the next morning Marian visited what she called the yarrow jungle
+ever since Uncle George read jungle stories to Ella. More than one
+queer looking creature tried to keep out of sight when her footsteps
+were heard. The old black beetle scampered away as fast as his six legs
+would carry him, though it can't be possible he remembered the time
+when Marian captured him for her museum. Crickets gathered up their
+fiddles, seeking safety beyond the fence. Perhaps they thought Marian
+wanted them to play in the orchestra at another snail wedding. Even the
+ants hastened to the hills beyond the jungle, leaving only the old toad
+to wink and blink at the happy one of whom he had no fear.
+
+"Well, Mr. Toad," said she, "why don't you hop along? I've come to
+make my farm out here where the yarrow grows. Why don't you live in
+the garden land? I would if I were you. Don't you know about the cool
+tomato groves and the cabbage tents? I've got to clear away this jungle
+so the sun may shine upon my farm the way the country man said. You
+really must go, so hop along and stop winking and blinking at me." The
+old toad wouldn't stir, so for his sake Marian spared the yarrow jungle.
+
+"After all, I'll make my farm here on the border-land," said she, while
+the daisies nodded and the buttercups shone brighter than before.
+"Only, I'll tell you one thing, Mr. Toad, that maybe you won't like.
+If you will stay there, you'll have to be an elephant in the jungle.
+There, now, I s'pose you are sorry. I say--be an elephant and now you
+are one." The toad didn't mind a bit. He was so used to being changed
+into all sorts of animals that he never seemed to notice whether he was
+an elephant or a kangaroo.
+
+Day after day Marian worked upon her farm, enclosing fields and
+meadows with high stone walls, clearing roads and planting trees.
+Whatever she touched became what she wished it to be. Pasteboard
+match-boxes became houses and barns. Sticks became men working upon
+the farm and spools were wagons bearing loads of hay from place to
+place. At a word from her, green apples, standing upon four twigs, were
+instantly changed, becoming pigs, cows, sheep and horses. Kernels of
+yellow corn were chickens. It was a wonderful farm and for many a sunny
+hour Marian was happy. Even the old toad, winking and blinking beneath
+the shadow of the yarrow jungle, must have known it.
+
+At last there came a morning when the child went strolling through the
+garden. Suddenly, while singing her usual merry song, the joyous look
+faded from her face. She no longer saw the butterflies floating about
+nor cared that the bumble-bee wore his best velvet coat. There were
+tiny green cucumbers in that garden, just the right size for horses on
+the little girl's farm. There were a great many cucumbers, so many that
+Marian felt sure no one would ever miss a few. She picked a handful
+and knew that she was stealing. The sun went under a cloud. A blue jay
+mocked at her and a wren scolded. Though far from happy, Marian hurried
+away to her farm. The old toad saw her sticking twigs in the cucumbers.
+Then she placed them in a row.
+
+"Now be animals!" she commanded, but the spell was broken--she was no
+longer a farmer with magic power, but a pink-faced little girl who had
+done what she knew was wrong. And the cucumbers refused to be anything
+but cucumbers.
+
+Again the little girl went to the garden, returning with one big yellow
+cucumber that had gone to seed. "Now I guess I'll have a cucumber
+animal," she said, in tones so cross the daisies seemed to tremble.
+"You bad old cucumber, you're no good anyway, nobody could eat you, nor
+make a pickle of you, so you may just turn yourself into a giant cow
+right off this minute! There you are, standing on four sticks. Now be a
+cow, I say."
+
+The old cucumber wouldn't be a cow. There it stood, big and yellow,
+spoiling the looks of the farm.
+
+"What's the matter with you, old toad?" went on the little girl. "I
+tell you that's a cow, and if you don't believe it you can just get
+off my farm quick's you can hop. You're homely anyway, and you turned
+yourself back into a toad when I said be an elephant."
+
+How surprised the toad was when the little girl took a stick and poked
+him along ahead of her. The poor old fellow had never been treated like
+that in his life. When he reached the garden he hid beneath the nearest
+cabbage plant. The little girl went on but came back in a short time
+with her apron full of cucumbers.
+
+"I guess I'll sit down here and put the sticks in them," she said:
+but instead of touching the cucumbers the child sat on the ground
+beside the toad forever so long, looking cross, oh, so cross. The toad
+kept perfectly still and by and by he and the little girl heard a man
+whistling. In a few minutes there was a long whistle and then no sound
+in the jungle save the buzzing of flies and the chirping of birds. The
+little girl was afraid of her uncle who had been her one friend in that
+land of strangers. Soon she heard them calling and with her apron full
+of cucumbers, Marian rose to meet him.
+
+It may be that the old toad, as he hopped back to the yarrow jungle,
+thought that he should never again see the little girl: but the next
+morning in the midst of brightest sunshine, Marian returned, her
+head drooping. With her little feet she destroyed the farm and then,
+throwing herself face downward among the ruins, wept bitterly. When she
+raised her head the old toad was staring solemnly at her, causing fresh
+tears to overflow upon the round cheeks.
+
+"Don't look at me, toad, nobody does," she wailed. "I'm dreadfully bad
+and it doesn't do a bit of good to be sorry. Nobody loves me and nobody
+ever will. Aunt Amelia says that Nanna wouldn't love me now. Uncle
+George doesn't love me, he says he's disappointed in me! Oh, dear, oh,
+dear! Nobody in this world loves me, toad, and oh, dear, I've got to
+eat all alone in the kitchen for two weeks, and even the housemaid
+doesn't love me and can't talk to me! Oh, dear, what made me do it!"
+
+What could an old toad do but hide in the yarrow jungle: yet when he
+turned away Marian felt utterly deserted. It was dreadful to be so bad
+that even a toad wouldn't look at her.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII
+
+AN UNDESERVING CHILD
+
+
+TRY as hard as she would, Marian could not fit into Aunt Amelia's home.
+Everywhere within its walls, she was Marian the unwanted. Saddest of
+all, the child annoyed Uncle George. Not at first, to be sure; he liked
+his little niece in the beginning, but when Aunt Amelia and the little
+Ella were rendered unhappy by her presence, that made a difference.
+
+Early in the summer Uncle George insisted upon taking Marian wherever
+Ella and her mother went, to picnics, to the circus and other places of
+amusement, but as something disagreeable was sure to happen and trouble
+seemed to follow little Marian, she was finally left at home where her
+gay talk and merriment could not reach the ears of Aunt Amelia, who
+called her talk "clatter" and her laughter "cackle."
+
+"It's cucumbers," sobbed Marian, the first time she was left with the
+sympathetic housemaid.
+
+"What do you mean, you poor little thing?" asked the girl.
+
+The child looked up in astonishment. "Don't you remember about the
+cucumbers?" she asked reproachfully.
+
+"Cucumbers," sniffed the girl. "Never mind, you poor, sweet darling,
+we'll have a tea-party this afternoon, you and I,--that old pelican!"
+
+Marian knew no better than to tell about the tea-party, what a jolly
+time she had and how happy she was, closing her story by asking Uncle
+George if a pelican was a chicken.
+
+"Because," she added, "we had a little dish of cream chicken and I
+didn't see any pelican, but Annie did say two or three times, 'that old
+pelican!'"
+
+Aunt Amelia was prejudiced against pelicans and she objected to
+tea-parties, so Annie packed her trunk and left. Lala took her place.
+Lala was equally kind but far too wise. She befriended the little girl
+every way in her power but cautioned her to keep her mouth shut. She
+went so far as to instruct the child in the art of lying and had there
+not been deep in Marian's nature a love of truth, Lala's influence
+might have been more effective. Marian turned from her without knowing
+why, nor would she accept any favors from the girl unless she believed
+Aunt Amelia approved.
+
+Lala called Marian a "Little fool," Aunt Amelia called her an
+undeserving, ungrateful child who would steal if she were not watched,
+a saucy, bold "young one" who had disappointed her Uncle George, and
+Uncle George plainly didn't love her. What wonder that Marian had a
+small opinion of herself and dreaded the first Monday in September, the
+beginning of her school-days among strangers.
+
+The schoolhouse was so far from where Aunt Amelia lived, Marian carried
+her luncheon in a tin pail. The child left home that Monday, a timid,
+shrinking little mortal, afraid to speak to any one. She returned,
+happy as a lark, swinging her dinner pail and singing a new song until
+within sight of the St. Claire home. Then she walked more slowly and
+entered the gate like a weary pilgrim. She expected trouble, poor
+little Marian, but there happened to be callers, giving her a chance to
+escape unnoticed to the locust grove where she made a jumping rope of a
+wild grape vine and played until the shadows were long and the day was
+done.
+
+That evening Uncle George questioned Marian about her teacher and
+how she liked school. "I hope," said he, when he had listened to the
+account so gladly given, "I hope you will be a credit to your uncle and
+that you will behave yourself and get to the head of your class and
+stay there. Don't give your Uncle George any cause to be ashamed of his
+niece. I want to be proud of you."
+
+"Oh, do you!" exclaimed the child. "Oh, I'll try so hard to be good and
+learn my lessons best of anybody. Then will you love me?"
+
+"Good children are always loved," put in Aunt Amelia. "Doesn't your
+Uncle George love Ella?"
+
+"She's his little girl," ventured Marian, longing for a place beside
+Ella in her uncle's lap. He certainly did love Ella.
+
+"Sit down, child," said Uncle George, "you're my brother's little girl,
+aren't you, and you are Ella's cousin, aren't you?"
+
+"I am sure she ought to be grateful," interrupted Aunt Amelia, "with
+all she has done for her and such a home provided for her----"
+
+"Oh, I am, I am," protested Marian earnestly. "I'm so glad I've got a
+home I don't know what to do, and I'm gratefuller'n anything----"
+
+"Queer way of showing your gratitude," exclaimed Aunt Amelia; "a more
+undeserving child I never saw."
+
+Uncle George bit his lip. "Now don't cry, Marian," he cautioned, as the
+child's eyes filled with tears. "I have a story to read you and Ella,
+so sit down and be quiet."
+
+"Don't expect her to be quiet," Aunt Amelia persisted. "If she would
+listen to stories as Ella does, I wouldn't send her to bed. You know
+as well as I do that she interrupts and asks questions and gets in
+a perfect fever of excitement. Ella behaves like a lady. You never
+catch her squirming and fidgeting about, acting like a perfect
+jumping-jack----"
+
+"No," remarked Uncle George, opening the book in his hand, "she goes to
+sleep. Don't you, pet?"
+
+"Go to bed, Marian," Aunt Amelia commanded. "Not a word. I shall not
+allow you to add sauciness to disobedience. Go!"
+
+Uncle George frowned, put away the book and reached for his newspaper:
+then, touched by the pathetic figure in the doorway he called the
+child back. "That's right," he said, "be a good girl and obey your
+aunt promptly. She has your interest at heart, child. Come, kiss Uncle
+George good-night."
+
+Marian was surprised because her natural tendency to kiss every one in
+the family before going to bed had been severely checked and she had
+been obliged to whisper her good-nights to the cat. If she sometimes
+kissed its soft fur, what difference did it make, if the cat had no
+objection.
+
+"Now kiss little cousin Ella," suggested Uncle George, but Ella covered
+her face, saying her mother had told her never to let Marian touch her.
+
+Uncle George looked so angry Marian didn't know what was going to
+happen. He put little Ella in her mother's lap and then taking Marian
+in his arms, carried her to her room. After the child had said her
+prayers and was in bed, Uncle George sat beside her and talked a long,
+long while. He told her to try and be a good child and do her best in
+school.
+
+Marian dreamed that night of Mrs. Moore and the little stranger's
+mother. When she awoke in the starlight she was not afraid as usual.
+She thought of Uncle George and how she would try to please him in
+school that he might be proud of her and love her as she loved him, and
+so fell peacefully asleep.
+
+When the man was looking over his papers the next morning before
+breakfast he felt a touch upon his arm. He smiled when he saw Marian.
+"I want to tell you," she said, "I'm awful sorry about the cucumbers."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII
+
+IN THE NAME OF SANTA CLAUS
+
+
+IN November Ella and her mother began making plans for Christmas. Aunt
+Amelia invited seven little girls to tea one night when Uncle George
+was away, and Marian ate in the kitchen with Lala. The seven were
+all older than Ella and one of them, little Ruth Higgins, knowing no
+better, asked for Marian. Lala overheard the answer and was indignant.
+
+"You poor little lamb," she sputtered, upon returning to the kitchen,
+"I'd run away if I were you."
+
+"Where would I run to?" questioned Marian.
+
+"Anywhere'd be better than here," the girl replied, "and that woman
+calls herself a Christian!"
+
+"She's a awful cross Christian," Marian admitted in a whisper, brushing
+away the tears that came when she heard the peals of laughter from the
+dining-room.
+
+"I wouldn't cry if I were you," advised the girl. "You'll only spoil
+your pretty eyes and it will do them good to see you cry, you poor
+baby. The idea of having a party and making you stay out here!"
+
+"It's a Club," corrected Marian, "I've heard 'em talking about it.
+Dorothy Avery and Ruth Higgins belong. I've tried so hard to be good
+so I could be in it. They are going to sew presents for poor children
+and give them toys and everything they don't want their own selves, and
+then when Christmas day comes they're going to have a sleigh ride and
+take the things to the poor children. If I was good like Ella, I could
+be in it. I used to be good, Lala, truly, I did."
+
+"There, there, don't cry," begged Lala. "Look a-here! did you ever see
+anybody dance the lame man's jig?"
+
+Marian shook her head, whereupon Lala performed the act to the music
+of a mournful tune she hummed, while Marian laughed until the Club was
+forgotten. There was plenty of fun in the kitchen after that. In the
+midst of the hilarity Ella appeared to tell Marian it was her bedtime.
+
+"Are you ever afraid, Lala, when you wake up all alone in the night?"
+asked Marian as she started up the back stairs.
+
+"I never wake up," said Lala. "Do you, Marian?"
+
+"Yes, and I'm lonesome without all the little girls. Sometimes I'm so
+frightened I pretty nearly die when I'm all alone and it's dark."
+
+"Little girls," echoed Lala, "what little girls? Where did you live
+before you came here?"
+
+"When I was good I lived in a big city, Lala."
+
+"Tell me about it," the girl insisted.
+
+"If you'll promise you won't ever tell, I will," declared Marian. "I'll
+have to whisper it. I lived in a beautiful orphan's home, Lala."
+
+"Oh!" exclaimed Lala. "Oh, you poor baby."
+
+"Of course it's dreadful," Marian hastened to say, "but I couldn't
+help it, Lala, truly I couldn't; they took me there when I was a baby
+and it was a lovely place, only, it was a Home."
+
+"Do you know anything about your father and mother?"
+
+"Oh, I guess they're dead--my mother is anyway, and I'm 'fraid about my
+father."
+
+"What do you mean?"
+
+"Well, Lala, Aunt Amelia always says, what can you expect when you
+think what my father was. I guess may be he was a stealer because
+Aunt Amelia won't stop talking about the cucumbers and what could you
+expect. Maybe he is in prison."
+
+"No, your father is not in prison, Marion Lee!" Lala exclaimed.
+"Listen. It was your father I heard them talking about with some
+callers the other day. I'm sure of it now, because they said the man
+was a great deal younger than your uncle----"
+
+"Oh, tell me, do tell me what you know about my father?" besought
+Marian, walking back into the kitchen on tiptoes.
+
+"Oh, I don't know much," said the girl, "but he isn't in prison,
+that's one sure thing. He went away to South America years ago to make
+his fortune, and they know that all the men who went with him were
+killed, and as your father never came back they know he must be dead."
+
+"What was there bad about that?" questioned the small daughter.
+
+"Nothing," was the reply, "only he and your Uncle George had a quarrel.
+Your uncle didn't want him to go because he said your father had plenty
+of money anyway, and it all came out as he said it would."
+
+At that moment, Ella returned. Seeing Marian, she forgot that she was
+after a drink of water. "Oh, Marian Lee!" she exclaimed. "I'm going
+straight back and tell mamma you didn't go to bed when I told you to.
+You'll be sorry."
+
+Marian, the guilty, flew up the back stairs, expecting swift
+punishment. She was sure she deserved it, and what would Uncle George
+say? It was so hard to be good. Retribution was left to Santa Claus.
+How could a disobedient, ungrateful child expect to be remembered by
+that friend of good children? How could Marian hope for a single gift?
+Aunt Amelia didn't know. Nevertheless the little girl pinned her faith
+to Santa Claus. He had never forgotten her nor the two hundred waifs at
+the Home. Teddy Daniels once made a face at the superintendent the very
+day before Christmas, yet Santa Claus gave him a drum.
+
+Marian wasn't the least surprised Christmas morning when she found her
+stockings hanging by the sitting-room grate filled to the brim, exactly
+as Ella's were. She was delighted beyond expression.
+
+"Oh, oh, oh!" she cried. "Both my stockings are full of things for
+me. Oh, see the packages! Oh, I am so happy! Just only look at the
+presents!" Uncle George left the room and Marian sat upon the rug to
+examine her treasures.
+
+"Why don't you look in your stockings, Ella?" she suggested. "Let's
+undo our presents together."
+
+"No, I'd rather wait and see what you'll say when you know what you've
+got!" Ella replied. "Mamma and I know something."
+
+"Hush!" cautioned Aunt Amelia. "Let's see what Santa Claus has brought
+Marian. She knows whether she's been a deserving, grateful child or
+not."
+
+Why would Aunt Amelia remind one of disagreeable things on Christmas
+morning? Marian's chin quivered before she took a thing from her
+stocking, whereupon Aunt Amelia smiled. In the meantime, Ella, becoming
+impatient, emptied one of her stockings in her mother's lap and began a
+series of squeals as toys, games and dolls tumbled out.
+
+"Oh, what fun!" cried Marian, laughing and clapping her hands as she
+witnessed Ella's delight. A pitiful expression stole over her face as
+she turned to her own stockings. How she longed for a mother to share
+her joy. How she wished Aunt Amelia would smile kindly and be pleased
+with her gifts. The child quickly removed the paper from a round
+package.
+
+"I've got a ball," she ventured. "I'll let you play with it, Ella."
+
+"Got one of my own," said Ella, exhibiting a big rubber ball.
+
+An exclamation of dismay burst from Marian's lips. "Why, why--it's a
+potato!" she cried.
+
+"What did you expect?" inquired Aunt Amelia in chilling tones.
+
+"I guess that was just for a joke." The little girl smiled cheerfully
+as she said it, at the same time untying a box wrapped in tissue paper.
+Potatoes again. Marian shut her lips tight together and tried another
+package. More potatoes. Still she kept the tears back and reached for
+a long bundle. Removing the paper she found switches. Aunt Amelia
+and Ella watched silently as Marian, her eyes blazing and her cheeks
+growing a deeper red every second, emptied the stocking in which there
+was nothing but potatoes. Then the child rose, straightened her small
+figure to its full height and made this statement:
+
+"That wasn't never Santa Claus that did that!"
+
+"Look in the other stocking," Ella advised, "there are real presents in
+that one. I guess you will be a good girl now, won't you, Marian? Take
+the other stocking down, quick."
+
+"No," declared Marian, "I don't want any more potatoes. Nobody loves me
+and I don't care if they don't." Then she broke down and cried so hard,
+Ella cried too.
+
+"What's all the trouble?" asked Uncle George, entering the room at that
+moment.
+
+"Marian is making a scene and distressing both Ella and me," explained
+Aunt Amelia. "She has been highly impertinent and ungrateful. Ella, you
+may have the other stocking yourself."
+
+"But I don't want it," sobbed Ella. "I want Marian to have it."
+
+"Then we'll take it to the poor children this afternoon," said her
+mother. "They'll be glad to get it. Marian, don't drop what's in your
+apron. Now go to your room and think over how you've spoiled the peace
+of a family on Christmas morning. I'll bring your breakfast to you
+myself."
+
+"I don't want any breakfast," sobbed Marian, walking away with her
+apron full of potatoes.
+
+"Come back," called Uncle George. "You tell your aunt you are sorry you
+were so naughty, and you may come to breakfast with us. It's Christmas
+morning, child, why can't you behave?"
+
+"I wasn't naughty," sobbed Marian. "I----"
+
+"Not another word," put in Aunt Amelia. "Go to your room, stubborn,
+bad child. I can't have such an example continually before my little
+Ella. We'll have to put her in a reform school, George, if she doesn't
+improve."
+
+This remark fell upon unheeding ears so far as Marian was concerned.
+The minute the door of her little room closed behind her she dropped
+the potatoes upon the floor and throwing herself beside them cried as
+if her heart would break.
+
+"Oh, Nanna, Nanna, I want you," she sobbed. "Oh, where are you, oh, my
+Mrs. Moore?"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX
+
+AT THE RICH MAN'S TABLE
+
+
+TRUE to her word, Aunt Amelia carried Marian's breakfast to her room.
+But for the interference of Uncle George his little niece would have
+been given bread and water; it was all an impertinent child deserved.
+Uncle George, however, insisted that the One who was born on Christmas
+Day was a friend to sinners great and small. Out of respect to His
+memory, Marian should have her breakfast. Lala offered to take the tray
+up-stairs when it was ready, but Aunt Amelia said it was her duty to
+take it herself: so there was no one to speak a word of comfort to the
+little black sheep outside the fold.
+
+It had been a dark, cloudy morning, but curiously enough, the moment
+the door closed behind Aunt Amelia, the sun came out bright and warm,
+and shone straight through Marian's window. The child raised her head,
+wiped her eyes and finally sat up. She wouldn't eat any breakfast of
+course, how could she? No one loved her and what was the use of eating?
+The tray looked tempting though and the breakfast smelled good. The big
+orange seemed rolling toward her and Uncle George must have poured the
+cream on her oatmeal. No one else would have given her so much. The
+omelet was steaming, and even Lala never made finer looking rolls.
+
+Marian moved a little nearer and a little nearer to the tray until
+the next thing she knew she was sitting in a chair, eating breakfast.
+Everything tasted good, and in a little while Marian felt better. Out
+of doors, the icy trees sparkled in the sunshine and all the world
+looked clean and new. Oh, how the little girl longed for a mother that
+Christmas morning. Some one who would love her and say "Dear little
+Marian," as Nanna once did.
+
+Thinking of Mrs. Moore brought back to the child's memory that last
+day in the Home. Mrs. Moore had said, "Be brave, be good and never
+forget the Father in heaven." Marian had not been brave nor good; and
+she had forgotten the Father in heaven. Suddenly the child looked
+around the room, under the bed everywhere. She was certainly alone. It
+seemed strange to say one's prayers in the daytime, but Marian folded
+her hands and kneeling in the flood of sunshine beneath the window,
+confessed her sins. She felt like a new born soul after that. The
+despairing, rebellious little Marian was gone, and in her place was a
+child at peace with herself and the world. Without putting it in words,
+Marian forgave Aunt Amelia: more than that, she felt positively tender
+towards her. She would tell her she was sorry for her impertinence and
+promise to be a good child. It would be so easy to do right. She would
+set Ella a good example. Not for anything would Marian ever again do
+what was wrong. In time Uncle George and Aunt Amelia would love her
+dearly.
+
+Marian smiled thoughtfully as she gazed down the straight and perfect
+path her little feet would travel from thenceforth forevermore. The
+child's meditations were interrupted by a remembrance of the potatoes.
+There they were, her Christmas presents, trying to hide under the bed,
+under the chairs, beneath the bureau. She stared at them but a moment
+when a happy smile broke over her face.
+
+Marian was a saint no longer; only a little girl about to play a new
+game.
+
+"Why, it's a circus!" she exclaimed, and straightway seizing the
+potatoes and breaking the switches into little sticks, she transformed
+the unwelcome gift into a circus parade. The elephant came first. His
+trunk was a trifle too stiff as the switches were not limber. The camel
+came next and if his humps were not exactly in the right place, he was
+all the more of a curiosity. Then followed the giraffe with sloping
+back and no head worth mentioning because there was nothing to stick on
+the piece of switch that formed his long neck. Marian did wish she had
+a bit of gum to use for a head. The giraffe would look more finished.
+The lion and the tiger were perfect. Marian could almost hear them
+roar. Nobody could have found any fault with the kangaroo except that
+he would fall on his front feet. The hippopotamus was a sight worth
+going to see. So was the rhinoceros. The zebras almost ran away, they
+were so natural.
+
+Marian searched eagerly for more potatoes. A peck would have been none
+too many. "I'll have to play the rest of the animals are in cages," she
+said with a sigh. "Too bad I didn't get more potatoes. Wish I had the
+other stocking."
+
+When Marian was tired of circus, she played concert. Bingen on the
+Rhine came in for its share of attention, but school songs were just as
+good and had ready-made tunes.
+
+Lala in the kitchen, heard the operatic singing and laughed. Aunt
+Amelia caught a few strains, frowned and closed the hall doors. Uncle
+George smiled behind his newspaper: but Ella, tired of her toys, pouted
+and said she wished she could ever have any fun. Marian always had a
+good time. Mrs. St. Claire reminded her of the sleigh ride with the
+seven little girls in the afternoon and Ella managed to get through the
+morning somehow, even if it was dull and Christmas joy was nowhere in
+the house except in the little room off the back hall up-stairs.
+
+At one o'clock Lala was sent to tell Marian she might come down to
+dinner if she would apologize to Aunt Amelia for her impertinence.
+Lala was forbidden to say more, but nobody thought to caution her not
+to laugh, and what did Lala do when she saw Marian playing the piano
+beside the circus parade, but laugh until the tears ran down her
+cheeks. Worst of all she waited on table with a broad smile on her
+face that made Aunt Amelia quite as uncomfortable as the mention of a
+pelican. Nor was it possible for Aunt Amelia to understand how a child
+who had been in disgrace all the forenoon, could be cheerful and ready
+to laugh on the slightest provocation. She thought it poor taste.
+
+After dinner Ella thrust a repentant looking stocking in Marian's hand.
+"Papa says the things are yours and you must have them," she explained.
+
+"What makes the stocking look so floppy?" asked Marian.
+
+"Because," Ella went on, "papa made me take all the potatoes out and
+there wasn't much left. You've got a handkerchief in the stocking from
+me and one from mamma, and----"
+
+"Please don't tell me," protested Marian. "I want to be s'prised."
+
+"Like the selfish child you are," put in Aunt Amelia, "unwilling to
+give your cousin a bit of pleasure."
+
+"And a box of dominoes from papa and a doll's tea set Lala gave you,"
+finished Ella.
+
+"She'll expect a doll next," observed Aunt Amelia.
+
+"I did think Santa Claus would give me one," admitted the child, "but
+I had rather have the beautiful tea set. Help me set the table on this
+chair, Ella, and we'll play Christmas dinner. I'll let you pour the tea
+and----"
+
+"Ella has no time to play," her mother interrupted. "Come, little
+one, help mamma finish packing the baskets of presents for the poor
+children."
+
+"But I had rather play with Marian's tea set," pouted Ella.
+
+"You have one of your own, dearest."
+
+"It isn't as nice as Marian's, though, and I want to stay here and
+play."
+
+"Now you see, George," and Mrs. St. Claire turned to her husband, "now
+you see why I cannot allow these children to play together. You can see
+for yourself what an influence Marian has over our little Ella. Come,
+darling, have you forgotten the sleigh ride? It is time to get ready."
+
+"Me too?" questioned Marian, springing to her feet, "shall I get ready?"
+
+The child knew her mistake in less than a minute, but forgetting the
+uselessness of protest, she begged so earnestly to be taken with
+the children Aunt Amelia called her saucy, and as a punishment, the
+Christmas gifts, tea set and all, were put on a high shelf out of sight.
+
+Marian was allowed to stand in the parlor by the window to see the
+sleigh-load of noisy children drive away. When they were gone, the
+parlor seemed bigger than usual and strangely quiet. Uncle George,
+with a frown on his face, was reading in the sitting-room. He didn't
+look talkative and the clock ticked loud. Marian turned again to the
+parlor window. Across the street was the rich man's house, and in the
+front window of the rich man's house was a poor little girl looking
+out--a sad little girl with big eyes and a pale face. Marian waved her
+hand and the little girl waved hers--such a tiny, white hand. A new
+idea flashed into Marian's mind. She had often seen the little girl
+across the way and wondered why she never played with Ella. At last she
+thought she knew. The rich man's wife probably went to a hospital after
+the little girl, and took her home to get well just as Janey Clark was
+taken home, only Janey was never thin and delicate and Janey never
+stared quietly at everything as the little girl did who lived in the
+rich man's house.
+
+Marian wondered why Aunt Amelia didn't leave her some of the presents
+in the baskets. Perhaps nobody loved the little girl: maybe her father
+and mother were dead and Santa Claus didn't know where to find her.
+Marian wished she had something to take to the poor thing. She would
+have given away her tea set that minute had it been within reach.
+Just then a long-legged horse went by, a horse that looked so queer
+it reminded Marian of her potato menagerie. The child smiled at the
+thought. Perhaps the little girl in the rich man's house never saw a
+potato animal and would like to see one. Perhaps she would like two or
+three for a Christmas present. Why not? It was all Marian had to give
+and the animals were funny enough to make any poor little girl laugh.
+Up-stairs Marian flew, returning with the elephant, the rhinoceros, the
+hippopotamus and two zebras packed in a pasteboard box.
+
+"Please, Uncle George," she asked, "may I go and visit the poor little
+girl that lives in the rich man's house? I want to say 'Wish you a
+merry Christmas' to her, and----"
+
+"Run along, child," interrupted Uncle George, the frown smoothing
+out as he spoke, "go where you will and have a good time if it is
+possible--bless your sunny face."
+
+Uncle George had heard of the rich man's house and he smiled a broad
+smile of amusement as he watched Marian climb the steps and ring the
+bell. "What next?" he inquired as the door closed behind the child. In
+a short time he knew "What next." One of the rich man's servants came
+over with a note from the neighbor's wife, begging Uncle George to
+allow Marian to stay and help them enjoy their Christmas dinner at six.
+The permission was gladly given and at eight o'clock Marian came home
+hugging an immense wax doll and fairly bubbling over with excitement.
+
+"I never had such a good time at the table in my life," she began, "as
+I did at the rich man's house. They asked me to talk, just think of
+it--asked me to, and I did and they did and we all laughed. And the
+poor little girl isn't poor, only just sick and she belongs to the
+folks. The rich man is her father and her name is Dolly Russel and she
+was gladder to see me than she ever was to see anybody in her life and
+she wants me to come again, and----"
+
+"And I suppose you told all you knew," snapped Aunt Amelia.
+
+"Yes, most, 'specially at the table," admitted the child.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X
+
+A GAME OF SLICED BIRDS
+
+
+MARIAN was so happy with her doll and teaset the following day she was
+blind and deaf to all that happened in the house outside her little
+room. She didn't know that Mrs. Russel made her first call upon Aunt
+Amelia in the afternoon, nor that company was expected in the evening.
+Ella's mysterious airs were lost upon her. The child was accordingly
+surprised when she met the company at breakfast.
+
+Aunt Hester, Mrs. St. Claire's younger sister, was a pleasant surprise
+because she was good-looking and agreeable. She returned Marian's smile
+of greeting with interest. Marian hoped she had found a friend and
+hovered near the welcome stranger until sent to her room. During the
+rest of the week she and Aunt Hester exchanged smiles when they met at
+the table, and to win a few kind words from her became Marian's dream.
+New Year's Day brought an opportunity. Mrs. Russel sent a box of sliced
+birds to Marian and her cousin, and as the gift came while the family
+were at breakfast, Marian knew all about it. At last she and Ella owned
+something in common and might perhaps be allowed to play together. She
+could hardly wait to finish her breakfast.
+
+"What are sliced birds and how do you play with them?" she asked Aunt
+Hester, who carried the box into the sitting-room.
+
+"Well," began Aunt Hester, "can you read, Marian?"
+
+"Yes, auntie, I can read pretty near anything I try to, but I can't
+write very good, not a bit good. Do you have to write in sliced birds?"
+
+"No," was the laughing reply, "if you can spell a little that is all
+that is necessary. Here is a paper with a list of birds on it we can
+put together. Now here is the word jay. A picture of a jay is cut in
+three pieces, on one piece is 'J,' on another is 'A' and on the third
+is 'Y.' Now hunt for 'J.'"
+
+"Ella knows her letters," Marian suggested. "Come, Ella, hunt for 'J,'
+that piece would have a blue jay's head on it, I guess." Marian waited
+until Ella found the letter and together they finished the blue jay.
+Both children were delighted with the result.
+
+"Oh, what fun!" cried Marian. "We'll make all the birds, Ella. I'll
+read a name and tell you what letters to hunt for."
+
+A shadow fell across the bright scene, caused by the entrance of Aunt
+Amelia. "Go over there and sit down," she said to Marian. "I came in to
+help Hester divide the game."
+
+"Divide the game!" echoed both children.
+
+"Oh, don't do it, please don't," besought Marian, "we want to play with
+all the birds together."
+
+"It seems a pity," began Aunt Hester, but she gathered Ella in her arms
+and helped form all the birds in two straight lines upon the floor as
+her sister desired.
+
+Marian watched with eager interest. She hoped when the birds were
+divided a few of the pretty ones might be given to her. If she had her
+choice she couldn't tell whether she would take the peacock or the
+bird of paradise--they were both gorgeous. The scarlet tanager and the
+red-headed woodpecker were beautiful but of course it wasn't fair to
+wish for all the brightest birds. It was Aunt Hester who suggested a
+way to divide the game.
+
+"Let them take turns choosing," she said. "It seems to me that will be
+perfectly fair. The children might draw cuts for first choice."
+
+At that, Marian saw her opportunity. "Ella may be the first chooser,"
+she declared, and was rewarded by a smile from Aunt Hester. Which would
+Ella take? the bird of paradise or the peacock? Either would please
+Marian, so it really made no difference which was left. Ella wanted
+them both and said so.
+
+"Hush," whispered her mother, "if you keep still Marian won't know
+which birds are the prettiest. Aunt Hester and I will help you choose."
+
+"I guess I'll take that," Ella decided, pointing towards the bird of
+paradise.
+
+Marian was about to choose the peacock when a whispered word from Aunt
+Hester caught her ear.
+
+"I hope, Ella dear, that she won't take the peacock."
+
+Marian hesitated a moment. She wanted the peacock with its gay,
+spreading tail, but if Aunt Hester wished Ella to have it perhaps she
+would love whoever helped her get it. "I'll take the turkey," said the
+child, whereupon Ella gave a shout.
+
+"She don't know much, she took an old brown turkey. I'll have the
+peacock and I want the red bird and the redhead."
+
+Aunt Amelia laughed. "One at a time, you dear, impulsive child," said
+she, but Aunt Hester smiled across at Marian. "Your turn," she said.
+
+"I'll take the owl," Marian quietly replied.
+
+"Oh, ho! an old owl!" laughed Ella, clapping her hands for joy. "Now
+I'll have the redhead! goody! And next time----"
+
+"Hush," warned her mother. "You mustn't let Marian know what you want
+or she'll take it."
+
+"I choose the wren," came in low tones from Marian.
+
+"My turn," Ella called. "Give me the redhead."
+
+"Choose the flicker next," advised her mother, so Marian, still hoping
+to be loved, chose the robin.
+
+Aunt Hester smiled again, but the smile was for Ella. "Take the parrot
+next," she whispered, so Marian chose the crow.
+
+"Now, Ella, darling," whispered her mother, "the oriole, after Marian
+has her turn," and Marian, taking the hint, motioned for the jay.
+
+It was over at last and Marian was told to go to her room. As she was
+leaving, Aunt Hester gave Ella a rapturous hug and said, "Our baby has
+all the prettiest birds." Aunt Hester didn't know Marian heard the
+remark until she saw the tears that could not be kept back, wetting the
+rosy cheeks. "Oh, you poor young one!" she exclaimed, and but for the
+presence of Aunt Amelia, she would have taken the sad little mortal in
+her arms.
+
+"She's crying 'cause her birds are all homely," said Ella.
+
+"Of course, she always wants the best," remarked Mrs. St. Claire, but
+Aunt Hester and Ella both gazed after the retreating figure of little
+Marian, with conscience-stricken faces. They had been three against
+one, and that one didn't know enough to take the choicest birds when
+she had the chance. They hadn't played fair.
+
+Marian, blinded by tears, stumbled over a rug at the door of her
+room and the sliced birds slipped almost unheeded from her apron.
+The nearest seat was the box she called her piano stool. She dropped
+upon it and buried her face in her arms on the piano. The sheet music
+tumbled forward upon her head, perhaps fearing it might be but an old
+almanac forever after. Bitter thoughts filled the little soul. Why
+would no one love her? Why did the sound of her voice annoy every one
+so she feared to speak? What was the trouble? Was she so bad or so
+homely that no one might love her? She had tried to be good and tried
+to do right, but what difference had it made? Aunt Hester thought her
+stupid because she allowed Ella to take what birds she would. Surely
+Aunt Hester was the stupid one.
+
+It was impossible for Marian to feel miserable long at a time. In a
+few minutes she sat up and straightened her sheet music, whereupon the
+almanac became a hymn-book. She turned the leaves slowly as did the
+young lady who played the organ prayer-meeting nights. Then, addressing
+the wax doll and the bed posts she announced in solemn tones, "We'll
+sing nineteen verses of number 'leventy 'leven."
+
+"Number 'leventy 'leven" happened to be "Come Ye Disconsolate," a
+hymn Marian was familiar with, as it was Aunt Amelia's favorite. The
+tune began dismally enough, but the disconsolate one took courage
+on the third line and sang out triumphantly at last, with a great
+flourish upon the piano, "'Earth has no sorrow that Heaven cannot
+heal.'" "Twenty Froggies Went to School" came next, and Marian was
+herself once more, which is to say, she became at a moment's notice,
+a famous musician, a school-teacher, a princess, a queen or whatever
+the occasion required, while the little room was easily changed into
+anything from the Desert of Sahara to a palace.
+
+The extent of Marian's knowledge was the only limit to the games
+she played. Pictures in the family Bible had given her many an hour
+of entertainment in the little room, thanks to the fact that Uncle
+George allowed Marian to look at the pictures on an occasional Sunday
+afternoon. The doll almost broke her nose the day before playing
+"Rebecca at the Well." The "Marriage at Cana" was a safer game for a
+wax doll that could not stand, especially as the doll made a beautiful
+bride. Turning from her piano, Marian saw something that made her
+laugh. The robin's head and the duck's feet had fallen one above the
+other.
+
+"Poor robin," she said, "I guess you would rather have your own feet.
+R-o-b-i-n, I know how to spell you, and I'll put you on your own feet
+and I'll give the duck his own head so he can quack." When the robin
+was put together it looked like an old friend. "You're nicer than the
+bird of paradise, after all," declared Marian, "because I know you so
+well. You and I used to be chums because I didn't have any little
+girls to play with."
+
+It was something of a puzzle to put all of the birds together, but
+when the work was finished Marian was pleased. "You're all so nice and
+common looking," she said. "I never saw the owl bird, but we used to
+hear him in the woods at night, didn't we, blue jay? He used to go,
+'Who--who--whoo--whoo!' We used to see you, old black crow, you always
+said 'Caw--caw--caw,' and you dear little wren, how I would like to
+hear you sing once more. Where are you all now? Somewhere way down
+South, because our teacher says so and when the snow is gone, you'll
+come flying back.
+
+"Oh, now we'll play something. It is autumn over here on the rug, the
+rug's the orchard, and the leaves are falling and all the flowers are
+fading and winter is coming. You see that sunshiny spot on the floor
+over there under the windows, birdies? Well, that is down South where
+you are going. I don't remember who goes first but I guess the little
+wren better fly away now, and we'll have lots of fun." One by one the
+birds went south, owl and all, and one by one they flew back to the
+orchard in the spring-time, where the wax doll welcomed them, listened
+to their songs and scattered strings about for them to use in building
+their nests.
+
+It was a pleasant game and Marian was called to the dining-room before
+she thought of putting the birds away.
+
+"I wonder if I didn't get the best half of the game after all," she
+suggested to the wax doll as she threw it a parting kiss.
+
+Had Marian known that the bird of paradise, the peacock and the other
+bright ones were laid upon a shelf as birds of no consequence and that
+Ella had complained all the forenoon of having nothing to do, she would
+have understood why Aunt Hester not only greeted her with a smile, but
+said at the same time, "You dear, happy child."
+
+It was enough that Aunt Hester said it and smiled, without puzzling for
+a reason. Surely Marian had chosen the better half of the game when
+such loving tones were meant for her. It was wonderful.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI
+
+THE WAY OF THE TRANSGRESSOR
+
+
+A YEAR passed away, in which time Marian was kept more and more outside
+of the family and more and more apart from all ordinary pleasures of
+childhood, but in spite of everything she was happy, ever hoping to win
+the approval of her aunt and uncle.
+
+Going to school was a never-failing joy because at noon-times and
+recess there were girls and boys to play with, and the long walks to
+and from school were always a delight to a child who was interested in
+everything from a blade of grass to the clouds.
+
+Ella attended a private school near home and was scarcely allowed to
+speak to Marian. She had many playmates, but all of them put together
+were not half so attractive from her point of view as the little cousin
+who played alone. One winter morning Ella told Marian behind the
+dining-room door that her grandmother and Uncle Robert were coming to
+stay all the spring-time and that Uncle Robert was a little boy only
+a few years older than Marian. Ella was delighted, but Marian wished
+Uncle Robert was a girl. She had reason for the wish before summer.
+
+Marian was prejudiced against boys for as much as a year after Ella's
+uncle went away. He believed it was his privilege to tease little
+girls, though in all his life he never had such a chance to torment
+any one as he had that spring. It was useless to play tricks on
+Ella, because she ran crying to her mother and that made trouble for
+Robert: but Marian could appeal to no one and teasing her was safe
+and interesting. To hold her doll by the hair while Marian begged and
+screamed, was daily amusement until the child learned to leave the doll
+in her room. To hide her few books was another pleasure and to frighten
+her on every possible occasion until her eyes seemed fairly popping out
+of her head, was a victory.
+
+Marian was glad to have some one to play with if that some one was a
+tyrant and often before her tears were dry, she was ready to forgive
+Robert for teasing her and to join in any game he proposed. One day
+he suggested something that shocked Marian. He asked her to steal
+sugar. He didn't say steal, he said "Hook," and at first Marian didn't
+understand. Robert told her to sneak into the pantry after Lala was
+through work in the afternoon, take a lump of sugar from the barrel and
+give it to him. She wouldn't listen in the beginning, but by dint of
+persuasion and threats, Robert succeeded in getting his lump of sugar:
+not only one, but many, for stealing sugar became easier as the days
+went by and no one caught the small culprit.
+
+Robert's ambition was to be a railroad engineer, and soon after the
+sugar stealing began, he made an engine of boxes and barrels in the
+locust grove. When it was finished and in running order, he allowed
+Marian to be his fireman. At first the child thought it was fun,
+but when she had shoveled air with a stick for five minutes without
+stopping, while Robert rang the bell, blew the whistle and ran the
+engine, she threw down her shovel. "It's my turn to be engineer now,"
+she declared.
+
+"Girls don't know enough to run engines," was the reply.
+
+"I'm not a girl," protested Marian, "I'm a fireman."
+
+"Then tend to your job, why don't you?" was the retort. "I wouldn't
+ring the bell for my fireman if I didn't think he was a good one. Come,
+coal up, tend to business."
+
+Somewhat flattered, the fireman smiled, shoveled coal until his arms
+ached, and then rebelled. "I say," she declared, "you've got to let me
+be engineer now! I won't be fireman another minute!"
+
+"Oh, you won't?" taunted the engineer. "We'll see about that! Of course
+you needn't shovel coal for me if you don't want to, but you had better
+make up your mind pretty quick, because if you won't be my fireman,
+I'll go and tell my sister Amelia that you steal sugar!"
+
+Marian was too stunned for words until Robert laughed. Then her face
+grew scarlet, and her eyes had a look in them the boy had never seen
+before.
+
+"You dare not tell!" she screamed, leaning towards Robert, anger and
+defiance in every line of her slight figure. "I say you dare not!"
+
+"I wonder why?" sniffed the boy.
+
+"You know why; you told me to take the sugar, and I got it for you and
+I never tasted a bit of it. You were such an old pig you wouldn't give
+me back a crumb--old rhinoceros--hippopotamus--I'd call you an elephant
+too, only elephants are so much nicer'n you."
+
+Again the boy laughed. "You hooked the sugar, didn't you?" he demanded.
+
+"What if I did, didn't I do it 'cause you told me to, and didn't you
+eat it, you old gorilla?"
+
+"What if I did, Miss Marian Spitfire? I'll say it's one of your lies,
+and no one will believe what you say. You know you can't look my sister
+in the face and tell her you didn't take the sugar, but I can stand up
+and cross my heart and hope to die if I ever saw any sugar, and they'll
+believe me and they won't believe you. Now will you shovel coal?
+Toot-toot-toot--chew-chew-chew--ding-a-ling-a-ling--engine's going to
+start! Ha, ha, ha!"
+
+"You mean thing, you horrid boy! I hate you!" sputtered Marian, but she
+shoveled coal. In fact the child shoveled coal the rest of the spring
+whenever Robert chose to play engine, until the day his taunts proved
+too much and she kicked his engine to pieces, threatening to "give it
+to him," if he didn't keep out of the way.
+
+"Now tell," she screamed from the midst of the wreck, "tell anything
+you're a mind to, I don't care what you do."
+
+Robert walked away whistling "Yankee Doodle." "I'm tired of playing
+engine," he called over his shoulder, "and I'm much obliged to you
+for saving me the trouble of taking it to pieces. I don't wonder
+nobody likes you. My sister Amelia knows what she's talking about when
+she says you've got the worst temper ever was! I bet you'll die in
+prison----"
+
+"You'll die before you get to prison if you don't get out of my sight,"
+was the retort.
+
+Robert walked away so fast Marian was certain he was going to tell
+about the sugar and she waited, defiantly at first, then tremblingly.
+What would become of her? What would they do? For reasons best known to
+himself, Robert didn't mention sugar, and after a few days of suspense,
+Marian breathed easier, although she wasn't thoroughly comfortable
+until Robert and his mother were on their way home.
+
+A few weeks later Aunt Amelia made a jar of cookies for Ella's birthday
+party. She made them herself and put them on a low shelf in the pantry.
+Marian asked for a cookie and was refused. She didn't expect to get
+it. The more she thought of the cookies, the more she wanted one. She
+remembered the sugar. No one but Robert knew about that sugar, and if
+she helped herself to a cooky that would be her own secret. Marian took
+a cooky and ate it back of the orchard. Her old friends, the chipping
+sparrows, flew down for the crumbs that fell at her feet. The little
+birds were surprised when Marian frightened them away. She had been so
+kind to them they had lost all fear of her.
+
+The second cooky Marian took she ate in the locust grove where she was
+much annoyed by the curiosity of a chipmunk. He asked her questions
+with his head on one side and his hand on his heart. His chatter made
+her angry. What was it to him if she happened to be eating a cooky? She
+did wish folks would mind their own business. From that day, Marian
+grew reckless. She carried away cookies two or three at a time and
+talked back to the birds and the squirrels and all the inhabitants of
+the orchard and the locust grove who were not polite enough to hide
+their inquisitiveness.
+
+For once in her life, Marian had all the cookies she wished, although
+they agreed with neither her stomach nor her conscience. She didn't
+feel well and she was cross and unhappy. At last Marian knew that the
+day of reckoning was near at hand. She could almost touch the bottom
+of the cooky jar when she realized that the cookies had been made for
+Ella's party and had not been used upon the table. No one had lifted
+the cover of the jar but herself since the day they were baked. It
+was a frightful thought. There was no more peace for Marian. Awake or
+dreaming, the cookies were ever before her. In school and at home they
+haunted her. What should she do, what could she do?
+
+Quietly the child went about the house. She no longer sang nor laughed.
+Uncle George wondered, Aunt Amelia rejoiced. She thought Marian's usual
+high spirits unbecoming a child dependent upon charity, as Marian had
+often heard her remark.
+
+"She may be working too hard in school," suggested Uncle George.
+
+"Whatever is the cause she has behaved so well lately, I shall allow
+her in the sitting-room with the children when Ella has her party,"
+conceded Aunt Amelia.
+
+Even a shadow of kindness touched Marian's heart. Oh, why had she done
+wrong? From the depths of her soul, the child repented. Why had she
+been called bad in the days when she tried to be good, and at last when
+she was so bad, why would Aunt Amelia declare that there was a great
+improvement in her behavior, and why would Uncle George speak to her
+almost as pleasantly as he did to Ella? If only she had remembered
+the words of Mrs. Moore before it was too late; to "Be good and to do
+right." Mrs. Moore also said, "Be brave." It would be brave to go to
+Aunt Amelia and tell her the truth about the cookies. Marian had not
+been good, she had not done right and she could not be brave.
+
+Many and many a time the child studied the grim face of Aunt Amelia,
+repeating over and over to herself "Be brave." It seemed to Marian
+that if she attempted telling Aunt Amelia of her sin, she would die on
+the spot, choke to death, perhaps, trying to get the words out. Her
+throat closed tight together at the very thought. It might, under some
+circumstances, be possible to tell Uncle George, although to confess
+was to be forever an outcast. Neither Uncle George nor Aunt Amelia
+would ever love her, nor would she ever be allowed to play with Ella.
+All the golden texts Marian had ever learned, haunted her memory. "The
+way of the transgressor is hard." "Be sure your sin will find you out."
+"Enter not into the path of the wicked." "Evil pursueth sinners."
+There were many others, so many, the child was sorry she had ever gone
+to Sunday-school.
+
+The day of the party was bright and beautiful. All the little girls
+came who were invited, Ruth Higgins, Dorothy Avery and Dolly Russel
+among the number. Marian went into the sitting-room with drooping head
+and misery in her soul, until joining in the games and merriment,
+she forgot the cookies and had a good time. Not a thought of trouble
+disturbed her pleasure even though she heard Lala setting the table in
+the dining-room.
+
+Her conscience awoke only when Aunt Amelia appeared to summon her into
+the kitchen. Every bit of color left the child's face. She could hear
+nothing clearly because of the ringing in her ears. As she followed
+Aunt Amelia through the dining-room the floor seemed rising up at every
+step and the candles on the birthday cake danced before her eyes. On
+the table in the kitchen was the empty cooky jar, the eloquent witness
+of her guilt. On a rosebud plate beside it were less than a dozen
+cookies. Marian gazed stupidly at the jar and at the plate of cookies.
+
+"What have you to say for yourself, Marian Lee?" Aunt Amelia's voice
+sounded far away. There were such lumps in Marian's throat she couldn't
+speak.
+
+"Answer me," commanded Aunt Amelia, "what have you to say?"
+
+Marian's tongue felt paralyzed. Perhaps it was unwilling to do its
+owner's bidding. It was certainly hard for that truthful little tongue
+to say the one word "Nothing." Aunt Amelia's face was terrible. "Do you
+mean to tell me that you haven't touched those cookies?"
+
+There was no retreat. Marian nodded her head.
+
+"Speak!" continued Aunt Amelia, "say yes or no? Do you dare to tell me
+that you didn't take the cookies?"
+
+It was all Marian did dare to do and her reply was "Yes."
+
+Aunt Amelia raised a long forefinger as she said, "Don't stand there
+and lie, Marian Lee, you took those cookies."
+
+"I did not." Lala grew pale when she heard that answer and saw the
+terrified eyes of the child.
+
+"Own up," she whispered as she passed the trembling sinner on her way
+to the dining-room.
+
+Marian looked beseechingly at Aunt Amelia, but her face was hard
+and pitiless. The child dared not "Be brave." "I did not touch the
+cookies," she repeated again and again.
+
+"How do you account for the disappearance of a whole jar of cookies,
+Marian, if you didn't eat them?" asked Uncle George upon his arrival.
+
+Marian had not thought of accounting for the loss of the cookies, but
+she took a deep breath and made a suggestion. "I s'pose a hungry tramp
+took 'em."
+
+The reply wasn't satisfactory. Uncle George frowned and Aunt Amelia
+smiled. The smile wasn't the kind she was in the habit of bestowing
+upon Ella. It was the sort that froze the blood in Marian's veins. She
+sank in a miserable little heap upon the floor and cried and cried.
+
+"Reform school is the place for children who steal and lie," said Aunt
+Amelia.
+
+Uncle George tried to make the child confess, but his efforts were
+vain. She would not. Threats were powerless. The more frightened Marian
+became the more vehemently she denied her guilt. Although it was Ella's
+birthday, and shouts of laughter could be heard from the sitting-room,
+Aunt Amelia produced a certain strap Marian was familiar with through
+past experience. "Spare the rod, spoil the child," was Mrs. St.
+Claire's favorite motto so far as her husband's small relative was
+concerned.
+
+"You can whip me till I die," sobbed Marian when she saw the strap,
+"but I can't say I took the cookies, because I didn't. How can I say I
+did, when I didn't?" Nor could Aunt Amelia nor Uncle George compel the
+child to say anything different.
+
+"You can whip me till I die," she insisted over and over, "but I can't
+say I took those cookies," and they finally believed her.
+
+"Go to bed," commanded Aunt Amelia. "I don't want to see a child who
+could die easier than she could tell the truth. Go!"
+
+A smothered sob caught Marian's ear. Lala was crying; and because Lala
+cried and was soon after found in Marian's room trying to quiet her,
+she was sent away the next day. Tilly was her successor. Before she had
+been in the house a week, she openly befriended Marian. "Poor little
+thing," she said, "if you had stolen a barrel of cookies from a baker
+you wouldn't have deserved half of the punishment you get. There isn't
+anything left they can do to you, is there?"
+
+"Yes, they can send me to the reform school," was the reply, "and, oh,
+dear, I'm afraid to go. What will become of me?"
+
+"If I were you," Tilly advised, "and I took the cookies, I would own
+up. They can't any more than kill you and I guess they'll do that
+anyway."
+
+Marian shook her head. The time to own up was long passed. She stayed
+in her room and ate bread and water a week without protest. On
+Sunday afternoon she listened to the story of Ananias and Sapphira
+with teeth and fists tightly closed. She heard long speeches on the
+fearful consequences of stealing and lying, without a word. Only when
+questioned would she say in low spiritless tones, "I did not touch the
+cookies."
+
+When it was all over, and Aunt Amelia and Uncle George gave up trying
+to wring a confession from her and the child was simply in disgrace,
+her own conscience began its work. It gave her no peace. Marian had
+said her prayers every night as Mrs. Moore had taught her when she was
+a baby; but she had repeated them quickly with her back turned towards
+heaven and had made no mention of cookies. At last, troubled by her
+conscience, and not knowing where to turn for comfort, Marian knelt by
+her bedside one night and tried an experiment.
+
+"O Lord," she began, "I am not going to lie to you about the cookies.
+Thou knowest I took them. That is why I haven't said any made up
+prayers for so long. I knew Thou knewest how wicked I am and I know
+what the Bible says about lying lips. I am afraid of Aunt Amelia or I
+would own up. She says I won't go to heaven when I die because I am
+too bad to live there. Now, O Lord, I know I could be good in heaven,
+but it has been hard work on earth, and after I took the cookies I got
+wickeder and wickeder, but honest and truth I'll never do anything
+wrong again and I'll never tell another lie. Thou knowest I could be
+good in heaven. Please, O Lord, forgive me and take me straight up to
+heaven when I die. Amen."
+
+That prayer didn't help Marian a bit. She could scarcely get off her
+knees when she had said "Amen." Her head seemed bowed down beneath a
+weight of cookies.
+
+"You know what you must do," insisted her conscience, "you must go to
+your Uncle George and your Aunt Amelia first, first, I say."
+
+"But I can't do that, and I'm so unhappy," sobbed Marian, but her
+conscience was pitiless. It would allow no compromise. "Oh, if I could
+see Nanna," whispered Marian as she crept into bed. No one had ever
+kissed her good-night but once since she had left the Home, and now, no
+one ever would again. The Father in heaven had turned away His face.
+Marian cried herself to sleep as she had many a night before.
+
+In the middle of the night she awoke and sat up in bed, cold and
+trembling. Thunder was rolling through the sky and an occasional flash
+of lightning made the little room bright one minute and inky black the
+next. Perhaps the end of the world was coming when the graves would
+give up their dead and the terrible Judge would descend to deal with
+the wicked. A crash of thunder shook the house. Marian dived beneath
+the blankets, but a horrible thought caused her to sit bolt upright
+again. Aunt Amelia had told her that sinners, on the last day, would
+call for the rocks and mountains to fall upon them. Perhaps hiding
+beneath blankets meant the same thing. Another crash came and a
+blinding flash of lightning. Then another and another. Springing from
+her bed, Marian ran down the hall to Mrs. St. Claire's room. The door
+was closed but the room was lighted.
+
+"Oh, let me come in," she cried, knocking frantically at the door and
+keeping her eye upon the crack of light at the bottom.
+
+The response was immediate. Aunt Amelia stepped into the hall and
+closed the door behind her. "Go back to your room," she said, "and
+don't you dare leave it again. I should think you would expect the
+lightning to strike you!"
+
+Marian shrank back as a flash of lightning illumined the hall. For one
+moment she saw Aunt Amelia, tall and terrible in her white night-dress,
+her voice more fearful than the thunder, and her form seeming to
+stretch upward and upward, growing thinner and thinner until it
+vanished in the awful darkness.
+
+Marian fled, closing the door of her little room and placing a chair
+against it. Kneeling by the window, she closed her eyes to shut out
+glimpses of the unnatural garden below and the angry sky above. The
+thought of sudden death filled her with terror. What would become
+of her soul if she died with her sins unconfessed? "Dear Father in
+heaven," she cried, "if you have to kill me with lightning, forgive me
+and take me to heaven. I'll be good there. I'll never steal anything
+there nor ever lie again. I was going to own up to Aunt Amelia, but
+O Lord, I was so afraid of her I didn't dare. If you'll let me live
+through this night, I'll go and tell her in the morning and then I'll
+never do wrong again. O Lord, I'm so sorry, and I'm awful afraid of
+lightning. I don't want to die by it, but if I have to, please take me
+up to heaven. Amen."
+
+Then Marian went back to bed. Her conscience didn't say a word that
+time and she went to sleep before the storm was over, long before Ella
+was quieted or ever Aunt Amelia closed her eyes.
+
+Marian's first waking thought when she looked out on the fresh
+brightness of another day was one of thankfulness. It was good to be
+alive. Another second and she groaned. Perhaps she would have been
+dead but for that midnight promise, the promise she must keep. Marian
+dressed quickly and sought Aunt Amelia before she lost courage. She
+wasn't gone long. Back she flew to the little room where her prayer was
+short although her sobs were long.
+
+"Oh, Lord, I couldn't, I just couldn't."
+
+There were many thunder-storms that summer and for a while every one
+of them frightened Marian. In the night, she would resolve to confess,
+but daylight took away her courage. "If I should be sick a long time,"
+Marian argued, "perhaps then Aunt Amelia would like me some and just
+before I died I could shut my eyes and tell her about the cookies. Then
+God would surely forgive me and I would go straight up to heaven and it
+would be all right. But if I should die suddenly, before I had any time
+to say any last words, what would become of me?" she asked herself.
+After thinking of it some time, Marian hit upon a plan that brought her
+peace of mind. She wrote the following confession:
+
+"Nobody knows how much I have suffered on account of some cookies. I
+used to like cookies but not now. It began by sugar. I took lumps of
+sugar out of a barrel for a boy. I thought if I could take sugar I
+could take cookies, too, and I did, but I said I didn't. I did take
+the cookies. I hope my folks will forgive me now I am dead. I suffered
+awful before I died on account of cookies. Give my wax doll and all my
+things to Ella. The doll is good if I wasn't. I tried but it is hard
+for some children on earth. I am awful sorry on account of being so
+much trouble to everybody. I took those cookies. Marian Lee."
+
+Having folded this paper, Marian was happier than she had been for
+weeks. She felt that she had saved her soul.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII
+
+MARIAN'S DIARY
+
+
+"JUNE 20.--It is hard to begin a diary. You don't know what to say
+first. Bernice Jones says a diary is a book to put the weather in.
+She ought to know on account of her grandmother keeping one. Leonore
+Whiting, the girl that sits behind me and wears the prettiest ribbons
+in school, says a diary is to put your feelings in. Leonore thinks she
+ought to know because her sister is a poetry writer.
+
+"When I asked Uncle George for an empty diary and what you write in
+it, he laughed and said he would give me all the paper I wanted to
+write things in and I had better put down everything. He said it would
+be a good thing for me to write more and talk less, so I guess I will
+have the fullest diary of any of the Diary Club. That's our name. Maud
+Brown was the one that got up the name. She says everybody belongs to
+a Club. Her mother does and her father and her brothers too. Maud says
+she has got to be in a Club or she never will be happy. She is only
+going to keep weather because she doesn't like to write. Leonore and a
+lot of the other girls are just going to keep a few feelings, but I am
+going to write down weather and feelings and everything.
+
+"The weather is all right to-day.
+
+"It is too bad about vacation. It is almost here and then I won't have
+anybody to play with. Uncle George says he never saw a little girl like
+to go to school as well as I do. It really isn't school I like to go
+to, it is recesses. I guess he had some other boys to play with when he
+was little or he would know. I would like to play with Dolly Russel but
+my aunt never will let me go over there and she tells Dolly's mother
+'No,' about everything she wants me to do. She did let Ella go, only
+they don't invite Ella any more. I wonder if she talked too much, or
+broke anything, or why? Lala works over there now, but my aunt told me
+not to talk to Lala so I don't dare.
+
+"I found out something to-day at school. The children that live in
+houses don't all go to bed in the dark. I cried and cried when I first
+had to go to bed in the dark because where I used to live, we didn't
+have to. I wish I could sit up late at night.
+
+"Another thing about a diary is how nice it will be for your
+grandchildren to know what you used to think about and what you used
+to do. I can hardly believe that I am the grandmother of my own
+grandchildren, but of course it is so.
+
+"June 21.--We took our diaries to school. I had the most written of
+anybody, but I don't think it is nice to read your diary out loud
+because they ask questions. The girls wanted to know where I used to
+live and I wanted to tell them but I didn't dare to, and now I wonder
+about things. Louise Fisher said that Dolly Russel's mother told her
+mother that my aunt is not good to me, and a good many more things,
+and they are all sorry for me and they say it is too bad I can't have
+pretty clothes like Ella. I didn't say much because I don't want
+everybody in school to know how bad I am and that nobody can love me,
+and about the cookies. I guess I would die if they knew it all. Their
+mothers wouldn't let them play with me at recess.
+
+"I wish I had a white dress to wear the last day of school when I sing
+a song alone and speak my piece. I don't like to sing and speak pieces
+because I am afraid. I am not going to take my diary to school any more.
+
+"June 22.--I don't know what to think. I heard some more things about
+me at school to-day. Folks wonder who I am and where I came from, and
+Louise Fisher says she knows Uncle George is not my own uncle and if
+she was me she would run away. I can't run away because I don't know
+where to run to and I am afraid. Ella knows things about me and if she
+ever gets a chance I guess she will tell me, but her mother won't let
+her speak to me if she can help it. I guess her mother doesn't know how
+hard I try to set Ella a good example of being polite and not slamming
+doors and speak when you're spoken to, and children should be seen and
+not heard, and if you behave as well as you look you'll be all right.
+
+"I know it was bad about the cookies, but Ella never can do a cooky
+sin because her mother always says to her, 'Help yourself, darling,'
+and that's different. Besides that, Ella thinks a tramp did take the
+cookies. I will tell her some time because she cried and was sorry I
+had so much trouble. Then she will never speak to me again, but it is
+better to tell the truth than to do any other way. When I think I am
+going to die, sure, then I will tell my aunt if it kills me.
+
+"I wonder if Uncle George is my uncle or what?
+
+"June 23.--It was the last day of school to-day. I sung my song and
+spoke my piece and Dolly Russel's mother kissed me. I wish she was my
+mother. I wish I had a mother. I am glad she kissed me. Aunt Amelia
+wasn't there. Ella cried because she couldn't go. It didn't rain. You
+don't think about weather when it is nice.
+
+"September 5.--The queerest thing happened. I thought I would be the
+one that would write the most in my diary this summer, but I wasn't,
+and good reason why. It was just a little after daylight the day after
+the last day of school, that Aunt Amelia came and called me and told me
+to get dressed quick, and she gave me all clean clothes to put on and I
+was frightened. I said what had I done and she said I had done enough.
+I was scared worse than ever. She told me to go down in the kitchen and
+I would find some breakfast ready. I thought I couldn't eat, everything
+was so queer and early, but I did, and then I had to put on my hat and
+Uncle George said, 'Are you ready?' I said where am I going, is it
+reform school, and Aunt Amelia said it ought to be, and then I got in
+a carriage with Uncle George and the driver put a little new trunk on
+behind and we drove to the depot.
+
+"It was awful early and the grass and the trees looked queer and the
+birds were singing like everything. Uncle George told me to cheer up, I
+was going to a nice place where I would have a good time, and he told
+me to write to him every week and he would write to me. He said I
+mustn't tell the folks where I was going that I was ever bad. He said
+he thought I was a pretty good little girl, and when he put me on the
+train and told the conductor where I was going and to take care of me,
+because I was his little girl, I put my arms around his neck and kissed
+him good-bye. He is a good man. I hope he is my uncle, but I don't know.
+
+"Well, I had a nice time in that village where I went and Uncle George
+came after me yesterday. I was glad to see him, but I didn't want to
+come home. I wanted to stay and go to the country school, but he said
+that my grandchildren would want their grandmother to know something.
+
+"Then he told me he found my diary and that he put it away where nobody
+could see it until I got back. He said he thought he had better tell
+me to keep my diary out of sight, because that was the style among
+diary-writing folks. So I will hide my diary now. I wonder if he read
+it. Anyway, I know Aunt Amelia didn't get a chance, because he told me
+most particular about how he found it first thing and put it where
+it wouldn't get dusty. He says he is my Uncle George. I was afraid
+maybe I was just adopted for a niece, and I am not sure yet. He didn't
+say he wasn't my adopted Uncle George, and maybe he thought I was his
+brother's little girl when I wasn't. The folks I stayed with told Uncle
+George I am a lovely child. He didn't look surprised, only glad.
+
+"September 6.--All the girls had new dresses at school. I am in the
+fourth grade this term. I am in fractions and on the map of South
+America. We played London Bridge and King William at recess.
+
+"September 7.--Too many things to play after school. Can't write. Aunt
+Amelia makes me get straight to bed after I come to my room at night.
+It doesn't seem like night, though. I don't like to go to bed in the
+afternoon very well, but after all, I am glad it doesn't get dark
+early. I go to sleep in the daytime and wake up in the daytime and the
+birds are always singing.
+
+"September 8.--Nothing happened in school to-day. It rains and I can't
+go out in the orchard. I was going to play 'Landing of the Pilgrims,'
+but I guess I will write in my diary. Where I was this summer they had
+a library, not a big one like the one down-stairs, but the shelves were
+low so I could reach the books, and the folks let me read all I wanted
+to. I was pretty glad of it, rainy days and Sundays.
+
+"The book I liked best was full of stories about the Norsemen. They
+gave me the book to keep. I take it way up in the top of my favorite
+apple-tree and read and read. Sometimes I play I'm Odin and sometimes
+I am Thor. I am not so afraid of thunder since I read about Thor. When
+it thunders and lightens I play I am an old Norseman and that I really
+believe Thor is pounding with his big hammer and that he is scaring
+the bad frost giants. I am glad Aunt Amelia says she never read Norse
+stories. If she had, she would call me Loki, so there's somebody that's
+bad she can't say I am.
+
+"What I like best is to sit in the top of the apple-tree and shut the
+book and think about the Rainbow Bridge that stretched from earth to
+heaven. Every one couldn't cross, but if my father and my mother were
+on the other side of the shining bridge, I would look straight towards
+them and I wouldn't look down and my mother would hold out her arms and
+I wouldn't be afraid. May be the Rainbow Bridge is wide. I am sure it
+is when I stop to think, because the gods used to drive over it when
+they came to visit the earth. Perhaps they would let me cross if they
+saw me coming because it was only the bad giants they tried to keep
+out of heaven. Oh, dear, I guess I am a bad giant myself, even if I am
+little, because the book says, 'The giants in old Norse times were not
+easy to conquer: but generally it was when they hid themselves behind
+lies and appeared to be what they were not that they succeeded for a
+time.' I hid myself behind lies.
+
+"September 9.--One sure thing, I will always tell the truth as long as
+I live. I didn't come straight home from school to-night. A lot of us
+girls went in the old cemetery and read what's on the tombstones, and
+I didn't get home early. I tried to get through the gate when my aunt
+wasn't looking, but that would have been what you call good luck. She
+took me in and said, 'Where have you been?' I said, 'In the graveyard.'
+She said, 'Why didn't you stay there?' I didn't know what to answer so
+I kept still. Then my aunt said, 'You can't go out to play,' and that
+was all. So I am always going to tell the truth and feel comfortable
+inside, no matter what happens. I was more afraid of how I would feel
+when it was time to say my prayers if I told a lie, than I was of my
+aunt.
+
+"September 10.--I didn't get home early to-night because I walked
+around the pond with Louise Fisher and Maud Brown. I owned up when I
+got home. I am not going to write down what happened, but it was worse
+than just being sent to your room. I don't want my little grandchildren
+to read about it. I am coming straight home next Monday night.
+
+"September 11.--Aunt Amelia says I act worse all the time. I don't know
+what I did that was bad to-day, but I got scolded all the time.
+
+"September 12.--Went to church and Sunday-school and the boys made fun
+of my shoes. They couldn't make me cry. I should think I would get used
+to being made fun of because I have to wear a sunbonnet to school and
+all the other little girls wear hats. I wear my sunbonnet as far as my
+aunt can see and then I take it off and swing it by the strings. She
+would be angry if she knew. I would almost rather be baldheaded than
+wear a sunbonnet when all the other girls wear hats. I wish I could
+have pretty shoes for Sundays, but I won't let the boys know I care.
+
+"September 13.--I came straight home to-night. I wish school began at
+daylight and didn't let out till dark, there is so much trouble at
+home. Uncle George says it is all on account of me.
+
+"September 14.--I came straight home and got scolded.
+
+"September 15.--Got scolded again.
+
+"September 16.--Got scolded some more.
+
+"September 17.--Got put to bed without any supper on account of sitting
+down by the side of the pond to watch a frog. It was a funny frog and
+when I had to go to bed, I went to sleep thinking about it. When it was
+almost dark Uncle George came and woke me up to give me something to
+eat. He didn't scold. I am writing this the next morning for yesterday.
+
+"September 18.--It was a beautiful Saturday. My aunt had company and
+I played out in the orchard all day long. Ella and my aunt and the
+company went to drive in the afternoon so there wasn't anybody to scold
+me. I saw the mole to-day. He came out and walked around a little. I
+guess he knew my aunt was gone. Everything was happy in the orchard. I
+watched a caterpillar a long time. He went so fast he made me laugh. I
+guess he was going home from school and wanted to get there in time.
+
+"September 19.--This is Sunday. Uncle George called me in the parlor to
+sing for the company and some other folks that came. Aunt Amelia played
+on the piano and when she couldn't play any more on account of a cramp
+in her wrist, they told me to sing without any music and I did. The
+company wiped away some tears, and she said I could sing just the way
+my father did when he was a little boy, and then she took me in her lap
+and said she thought I looked like my mother. I was going to ask some
+questions, but my aunt said not to talk about some things, and then
+the company said it was going to rain, she guessed, and would I sing
+another song. I did and then my aunt sent me to my room, cross. I mean
+she was cross. I felt pretty bad at first but I got over it.
+
+"September 20.--Ella says there is a picture of my father in the album,
+and she will show it to me first chance she gets.
+
+"September 21.--My aunt was away when I got home from school so Ella
+said, 'Now's your chance,' and we went into the parlor and she showed
+me the picture. I smiled back at the face because it smiled at me. My
+father is pleasant and kind.
+
+"September 22.--I went in the parlor and looked at the picture again. I
+was afraid my aunt would come in and find me.
+
+"September 23.--It happened to-day. I was looking at the picture and
+my aunt came in still and caught me. She said dreadful things, and I
+cried and I don't know what I did, but she said I was saucy and she
+didn't know what to do with me. Uncle George heard the noise and came
+in and he scolded, too. I never saw him so cross. I almost thought he
+was angry with Aunt Amelia, but of course that was not so. At last he
+took my father's picture out of the album and gave it to me, and told
+me to keep it, and he told me not to go in my aunt's parlor because
+she didn't want me there. I knew that before, because I wanted to take
+lessons on the piano same as Ella, and she wouldn't let me.
+
+"I am so glad I have my father's picture. It is like having folks of
+your own to have a picture of somebody that was yours. I haven't missed
+a single question in school on the map of South America. I guess that
+is one map I can't forget. I wish I knew where my father went in South
+America. I don't dare ask Uncle George. He says I am the trial of his
+life, and he doesn't see why I don't behave like other children.
+
+"October 1.--I am getting so I don't care what happens to me. I don't
+come straight home from school any more. I always think I will until I
+get started home, and then I dread to come because nobody loves me and
+I will get scoldings and things anyway, so I stop and look at toads and
+frogs and have a good time before I get home, and sometimes nothing
+happens. My aunt says I tell things, but I don't. What would I tell
+for? I don't even write sad things in my diary because I don't want to
+make my grandchildren cry. It would make me feel pretty bad if I found
+out that nobody loved my grandmother.
+
+"October 2.--Had a lovely time playing Pocahontas in the grove.
+
+"October 3.--I tried to count the stars last night, but I couldn't. I
+wonder why we don't fall off the earth when China's on top? Aunt Amelia
+says I ought to know better than to ask her questions. I do.
+
+"October 20.--I listened to what the minister said to-day. It was about
+heaven. I've got to try to be awful good on earth so I can surely go
+there. Then I guess somebody will love me and when I walk in through
+one of the pearly gates, the angels won't look cross.
+
+"October 21.--You get tired of keeping your diary. I am going to write
+a book. Its name will be 'The Little Daughter of Thor.' I guess Thor
+never had a little girl, but I am going to write it in a book that he
+did, and one day when the little girl was a baby and she was playing
+with the golden apples, she fell right through the sky on to the earth.
+Then I am going to write about how the little girl watched for the
+Rainbow Bridge. She was a little stray child on earth, and even the
+giants were kind to her. Of course Thor's little daughter would know
+enough to know that the only way home was over the blue and golden
+Rainbow Bridge that she couldn't see only sometimes.
+
+"At the end of the story, Thor himself will find the little girl and
+will take her in his chariot across the Rainbow Bridge to the shining
+bright city in the clouds where her mother will hug her pretty near to
+pieces. Maybe when I get the book done, I will write another about what
+Thor's little daughter did when she got home. About the songs she used
+to sing with her mother, and the flowers they used to pick and about
+everything that is happiness. It will be nicer to do than keeping an
+old diary about real things.
+
+"The nicest looking man's picture I ever saw is my father, so I am
+going to have him for Thor. My father looks kind and smiling, but he
+looks, too, as if he would know how to use Thor's big hammer if the bad
+giants tried to cross the Rainbow Bridge. I think it is queer that I
+like the god of thunder so well that I will let him have my father's
+face in my book.
+
+"October 22.--I am going to put some last words in my diary, just
+to say that it is a good thing to write a book. Something dreadful
+happened after school to-night. I felt dreadful, nobody knows. I got
+over it though, and then because I had to stay in my room and have dry
+bread and water for my supper, I started my book and it was lots of
+fun. It is the best thing there is to do when you want to forget you
+are a little girl that nobody loves. If I live here until I am an old
+lady I presume I will turn into an author.
+
+"If it wasn't for the orchard and the locust grove and the way home
+from school, and recesses and my doll and my books, and the birds and
+the wild flowers and the lovely blue sky I can see from my window this
+minute, and a good many other things, I would wish I had died when I
+was a baby. That makes me laugh. It is a nice world to live in after
+all. A beautiful world."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII
+
+DIPHTHERIA
+
+
+EARLY in the winter, diphtheria broke out in the schools. Marian said
+little about it at home, fearing she might not be allowed to go, though
+the daily paper told the whole story. Why the schools were not closed
+was a question even in the long ago days when Marian was a child.
+Uncle George was indignant, but influenced by his wife's arguments,
+he allowed Marian to have her way. Mrs. St. Claire said Marian was
+better off in school than at home, and in no more danger of catching
+diphtheria than she would be hanging over the fence talking to passing
+children. Marian didn't tell her Uncle George that she was never
+allowed to speak to passing children. He might have kept her home.
+
+Weeks passed and many little ones died. The schoolroom became a solemn
+place to Marian. It seemed strange to look at empty seats and know
+that the ones who used to sit in them would never come to school again.
+Even the boys were quieter than ever before. There were no longer paper
+wads flying the minute the teacher's back was turned, perhaps because
+the chief mischief maker's curly head was missing. He was Tommy Jewel,
+and he made things lively at the beginning of the term.
+
+Marian felt that it was something to have known so many girls and boys
+who died. At recess in the basement she used to ask children from the
+other rooms how many of their number were missing. Marian felt so well
+and full of life it never entered her head that she might be taken ill
+herself, and the thought of death was impossible, although she often
+closed her eyes and folded her hands, trying to imagine her school-days
+were over.
+
+At home the children met but seldom after the outbreak of diphtheria.
+Marian ate her breakfast alone and Ella had hers when the little cousin
+had gone to school. It was easily possible for Mrs. St. Claire to keep
+the children entirely separate. To guard Ella from all danger of
+contagion was her daily care and the smell of burning sulphur was ever
+present in the house.
+
+One morning Marian's throat was sore and she felt ill. The child
+dressed quickly and went down to tell Uncle George. Tilly the maid was
+at her home on a short visit, and Uncle George was building the kitchen
+fire.
+
+"I've got the diphtheria," announced Marian, and there was terror in
+her face.
+
+"Let me look in your throat," said Uncle George. "Why it looks all
+right, Marian, just a little red."
+
+"I don't care, I feel sick all over," insisted the child, "and I tell
+you now and then, I know I've got it."
+
+When Aunt Amelia was called she said Marian imagined that her throat
+was sore and as Marian ate breakfast, she was sent to school. The child
+went away crying. She didn't swing her little dinner pail around and
+around that morning just to show that she could do it and keep the
+cover on. Uncle George was inclined to call her back, but Aunt Amelia
+laughed at him.
+
+"Any child," argued Mrs. St. Claire, "that could eat the breakfast she
+did, isn't at death's door, now you mark my words. She has let her
+imagination run away with her. Our darling Ella is far more apt to have
+diphtheria than that child. She would be willing to have the disease to
+get a little sympathy."
+
+Marian felt better out in the fresh air and as she met Ellen Day soon
+after leaving home, the way to school seemed short. The chief ambition
+of Marian's school life was to sit on a back seat, yet from the
+beginning, it had been her lot to belong to the front row. The teachers
+had a way of putting her there and Marian knew the reason. It wasn't
+because she was the smallest child in the room, although that was the
+truth. Tommy Jewel used to sit on a front seat, too, and once Marian
+had to share the platform with him. The teacher said they were a good
+pair and the other children laughed. Possibly the memory of Tommy's
+mischievous face caused the teacher to notice how quiet Marian was the
+morning her throat was sore. The child sat with her elbows on her desk,
+her face in her hands, staring solemnly into space.
+
+"Are you ill, Marian?" asked the teacher.
+
+"No, Miss Beck," the child answered, recalling her aunt's remarks.
+
+At last, conscious of pathetic eyes following her about the room and
+having heard of Aunt Amelia, the teacher again questioned Marian. "What
+is the trouble, little girl? Is there anything you would like to do?
+Would you like to write on the blackboard?"
+
+Marian's face lighted. "I wish I could sit in that empty back seat all
+day," she eagerly suggested.
+
+The teacher smiled. "You may pack your books, Marian, and sit there
+until I miss you so much I shall need you down here again."
+
+Marian knew what that meant. "I'll be awful good," she promised. "I
+mean, I'll be ever so good."
+
+So Marian sat in a back seat that last day and in spite of her sore
+throat and headache, she was happy. It was triumph to sit in a back
+seat. She was glad the children looked around and smiled. They might
+get bad marks for turning their heads, to be sure, but what of it?
+At recess Marian walked across the schoolroom once or twice, then
+returned to her seat. At noon she refused to go to the basement with
+the children to eat her luncheon. In fact, she couldn't eat. Marian
+wondered why time seemed so long.
+
+When the history class was called to the recitation seat early in the
+afternoon, one little girl was motionless when the signals were given.
+
+"Marian Lee's asleep," volunteered the child who sat in front of her.
+
+At that, Marian raised her head and stumbled to her class.
+
+"Don't you feel well?" asked the teacher.
+
+Marian shook her head. Her cheeks were crimson. She had never felt so
+wretched.
+
+"Don't you think you had better go home?" continued Miss Beck.
+
+"Oh, no," answered the child in tones of alarm. "Oh, she wouldn't let
+me come home before school is out."
+
+"There, there, don't cry," begged the teacher. "You may go back to
+your seat if you wish."
+
+Marian did so and was soon asleep again. At recess she awoke to find
+herself alone in the room with Miss Beck.
+
+"You had better go home, dear," the teacher urged. "I am sure you are
+ill. Let me help you put on your coat and hood."
+
+"I can't go home until school is out," and Marian began to cry.
+
+"Why not?"
+
+"Because on account of my aunt. She wouldn't let me come home."
+
+"But you are ill, Marian."
+
+"She won't let me be sick," was the sobbing reply, "and I don't dare go
+home. You don't know my aunt. I guess I feel better. I want to go where
+it isn't so hot."
+
+The teacher was young and hopeful. "Perhaps you will feel better if you
+go out to play," was her reply.
+
+Instead of going out of doors, Marian went into the basement and joined
+in a game of blind man's buff. Only a few minutes and she fell upon
+the floor in a dead faint. When the child opened her eyes she found
+herself the centre of attraction. The basement was quiet as though the
+command had been given to "Form lines." A strange teacher was holding
+Marian and Miss Beck was bathing her face with a damp handkerchief.
+Her playmates stood about in little groups, whispering the dread word
+"Diphtheria." Miss Beck came to her senses and ordered the children
+into the fresh air. How to send Marian home was the next question. The
+child listened to the various suggestions and then, struggling to her
+feet declared that she would walk home alone. She couldn't imagine what
+her aunt might say if she did anything else.
+
+The child had her way. Through the gate and down the road she went
+alone. The journey was long and the wind was cold. The little feet were
+never so weary as that December day. It seemed to Marian that she could
+never reach home. Finally she passed the church. Seven more houses
+after that, then a turn to the right and two more houses. If she dared
+sit down on the edge of the sidewalk and rest by the way, but that
+wouldn't do. "I could never stir again," she thought and plodded on.
+
+At last she reached her own gate and saw Ella at the window. Would Aunt
+Amelia scold? It would be good to get in where it was warm, anyway. Oh,
+if Aunt Amelia would open the front door and say, "Come in this way,
+Marian," but she didn't and the child stumbled along a few more steps
+to the back entrance. She was feeling her way through the house when
+Aunt Amelia stopped her in the dining-room.
+
+"Don't come any further," said she. "I have callers in the parlor. What
+are you home in the middle of the afternoon for?"
+
+"I've got the diphtheria," the child replied, and her voice was thick.
+
+Aunt Amelia made no reply but returned immediately through the
+sitting-room to the parlor.
+
+"I guess she knows I'm sick now," Marian whispered as she sank into a
+chair by the table and pushed her dinner pail back to make room for
+her aching head. The callers left. Marian heard the front door open
+and close. Then Aunt Amelia hastily entered the dining-room, threw
+a quantity of sulphur upon the stove and went back, closing the door
+behind her. Another door closed and Marian knew that her aunt was in
+the parlor with Ella.
+
+The child choked and strangled and called to her aunt. She tried to
+walk and couldn't stand. The fumes of burning sulphur grew stronger and
+stronger. The air was blue. Marian became terrified as no one replied
+to her calls, but in time a merciful feeling of rest and quiet stole
+over her and her head fell forward upon the table.
+
+For a long time she knew nothing. Then came dreams and visions. Part
+of the time Marian recalled that she was home from school early and
+that she had not taken off her hood and coat. Again she wondered where
+she was and why it was so still. Then came an awful dread of death.
+Where was everybody and what would become of her? The thought of
+death aroused Marian as nothing else had done. Would she be left to
+die alone? She remembered that some of her schoolmates were ill with
+diphtheria but a few hours before the end came. Where was Aunt Amelia?
+Had she gone away from the house? Marian could not lift her head and
+when she tried to call her aunt her voice was a smothered whisper. What
+she suffered before her uncle came was a story long untold. Things
+happened when Uncle George walked into the house. He aired the room and
+there was wrath in his voice as he demanded explanations.
+
+"Have patience a minute more, little girl, and it will be all right,"
+he said to Marian, as he brought a cot into the room and quickly made a
+bed. Then he undressed her, put her in bed and grabbed his hat.
+
+"Oh, don't leave me," begged Marian, "please don't, Uncle George, I'm
+awful sick and I'm afraid when I'm alone."
+
+"I'm going for the doctor," was the reply; "lie still and trust Uncle
+George."
+
+The man was gone but a moment and soon after he returned, the doctor
+came. It was no easy matter to look in Marian's throat. It needed more
+than the handle of a spoon to hold down the poor little tongue.
+
+"Am I going to die right off?" demanded the child. "Oh, if I can only
+live I'll be so good. I'll never do anything bad again. Tell me quick,
+have I got to die to-night?"
+
+For a time it seemed useless to try to quiet the little girl. "Oh, I'm
+afraid to die," she moaned, "I don't dare to die. Aunt Amelia says I
+won't go to heaven and I'm afraid. I don't want to tell what she does
+say. Oh, Uncle George, don't let me die. Tell the doctor you want me to
+get well. Tell him I'll be good."
+
+Uncle George sat down and covered his face with his hands when Marian
+told him she couldn't hear what he said, that it was dark and she
+wanted more light so she could see his face that she might know if he
+was angry. Then she called for Aunt Amelia, and Aunt Amelia would not
+come; she was afraid of the diphtheria.
+
+"But if I'm going to die, I've got to tell her," cried the child,
+clutching at the air, and it was some time before Uncle George
+understood.
+
+"Child, child, don't speak of cookies," he begged, "that was all right
+long ago;" but the assurance fell upon unheeding ears.
+
+The nurse came and went up-stairs to prepare a room for Marian. The
+woman's appearance convinced the child that there was no hope--she was
+surely going to die. Uncle George groaned as he listened to her ravings.
+
+At last the doctor put down his medicine case and drew a chair close
+beside the cot. He was a big man with a face that little children
+trusted. He took both of Marian's small, burning hands in one of his
+and told her she must look at him and listen to what he had to tell
+her. Uncle George moved uneasily. He thought the doctor was about to
+explain to Marian that unless she kept more quiet, nothing would save
+her, she would have to die. The man was surprised when he heard what
+the kind physician said. He talked to Marian of the friend of little
+children and of the beautiful home beyond the skies. Nor would he allow
+her to interrupt, but patiently and quietly told her over and over
+that the One who took little children up in His arms and blessed them,
+didn't ask whether they were good or bad. He loved them all. The sins
+of little children were surely forgiven.
+
+The troubled brain of the child grasped the meaning at last. There
+was nothing to fear. She closed her eyes and was quiet for a few
+moments. When she began to talk again, it was of summer mornings and
+apple-blossoms, of the wild birds and the chipmunk that lived in the
+locust grove. Many days passed before Marian realized anything more:
+then she knew that Uncle George took care of her nights and the nurse
+came every morning.
+
+"Where is my aunt?" asked the child. "Doesn't she come up here?"
+
+"Your aunt and little cousin," replied the nurse, "stay by themselves
+in the front part of the house down-stairs. They are afraid of the
+diphtheria."
+
+Marian stared at the wall. She was glad to know there was no danger
+that Aunt Amelia might walk in, but somehow it seemed better not to
+tell the nurse.
+
+"Am I going to die?" she asked.
+
+The question came so suddenly the nurse was taken by surprise.
+"Why--why we hope not," was the reply.
+
+Something in the tones of the woman's voice impressed the truth upon
+Marian's mind. She was far more likely to die than to live. "I only
+wanted to know," she remarked, "I'm not afraid any more. I only hope I
+won't be a grown up angel the first thing. I should like to be a little
+girl with a mother and live in one of the many mansions for a while,
+like other children. I'd pick flowers in the front yard."
+
+Soon after, the child fell asleep. When she awoke she was delirious,
+talking continually about the Rainbow Bridge. The doctor came, but it
+was hours before the Rainbow Bridge faded away and Marian was quiet.
+That was the day the little pilgrim seemed near the journey's end.
+Until sunset, Uncle George watched each fluttering breath. In the
+silent room below, Ella wept bitterly and Aunt Amelia waited to hear
+that the little soul was gone. She waited calmly, declaring that she
+had done her duty by the child up-stairs.
+
+Marian lived. A few weeks more and Aunt Amelia heard her ringing
+laugh and knew that she was happy. At last Marian was well enough to
+leave her room but it was days and days after the house was fumigated
+before she was allowed to see Ella or sit at the table with the family.
+Everything seemed changed. The rooms were brighter and more cheerful.
+The pictures on the walls had a different meaning. The very chairs
+looked new. Nothing appeared just as Marian left it. Even Aunt Amelia
+was better looking and spoke more kindly to the child. Nothing was ever
+the same after Marian had diphtheria. She never returned to the little
+back room where she was away from all the family at night, nor did she
+ever again doubt that Uncle George was her own uncle.
+
+Many bright days crowded one upon another during the remaining weeks
+of winter. The neighbors invited Marian to their homes and took her
+driving with them. Dolly Russel's mother gave a house party for her,
+inviting little girls from the country for a week in town. That was the
+time Marian was so happy she almost believed herself a princess in
+a fairy tale. When she was home again, the child added a line to her
+diary.
+
+"February 29.--I had diphtheria this winter and it was a good thing. I
+got well and now I am having the best time that ever was written down
+in a diary. I have changed my mind about being an author. I won't have
+time to write books. There is too much fun in the world."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV
+
+MUSICAL CONVERSATIONS
+
+
+ONCE in a great while Marian and Ella had a chance to play together.
+These rare occasions were times of joy.
+
+Mrs. St. Claire usually took Ella with her wherever she went, but
+sometimes she was compelled to leave the child at home with her father
+or Tilly, and there was merriment in the house. The little cousins
+had gay times and their only regret was that such hours of happiness
+were few. At last Marian thought of a plan. Her new room was opposite
+Ella's. As Aunt Amelia insisted upon sending Marian to bed at seven,
+Uncle George declared that early hours were necessary for Ella's
+welfare. Accordingly, both children went to their rooms at the same
+time with instructions not to talk. No one cautioned them not to sing
+and singing was one of Marian's habits. After listening to the solos a
+few nights, Ella tried a song of her own and that gave Marian an idea.
+She listened until Ella stopped for breath and then expressed a few
+thoughts to the tune of "Home, Sweet Home."
+
+  "O-oh, I know what will be great fun
+  And I'll tell you what it is,
+  We will play go to gay old concerts,
+  And take our children too.
+
+  "First the other lady
+  Can sing a good long song,
+  And then it will be my turn next,
+  And I'll sing a song myself.
+
+  "Fun fu-un-fun, fun-fun,
+  I guess it will be fun-fun,
+  I guess it will be fun."
+
+It was fun. The other lady took the hint quickly. She and her children
+went to the concert without waiting to get ready. Furthermore she left
+herself sitting beside her children in the best seat in the hall and at
+the same time took her place on the stage. She even went so far as to
+become a colored man while she sang
+
+  "Way down upon the Suwanee River."
+
+Ella's mother came up-stairs for something as the gentleman was
+rendering this selection with deep feeling, but she had no idea that
+her little daughter was singing on the stage, nor did she know that the
+greatest soprano in America was the next performer, although she did
+hear Marian begin in tragic tones, "'There is a happy land, far, far
+away.'" "Far, far away" was tremulous with emotion.
+
+From that hour dated many a concert, and after the concerts, the ladies
+continued to sing everything they had wished to talk over during the
+day. Often the musical conversations were cut short by an admonition
+from the hall below, but even Tilly never learned the nature of those
+evening songs. As the children disturbed nobody and were put to bed
+long before they were sleepy, Uncle George said, "Let them sing." In
+this way Marian and Ella became well acquainted.
+
+One night Marian asked Ella if she knew anything about how she happened
+to be taken to the Little Pilgrim's Home when she was a baby.
+
+    "No-o-o," replied Ella in shrill soprano,
+    "They won't tell-ell me-e a thing now-ow days
+    But a long time ago-go
+    They used to talk about everything
+    Right before me-e, only the trouble is-s,
+    I was such a little goo-oose
+    I didn't think much about it."
+
+    "Do you know anything about my mother-other-other?"
+    Chanted the musician across the hall.
+
+    "No-o-o," was the response,
+    "I only know-o that my mother-other
+    Didn't know your mother-other, ever in her li-ife,
+    But I do-oo remember-ember that the folks at that Ho-o-me
+    Had some things that used to belong-long
+    To your mother-other.
+    And they are packed away-way somewhere in the house.
+    I guess they are in the attic-attic,
+    But of course I don't know-o.
+
+    "Once I saw-aw a picture of your mother-other
+    But I don't remember-ember
+    What she looked like, looked like-looked like.
+    Don't you wi-ish your mother wasn't dead?
+    If you had a mother-other
+    I could go to your hou-ouse
+    And your mother-other
+    Would let us play together-ether."
+
+    "Yes, yes, she would," Marian's voice chimed in,
+    "She would let us play-ay
+    All the day-ay.
+    And sometimes I thi-ink my mother is ali-ive,
+    And if she is, won't I be gla-ad.
+    If I do find my mother-other
+    And I go to live with her-er,
+    Why, may be your mother-other will die-i
+    And then you can come and live with u-us
+    And won't that be gay-ay.
+    You never know what's going to happen in this world."
+
+"What kind of a song are you singing?" called Aunt Amelia.
+
+"Opera house music," replied Marian, who feared that concerts were over
+for the season when she heard the question.
+
+"I thought," responded Aunt Amelia, "that a lunatic asylum was turned
+loose. Don't let me hear another sound to-night."
+
+The musicians laughed softly, and there were no more solos that evening.
+
+The following day Ella and Aunt Amelia went visiting and in the middle
+of the forenoon, when Tilly was busily working in the kitchen, Marian
+climbed the attic stairs with determination in her eye. An old portrait
+of George Washington on the wall at the landing seemed to question
+her motives. "Don't worry, Mr. Washington," remarked the child, "I'm
+not going to tell a lie, but sir, I'm looking for my mother and I'm
+going to find her if she's here." Marian gazed steadily at the face in
+the old oaken frame, and meeting with no disapproval there, passed on,
+leaving the Father of her Country to guard the stairway.
+
+There were numerous trunks, boxes, barrels and an old sea-chest in the
+attic. Marian hesitated a moment before deciding to try the yellow
+chest. Her knees shook as she lifted the cover. At first she was
+disappointed; there seemed to be nothing but blankets in the chest.
+Then a bit of blue silk peeping from beneath the blankets caught her
+eye and Marian knew she was searching in the right place. From the
+depths of the chest she drew forth a bundle, unfolded it and beheld a
+beautiful gown of pale blue silk, trimmed with exquisite lace. Tears
+filled her eyes as she touched the shimmering wonder. She had never
+seen anything like it.
+
+"This was my mother's," she whispered, and kissed the round neck as
+she held the waist close in her arms. "She wore it once, my mother."
+Marian would gladly have looked at the dress longer but time was
+precious and there was much to see. Embroidered gowns of purest white,
+bright sashes and ribbons were there, and many another dainty belonging
+of the woman whose name was never mentioned in the presence of her
+child. In a carved ivory box, were jewels. Marian closed it quickly,
+attracted by a bundle at the bottom of the chest. She had found it at
+last. The picture of her mother. It was in an oval frame, wrapped in a
+shawl of white wool.
+
+"Oh, if I had her, if she could only come to me," cried Marian, as the
+lovely face became her own. Though the child might never again see the
+picture, yet would it be ever before her.
+
+When she dared stay in the attic no longer, Marian kissed the picture,
+wrapped it in the white shawl and laid it tenderly away. As she did so
+she noticed for the first time a folded newspaper on the bottom of the
+chest. Inside the paper was a small photograph. Marian tiptoed to the
+attic stairs and listened a moment before she looked at the photograph.
+Then she uttered a low exclamation of delight. There was no doubt that
+the face in the oval frame was her mother's, for the small picture was
+a photograph of Marian's father and a beautiful woman. "It's the same
+head," whispered the child, "and oh, how pretty she is. I am so glad
+she is my mother!
+
+"I wonder what they saved an old newspaper so carefully for?" continued
+Marian. "Maybe I had better look at it. What does this mean? 'Claimed
+by Relatives,' who was claimed, I wonder? Oh! I was! Now I'll find out
+all I want to know because, only see how much it tells!"
+
+Marian laid the photograph down and read the article from beginning
+to end. She didn't see George Washington when she passed him on the
+landing on the way down-stairs and for the rest of the day the child
+was so quiet every one in the house marveled. There were no concerts
+that evening. The leading soprano had too much on her mind. The
+following morning Marian sharpened her lead pencil and opened her
+diary. After looking for a moment at the white page she closed the book.
+
+"No use writing down what you are sure to remember," she remarked, "and
+besides that, it is all too sad and finished. I am going outdoors and
+have some fun." Marian was in the back yard watching a cricket, when
+Ella sauntered down the path singing, "Good-morning, Merry Sunshine."
+
+"Where are you going, sweetheart?" called her mother from the kitchen
+window.
+
+"Just down here by the fence to get some myrtle leaves," Ella replied
+and went on singing.
+
+Marian bent over the cricket nor did she look up although Ella gave her
+surprising information as she passed.
+
+    "If I were you, Miss Marian Lee,
+    I'll tell you what I'd do,
+    I'd pack my doll and everything I wanted to take with me,
+    Because in the very early morning,
+    You're surely going away
+    To a country town where you will stay
+    Until school begins again.
+
+    "I knew they were going to send you somewhere,
+    But I didn't know just when,
+    Until I just now heard my father and mother
+    Both talking all about it.
+    I know you'll have a pretty good time,
+    I wish I were going too,
+    But maybe you'll find some girls to play with,
+    I'm sure I hope you do."
+
+Marian smiled but dared not reply, especially as the singer broke
+down and laughed and Aunt Amelia knew there were no funny lines in
+"Good-morning, Merry Sunshine."
+
+The hint was enough. Marian straightened her affairs for a journey and
+a long absence from home.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XV
+
+LITTLE SISTER TO THE DANDELION
+
+
+MARIAN asked no questions the following morning until she was on her
+way to the station with Uncle George. "Where am I going?" she finally
+ventured.
+
+"Where you passed the summer last year," was the reply. "How does that
+suit you?"
+
+"Suit me," repeated Marian, "nothing ever suited me better. I'm pretty
+glad I'm going there. Why didn't you send me back to school, Uncle
+George? School won't be out for two months. I'm glad you didn't, but
+why?"
+
+"Well, sis, you told me you wanted to go to the country school."
+
+"Yes, but----"
+
+"Now's your chance," interrupted the man, "learn all you can and try to
+do some one thing better than any one else in school, will you?"
+
+"Well, but Uncle George, big boys and big girls go to country schools."
+
+"What of it, Marian? You do some one thing better than any one else in
+school, and when you come home this fall you may choose any book you
+wish at the book store, and I will buy it for you."
+
+"But, Uncle George, how will you know whether I really do something
+better than any one else or not?"
+
+"I'll take your word for it, Marian."
+
+"My word is true," the child remarked with dignity.
+
+"No doubt about it," added Uncle George, turning away to hide a smile.
+
+Just as the train pulled into the station, Marian caught a glimpse of a
+small blue butter-fly. It fluttered away out of sight as Uncle George
+said "good-bye." "Oh, I hate to leave that butter-fly," exclaimed
+Marian, and those were the last words Uncle George heard as he left
+her. The passengers smiled, but Uncle George looked thoughtful. There
+was so much to be seen from the car windows and so many folks to
+wonder about within the car, the journey seemed short.
+
+Two young ladies welcomed Marian at the train, hugging and kissing her
+the minute the small feet touched the platform. "I guess folks will
+think you're some relation to me," laughed the child.
+
+"So we are," replied Miss Ruth Golding. "We are your cousins."
+
+"Certainly," agreed Miss Kate, "your Uncle George knew us when we were
+little girls, so of course we are your cousins."
+
+"Of course!" echoed Marian, "and I know my summer of happiness has
+begun this day in April."
+
+"Your troubles have begun, you mean," warned Miss Ruth; "the
+school-teacher boards with us and you'll have to toe the mark."
+
+"Oh, goody!" exclaimed Marian. "I can walk to school with her."
+
+"You won't say 'goody' when you see the lady," predicted Miss Kate.
+"She's as sober as a judge, very quiet, and keeps to herself."
+
+"What's the matter with her?" asked Marian.
+
+"She's lived in the city all her life and eaten books," explained Ruth.
+"She eats them, Marian, covers, binding, pictures and everything. Too
+bad, but maybe you'll get used to it. Here is mother coming to meet
+you, and here comes Carlo."
+
+Marian ran ahead to throw her arms around Mrs. Golding's neck. "I am so
+glad they sent me back to you," she cried. "I didn't say anything about
+it to my aunt because she would have sent me somewhere else. It doesn't
+do to let her know when you're too happy. She isn't a bit like you, not
+a bit."
+
+"No, I think not," was the response. "You see, dear, your neighbor,
+Mrs. Russel, is one of my old friends, and she has told me so much
+about your aunt I feel as if I know her. I am sure we are not alike."
+
+"Why, I should say not!" laughed Marian. "Why she's as thin as--as
+knitting needles, and you're as plump as new pin cushions. Won't we
+have fun this summer, though? Well, Carlo, old fellow. Didn't forget
+Marian, did he? Nice old doggie."
+
+"Down, sir!" Mrs. Golding commanded. "He is so glad to see you, Marian,
+he can't express his feelings without trying to knock you over."
+
+"I wish Uncle George owned a dog," commented Marian; "there'd always
+be some one glad to see you when you got home. I like dogs. Does the
+teacher come home at noon, Mrs. Golding?"
+
+"No, sometimes we don't see her until supper time. She won't be such
+jolly company for you as my girls. She's too quiet."
+
+"Is she cross, Mrs. Golding?"
+
+"No, oh, no indeed."
+
+"Then I shall like her," was the quick reply.
+
+There were callers in the late afternoon, so Marian wandered out alone.
+She had gone but a short distance down the lane when she saw dandelions
+ahead. She gathered a handful of the short-stemmed blooms and walked
+on. In the distance she heard a bluebird singing. Marian ran to find it
+and was rewarded by a flash of glorious blue as the bird sought a tree
+across the river. Marian followed it as far as she could, being obliged
+to stop at the river's bank. As she stood gazing after the bird, she
+was startled by a woman's voice.
+
+"What have you in your hand, little girl?"
+
+Turning, Marian saw a young lady sitting on a log near by. "Just
+dandelions," the child replied, and would have hidden the bunch behind
+her if the young lady had not forbidden it.
+
+"We all love dandelions, little girl," she said; "come and show them to
+me."
+
+Marian wonderingly obeyed.
+
+"Did you ever look at a dandelion through a microscope?" continued the
+young lady.
+
+"No, I never did."
+
+The stranger passed Marian a microscope and asked her to tell what she
+saw.
+
+"Oh, I never knew a dandelion was like this," said Marian; "why there
+are a thousand little blossoms in it all crowded together, and they are
+the goldenest golden ever was! Oh, oh, oh! Wasn't it lucky you were
+here so I could see through your microscope? What if I had never seen
+that dandelion!"
+
+"Would you like to borrow the microscope often?" asked the young lady,
+smiling so pleasantly Marian straightway decided that she was pretty.
+
+"Well, I should say yes, Miss--Miss--you see I don't know what your
+name is?"
+
+"Oh, that's so, I am Miss Smith, Miss Virginia Smith. Who are you?"
+
+"My name," was the reply, "is Marian Lee, but who I am I don't really
+know."
+
+Miss Smith repressed her curiosity, believing that Marian was the
+little girl the Goldings were to meet that day.
+
+"It's everything to have a name," said she.
+
+"Yes, but I'd like some relatives," Marian explained, "some real
+sisters and cousins and aunts of my own."
+
+"Why don't you do as Hiawatha did?" Miss Smith suggested.
+
+"You mean play all the birds and squirrels are my brothers and sisters?
+I think I will. I'll be little sister to the dandelion."
+
+Miss Smith laughed with Marian. "I'll do the same thing," said she,
+"and if we are sisters to the dandelion, you must be my little sister
+and I'm your big sister and all the wild flowers belong to our family."
+
+"It's a game," agreed Marian. "I suppose little Indian children picked
+dandelions in the spring-time before Columbus discovered America."
+
+"There were no dandelions then to pick," Miss Smith remonstrated. "The
+plant was brought here by white men. Its name is from the French,
+meaning lion's tooth."
+
+"I don't see anything about a dandelion to mean lion's tooth," objected
+Marian; "do you?"
+
+"No, I don't, Marian, nor does any one know exactly how it came by
+its name. Some believe it was given to the plant because its root is
+so white; then again, in the old days lions were pictured with teeth
+yellow as dandelion blossoms. The explanation I like best is that the
+dandelion was named after the lion because the lion is the animal that
+used to represent the sun, and all flowers named after him are flowers
+of the sun."
+
+"Do you know anything more about dandelions?" questioned Marian.
+
+"If I don't," said Miss Virginia Smith, smiling as she spoke, "it isn't
+because there is nothing more to learn. Did you ever hear the dandelion
+called the shepherd's clock?"
+
+"No, Miss Smith, never. Why should they call it that?"
+
+"Because the dandelion is said to open at five and close at eight."
+
+"Well!" exclaimed Marian, "I guess you could write a composition about
+dandelions."
+
+"Possibly," was the laughing response. "As far as that goes, Marian,
+there isn't a thing that grows that hasn't a history if you take the
+time and trouble to hunt it up."
+
+"Skunk cabbages?" suggested Marian.
+
+"Yes, 'skunk cabbages,'" was the reply. "What flowers do you suppose
+are related to it?"
+
+"I don't know, unless Jack-in-the-pulpit, maybe, is it?"
+
+"That's right, guess again."
+
+"I'll have to give up, Miss Smith. I never saw anything except
+Jack-in-the-pulpit that looks a bit like old skunk cabbage."
+
+"The calla lily, Marian, what do you think of that?"
+
+"I don't know, Miss Smith, but such things happen, of course, because
+Winnie Raymond has a horrible looking old Uncle Pete, and Winnie's
+awful pretty herself. But how do you know so much about plants?"
+
+"By reading and observation, Marian."
+
+"Are there many books about wild flowers, Miss Smith?"
+
+"More than we can ever read, little girl. Better than that the country
+around this village is a garden of wild flowers. Down by the old mill
+and on the hills, in the fields and woods and along the river bank, we
+shall find treasures from now on every time we take the shortest walk."
+
+"Oh, dear," grumbled Marian, "isn't it too bad I've got to go to
+school?"
+
+"Why don't you like to go to school, child?"
+
+"At home I do, on account of recesses. I don't like the school part of
+it much, but here it would be recess all the time if I could go in
+the woods with you, besides having a good time with the Golding girls
+and playing all day long where I don't get scolded. Dear! I wish I
+didn't have to go to school, or else I wish they'd have lessons about
+birds and flowers and butterflies and little animals, instead of old
+arithmetic. I hate arithmetic."
+
+"Do you?" sympathized Miss Smith. "That's too bad, because we all need
+to understand arithmetic."
+
+"I don't," protested Marian. "I don't even think arithmetic thoughts."
+
+"Some day, Marian, you will wish you understood arithmetic," said Miss
+Smith. "Now if you and I went for a walk and we saw ten crows, three
+song sparrows, five bluebirds, seven chipping sparrows and twenty-seven
+robins, and Mrs. Golding asked us when we got home how many birds we
+saw, I wonder how you would feel if you couldn't add?"
+
+"Well, but don't you see," interrupted Marian, "I could add birds, yes
+and subtract and multiply and divide them. That's different. What I
+don't like is just figures and silly arithmetic things."
+
+"Well, Marian, I may as well tell you now that I'm the school-teacher
+and we'll have arithmetic stories about birds and flowers and little
+animals."
+
+"Oh, are you the teacher?" exclaimed Marian. "I thought she
+was--was--different, you know."
+
+"Different, how?"
+
+"Well, they told me the teacher was--was quiet."
+
+"So she is, usually," agreed Miss Smith, "but this afternoon she met
+one of her own folks. This little sister to the dandelion."
+
+"Won't we have fun!" was Marian's comment.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVI
+
+PROFESSOR LEE, BOTANIST
+
+
+MISS VIRGINIA SMITH knew how to teach arithmetic. Fractions lost
+their terror for Marian, even the mysteries of cube root were eagerly
+anticipated. History became more than ever a living story to the child,
+and geography was a never failing joy. On rainy days every stream and
+puddle between Mrs. Golding's home and the schoolhouse was named, and
+if several Mississippi Rivers emptied into Gulfs of Mexico, and if
+half a dozen Niles overflowed their banks over the country road, what
+difference did it make? When the sun shone bright and only dew-drops
+glistened in the shade, Marian saw deserts and plains, mountains and
+volcanoes along the dusty way.
+
+For a time the game of geography became so absorbing Marian played it
+at the table, forming snowy peaks of mashed potatoes and sprinkling
+salt upon the summits until the drifts were so deep, only the valleys
+below were fit to be eaten. Brown gravy was always the Missouri River
+winding its way across Marian's plate between banks of vegetables. Ice
+cream meant Mammoth Cave. A piece of pie was South Africa from which
+the Cape of Good Hope quickly disappeared. However hungry Marian might
+be, there was a time when she ate nothing but continents and islands.
+
+Whatever Miss Virginia Smith tried to teach the country children,
+Marian Lee appropriated for herself. She listened to all recitations
+whether of the chart class or the big boys and girls. Perhaps if Marian
+had attended more strictly to her own lessons, she might have made the
+kind of a record she thought would please Uncle George. As it was,
+Jimmie Black "Left off head" in the spelling class more times than she
+did, the first month. Belle Newman had higher standings in arithmetic
+and geography, and some one carried off all the other honors.
+
+Marian, however, knew something about botany before the end of May,
+and she gloried in the fact that she could name all the bones in her
+body. Mr. Golding was proud of her accomplishment and once when she
+went with him to see old Bess newly shod, he asked her to name the
+bones for the blacksmith: and the blacksmith thought it wonderful that
+a little girl knew so much. "Yes, but that's nothing," remarked the
+child, "all the big boys and girls in the fifth reader class know their
+bones."
+
+"Ain't you in the fifth reader?" asked the blacksmith.
+
+"No," was the reply, "I can read the whole reader through, but I'm
+not in that reader class. That's the highest class in the country. I
+suppose being in the fifth reader here is like being in the high school
+at home just before you graduate. I won't have to learn bones when I
+get up to the high school."
+
+"And still you say that ain't nothing," protested the blacksmith.
+
+Marian shook her head. "I haven't done one thing in school better'n
+anybody else," she said, "and to do something better'n anybody else
+is all that counts. Don't you try to be the best blacksmither in the
+country?"
+
+Old Bess flourished her tail in the blacksmith's face and the man spoke
+to her next instead of to Marian. He wasn't the best blacksmith and he
+knew it. Some years afterwards when he had won an enviable reputation,
+he told Mr. Golding that the first time he thought of trying to do
+unusually good work was when the little Lee girl asked him if he tried
+to be the best blacksmith in the country.
+
+Concerning botany, Miss Smith knew that Marian was interested in the
+wild flowers and had told her many a legend of wayside blooms when
+walking with her through the fields and across the hills: but she
+had no idea how much the child had learned from listening to the
+recitations of the botany class, until the Saturday morning when the
+wax doll went to school. Miss Smith happened to pass the corn-crib
+unnoticed by teacher or pupil.
+
+The doll was propped in an attitude of attention among the ears of corn.
+
+"Now, little girl," the instructor was saying, "if you ever expect to
+amount to anything in this world, you've got to use your eyes and
+ears. I'm the Professor of Botany your mother was reading about last
+night, who knew nothing about botany until she began to study it. Next
+winter when we can't get outdoors, I am going to give you lessons on
+seeds and roots and things and stems and leaves. The Professor of
+Botany has got to learn the names of the shapes of leaves and how to
+spell them. She really ought to own a book but she doesn't, and that
+can't be helped. You're sure to get what you want some time though, if
+you only try hard enough, and the Botany Professor will get a book. You
+just wait.
+
+"Don't think, little girl, because we are skipping straight over
+to flowers this morning that you are going to get out of learning
+beginnings. We're taking flowers because it is summer. Of course you
+know this is a strawberry blossom I hold in my hand. Well, if it
+wasn't for strawberry blossoms you couldn't have strawberry shortcake,
+remember that. That's the principal thing about strawberries. This
+little circle of white leaves is called the corolla. Now don't get the
+calyx mixed with the corolla as some children do. I tell you it makes
+me feel squirmy to hear some big girls recite. You ought to see this
+flower under a microscope. I guess I'll go and ask Professor Smith for
+hers."
+
+Marian turned around so quickly Professor Smith was unable to get out
+of sight. The doll's instructor felt pretty foolish for a moment, but
+only for a moment.
+
+"Marian Lee," said Miss Smith, "you shall join the botany class next
+Monday morning and I'll give you a book of mine to study."
+
+"What will the big girls say?" gasped Marian.
+
+"About as much as your doll in there," laughed Miss Smith, adding
+seriously, "I won't expect too much of you, Marian, but you may as well
+be in the class and learn all you can."
+
+On Monday morning, although the big girls smiled and the little girls
+stared, Professor Lee became a member of the botany class and learned
+to press the wild flowers.
+
+"I won't have the most perfect lessons of anybody in the class,"
+Marian confided to her doll, "because the big girls know so much; but
+I'll try and have the best specimens in my herbarium. I can do that, I
+am sure. I have just got to do something better than any one else in
+school before I go home."
+
+The following Saturday the doll listened with unchanging face to a
+confession. "Every one of the big girls can press specimens better than
+I can. Their violet plants look like pictures but mine look like hay.
+I guess Uncle George will be discouraged. I don't do anything best. A
+robin is building a nest just outside the window where my seat is in
+school and I forgot to study my spelling lesson. Of course I missed
+half the words. It was the robin's fault. She ought to keep away from
+school children."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVII
+
+THE COMPOSITION ON WILD FLOWERS
+
+
+ALL the children in Marian's class were writing in their copy-books
+"Knowledge is Power." The pens squeaked and scratched and labored
+across pages lighted by June sunshine. The little girls' fingers were
+sticky and boy hands were cramped. It was monotonous work. The "K" was
+hard to make and the capital "P" was all flourishes.
+
+Marian sighed, then raised her hand.
+
+"What is it?" asked Miss Smith.
+
+"Will you tell which one of us has the best looking page when we get
+through with 'Knowledge is Power'?"
+
+Miss Smith consented and Marian, determined to conquer, grasped her pen
+firmly and bent to the task. Two days later the page was finished and
+seven copy-books were piled upon Miss Smith's desk for inspection. At
+first Miss Smith smiled as she examined the various assertions that
+"Knowledge is Power," then she grew serious.
+
+"Did you try your best, children?" she asked, whereupon five girls and
+two boys looked surprised and hurt.
+
+"Well, then, I wonder what is the trouble?" continued Miss Smith. "I am
+ashamed of your work, children, it seems as if you could do better."
+
+"Which is best?" demanded Marian. It made no difference how poor her
+copy was if only it was better than the others. The child was sorry she
+had asked the question when she knew the truth. "I think it is pretty
+discouraging," she said, "when you try your best and do the worst."
+
+"We will begin something new," Miss Smith suggested. "Next week we will
+write compositions on wild flowers and to the one who does the neatest
+looking work, I will give the little copy of 'Evangeline' I have been
+reading to you. It will make no difference whether the compositions are
+long or short, but the penmanship must be good. Every one of you knows
+the spring flowers for we have had them here in school and have talked
+about them every day."
+
+"Will we have to write in our copy-books just the same?" asked Tommy
+Perkins.
+
+"No," was the reply; "you may work on your compositions all the time we
+usually write in the copy-books, and remember, it doesn't make a bit of
+difference how short your compositions are."
+
+That was exactly what Marian did not remember. At first she wrote:
+
+"No flower is so pretty as the anemone that blooms on the windy hill."
+
+At recess she consulted Miss Smith. "Is that long enough?" she asked.
+
+"Yes, that will do," was the reply.
+
+"Is it fair if I copy off her composition?" asked Tommy Perkins, "and
+practice writing it? I can't make up one."
+
+"That sentence will do as well as any other," agreed Miss Smith. "I
+simply wish you to write something you choose to do."
+
+Marian beamed upon Tommy. "I'll copy it for you," she said. "I don't
+really think anemones are the prettiest flowers, Tommy, but they are
+easy to write; no ups or downs in the word if the flowers themselves do
+dance like fairies all the day long."
+
+"I wish't you'd write me a composition," put in Frankie Bean.
+
+"I will," assented Marian, "after school calls, but now, come on out
+and play."
+
+After recess, Marian passed Frankie a piece of paper upon which was
+written this:
+
+"Clover loves a sunny home."
+
+"That's easy, Frankie, because 'y' is the only letter below the line.
+You can say sun-kissed if you would rather keep it all above the
+line. If I don't get the book, may be you will. I hope you won't be
+disappointed, though. I would try if I were you. Something may happen
+to me before next week, you never can tell."
+
+Monday and Tuesday Marian wrote compositions for the four girls to
+copy. They were more particular than the boys had been and their
+compositions were longer.
+
+By the time Marian was ready to settle down to her sentence on the
+anemone, she was tired of it and determined to write something new.
+Soon she forgot all about penmanship and Friday afternoon found her
+with a long composition to copy in an hour. Even then, after the first
+moment of dismay, she forgot that neatness of work alone, would count.
+
+Miss Virginia Smith read the composition aloud.
+
+
+"_Wild Flowers, by Marian Lee._
+
+"When you shut your eyes and think of wild flowers, you always want to
+open them and fly to the hills and the woods. You wish you had wings
+like the birds.
+
+"In an old flower legend book that tells about things most folks don't
+know, I found out what you were always sure of before you knew it. The
+anemones are fairy blossoms. The pink on the petals was painted by the
+fairies and on rainy nights elves hide in the dainty blooms.
+
+"Tulips are not wild, but how can I leave them out when the fairies
+used them for cradles to rock their babies in.
+
+"Some folks laugh at you when you hunt for four-leaved clover, but you
+can never see the fairies without one nor go to the fairy kingdom.
+
+"The old book says, too, that the bluebells ring at midnight to call
+the fairies together. I believe it because I have seen bluebells and
+have almost heard the music. I don't believe they ever were witches'
+thimbles.
+
+"You most always get your feet wet when you go after marsh marigolds,
+but it can't be helped. They are yellow flowers and live where they can
+hear the frogs all the time. I wonder if they ever get tired of frog
+concerts. I never do, only I think it is mournful music after the sun
+goes down. It makes you glad you are safe in the house.
+
+"There is one lovely thing about another yellow flower. It is the
+cinquefoil and you find it before the violets come if you know where to
+look. On rainy days and in damp weather, the green leaves bend over and
+cover the little yellow blossom. The cinquefoil plant must be afraid
+its little darling will catch cold.
+
+"If you ever feel cross, the best thing you can do is to go out where
+the wild flowers grow. You will be sure to hear birds sing and you may
+see a rabbit or a squirrel. Anyway, you will think thoughts that are
+not cross."
+
+"Evangeline" was given to Tommy Perkins. He had practiced writing the
+anemone sentence until his perfectly written words astonished Miss
+Virginia Smith.
+
+"I know my writing isn't good," admitted a little girl named Marian.
+"Only see how it goes up-hill and down-hill and how funny the letters
+are."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVIII
+
+MARIAN'S LETTER HOME
+
+
+MARIAN'S letters to her Uncle George were written on Sunday afternoons.
+She wrote pages and pages about Miss Smith and the country school and
+begged him not to come for her in August.
+
+"I haven't done anything better than any one else in school yet," she
+wrote, "but I am learning all kinds of things and having the best time
+ever was. I want to go to the country school until I graduate. I'll be
+ready for college before you know it if you will only let me stay.
+
+"I am good all the time because Mrs. Golding says so and Miss Ruth and
+Miss Kate take me almost everywhere they go--when they drive to town,
+circuses and things and I have lovely times every day.
+
+"I would tell you who I play with only you would forget the names of so
+many children. When I can't find any one else I go to the mill to see
+the miller's boy. That isn't much fun because the miller's boy is half
+foolish. His clothes are always covered with flour and he looks like
+a little old miller himself. He jumps out at you when you don't know
+where he is and says 'Boo!' and scares you almost out of your wits, and
+that makes his father laugh. I tried to teach him to read but I didn't
+have good luck. He read 'I see the cat' out of almanacs and everything.
+
+"The old miser died last night, Uncle George, and I saw him in the
+afternoon. Only think of it, I saw a man that died. After dinner I went
+to see the miller's boy and he wasn't there. His father said he was
+wandering along the river bank somewhere, so I stayed and talked to the
+miller. Pretty soon the boy came back making crazy motions with his
+arms and telling his father the old miser wanted to see him quick.
+
+"I went outside and watched the big wheel of the mill when the boy and
+his father went away, but it wasn't any time before the boy came back
+and said the old miser wanted to see me. Of course I went as fast as
+I could go, and when I got to the hut, the miller asked me if I could
+say any Bible verses, and if I could to say them quick because the old
+miser wanted somebody to read the Bible quick--quick. I thought it was
+queer, Uncle George, but I was glad I had learned so much out of the
+Bible.
+
+"The old miser was all in rags and I guess he didn't feel well then,
+because he was lying down on a queer old couch and he didn't stir, but
+I tell you he watched me. I didn't want to go in the hut, so I stood
+in the doorway where I could feel the sunshine all around me. Some
+way I thought that wasn't any time to ask questions, so I began the
+Twenty-third Psalm right straight off. When I got to the end of that I
+was going to say the first fourteen verses of John, but the old miser
+raised one hand and said, 'Again--again,' but before I got any further
+than 'The valley of the shadow,' he went to sleep looking at me and I
+never saw his face so happy. It smoothed all out and looked different.
+Poor old miser, the boys used to plague him. The miller motioned to
+his boy and me to go away. I guess he was afraid Jakey would wake the
+old miser. Of course I knew enough to keep still when a tired looking
+old man dropped to sleep.
+
+"I don't know just when the old miser died, Uncle George, nobody talks
+about it where I can hear a word. Mrs. Golding says when I grow up
+I will be glad that I could repeat the Twenty-third Psalm to a poor
+old man who hadn't any friends. She says it isn't true that he was a
+miser, he was just an unfortunate old man. I wonder if he was anybody's
+grandfather? You never can tell.
+
+"I am well acquainted with all the folks in the village, Uncle George,
+and lots of times I go calling. There are some old folks here who never
+step outside of their houses and they are glad to have callers. One old
+blind woman knits all the time. She likes to be read to, real well. And
+there is one woman, the shoemaker's wife, that has six children that
+bother her so when she tries to work; she says it does her good to see
+me coming.
+
+"Only think, Uncle George, how lonesome I will be when I get home where
+I am not acquainted. The only sad thing that has happened here all
+summer is that the miser died, and of course you know that might be
+worse.
+
+"I would like to be with Miss Smith more than I am but she studies
+almost all the time. I don't see what for because she knows everything,
+even about the stars. She likes me a great deal but I guess nobody
+knows it. You mustn't have favorites when you are a school-teacher, she
+told me so.
+
+"You don't know how hard it is, Uncle George, to do something better
+than anybody else. You might think it would be easy, but somebody
+always gets ahead of you in everything, you can't even keep your desk
+the cleanest. Some girls never bring in anything from the woods, so of
+course they can keep dusted.
+
+"I'm afraid you'll be disappointed in
+
+  "Your loving niece,
+   "MARIAN LEE."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIX
+
+THE MOST TRUTHFUL CHILD IN SCHOOL
+
+
+IN the early morning the schoolhouse was a quiet place, and there Miss
+Virginia Smith went to study. No one knew why she worked so hard,
+though Marian often wondered. It was her delight to please Miss Smith,
+and when the teacher waited several mornings until a certain mail train
+passed and the letters were distributed, Marian offered to stop at the
+post-office and get the mail.
+
+"Are you sure you won't lose anything?" asked Miss Smith.
+
+"Sure," promised Marian. "You go to school early as you used to do and
+I'll bring your letters when I come."
+
+Usually the postmaster gave Marian something to carry to Miss Smith,
+and all went well until a few days before school closed. Elizabeth
+Gray called for Marian that morning and together they went to
+the post-office where they waited on tiptoe for the postmaster to
+distribute the mail. There was one letter for Miss Smith, a thin,
+insignificant looking letter.
+
+"That's nothing but an old advertisement," declared Elizabeth; "it
+wasn't worth waiting for."
+
+"I guess you're right," agreed Marian, "see what it says in the corner.
+What's a seminary, anyway? Do you know?--'Young Ladies' Seminary.' Some
+kind of a new fashioned place to buy hats, may be, come on."
+
+"Yes, let's get started before the Prior kids and the Perkinses catch
+up with us. I can't bear that Tommy Perkins."
+
+"We could play De Soto if we had a crowd," suggested Marian. "You and
+I could be the head leaders and the Priors and the Perkins could be
+common soldiers."
+
+"How do you play De Soto?" asked Elizabeth. "I never heard of it."
+
+"You've heard of De Soto, the man that discovered the Mississippi
+River, I hope."
+
+"Of course, he's in the history."
+
+"Well, Elizabeth, I've been reading about him in one of Mr. Golding's
+books about early explorations and I knew in a minute that it would be
+fun to play De Soto on our way to school. Now, I'm De Soto."
+
+"No, I'm going to be De Soto," insisted Elizabeth.
+
+"You don't know how, Elizabeth Jane Gray, and you didn't think of it
+first. All right, though, you be De Soto if you want to. What are you
+going to do? Begin."
+
+"You always want to be the head one in everything, Marian Lee. You
+needn't think I'm Tommy Perkins!"
+
+"I don't, Elizabeth, I think you're that brave Spaniard Moscoso who
+was leader of the soldiers after De Soto died and was buried in the
+Mississippi River where the Indians couldn't find him. But if you want
+to be De Soto, go on, only I don't believe you know a thing about him
+except what the history says. Well, you're De Soto."
+
+"You'll have to tell me what to do, Marian."
+
+"I guess not, Miss Elizabeth, if you're De Soto you ought to know."
+
+Elizabeth walked on in silence for a few moments until seized by an
+inspiration. "I'll be De Soto to-morrow morning," she remarked; "it's
+your turn first, of course, because you thought of the game. I'm--who
+did you say I am, Marian?"
+
+"You're Moscoso, one of my officers, Elizabeth. Well, I'm De Soto and
+I have had wonderful adventures in my life. I was with Pizarro in the
+conquest of Peru and I went back to Spain rich, rich, rich. Now I am
+the Governor of Cuba and Florida and not long ago I had orders from
+Spain to explore Florida. Of course, Moscoso, you remember all about
+it, how we left Cuba with nine ships and landed at Tampa?"
+
+"I remember it, Soty, just as well as if it was yesterday," and
+Moscoso, laughing merrily, swung his dinner pail in a perfect circle.
+
+"Don't laugh, Moscoso, at serious things," continued De Soto; "and I
+think you really should call me Governor and I'll call you General.
+Well, General, we sent most of our ships back to Cuba, and now we're
+searching for gold in Florida, not in our little State of Florida, but
+the big, wide, long Florida that used to be. Now, Elizabeth, we'll
+play wander around for three years, living in Indian villages winters
+and camping out summers and having fights and discovering new birds
+to write to Spain about and having all kinds of adventures, until we
+get to that big ditch at the four corners and that will have to be the
+Mississippi River, and we'll cross it. We can tie our handkerchiefs to
+sticks for banners.
+
+"Let's play all the trees are Indians and all the little low bushes are
+wild beasts. The fences will do for mountains and I guess we'll think
+of other things to play as we go along. We'll have trouble with our
+soldiers, of course, they always do when they are hunting for gold. All
+these fields and woods, no, not woods, forests, I mean, are what you
+call the interior. Dandelions and buttercups will be gold that we steal
+from the Indians. We'll be awfully disappointed because this isn't a
+gold country like Peru, but we will take all there is, and I think we
+had better talk some about going home to Spain. Of course I don't know
+I'm going to die of fever beyond the Mississippi and you don't know
+you'll have to go back to the coast without me. I wish we could talk a
+little bit of real Spanish, don't you, Elizabeth?"
+
+"Hush," warned the General from Spain. "I hear Indians. Let's play the
+wind in the trees is Indian talk, Marian."
+
+"Sure enough, Elizabeth, we must advance cautiously, General Moscoso,
+they always 'advance cautiously' in the books, or else 'beat a hasty
+retreat.' We won't dare play retreat or we'll never get to school. Oh,
+they're friendly Indians, General, how fortunate."
+
+De Soto had crossed the Mississippi when he grew pale as death and
+suddenly deserted his followers. The banners of Spain trailed in the
+dust. "Elizabeth Jane Gray, where's that letter?"
+
+Two little girls gazed at each other in dismay.
+
+"Have you lost it?" gasped Elizabeth.
+
+"If I haven't, where is it?" asked Marian.
+
+"Can't you remember anything about it?" Elizabeth went on, "when you
+had it last, or anything?"
+
+"No, I can't. Let's go straight back over the road and hunt. I must
+have dropped it and perhaps we may find it if we look. I can't believe
+it is really lost. Oh, Elizabeth, what shall I do if it is? I adore
+Miss Smith and what will she think?"
+
+"She won't think anything if you keep still, Marian; the letter was
+only an old advertisement, anyway."
+
+"Oh, dear, dear, dear!" wailed Marian. "This is dreadful. I don't see
+a thing that looks like a letter anywhere. I am going to climb a tree
+and look way off over the fields." Although the children searched
+faithfully, they could not find the letter.
+
+"We'll hunt at noon," suggested Elizabeth, deeply touched by Marian's
+distress, "and if I were you I wouldn't say a word about it."
+
+"But Elizabeth, what if she asks me if there was a letter?"
+
+"Fib," was the response.
+
+"It's enough to make anybody, Elizabeth."
+
+"You'll be a goose, Marian, if you own up. I won't tell on you and the
+letter didn't amount to anything, anyway. Let's run for all we're worth
+and get there before school calls if we can. Sure's we're late she'll
+ask questions."
+
+Just as the bell was ringing, two breathless little girls joined their
+schoolmates. Their faces were flushed and their hair was tumbled.
+Miss Smith smiled when she saw them, but asked no questions. Noticing
+Marian's empty hands, she said evidently to herself, "No letter yet!"
+
+"You're going to get out of this as easy's pie, just keep your mouth
+shut," whispered Elizabeth.
+
+"I shall have to tell," groaned Marian.
+
+"Don't be silly," Elizabeth advised.
+
+During the morning exercises Marian determined to confess no matter
+what happened. When the chart class was called to the recitation seat
+she raised her hand and was given permission to speak to Miss Smith.
+Marian didn't glance towards Elizabeth Gray as she walked to the desk.
+Elizabeth had never stolen cookies. "Miss Smith," said Marian, "you
+had a letter this morning and I lost it."
+
+"You dear child, I am so glad you told me," and Miss Smith who had so
+often insisted that a school-teacher must never have favorites, put her
+arms around the little girl and kissed the soft, brown hair. "Now tell
+me what was printed on the envelope if you can remember."
+
+Word for word Marian described the letter.
+
+"It is the one I was expecting," said Miss Smith, and while the chart
+class waited, their teacher wrote a letter, stamped it and sent it to
+the post-office by Tommy Perkins.
+
+Two days later, Marian carried Miss Smith a letter exactly like the one
+she had lost. Miss Smith read it, smiled and asked Marian to stay after
+school.
+
+"You're going to get your scolding at last," predicted Elizabeth. "I
+told you not to tell."
+
+At four o'clock the children trooped out and flew down the road like
+wild birds escaped from a cage, leaving Marian uneasily twisting her
+handkerchief while she waited for Miss Smith to speak. Nothing was
+said until the sound of childish voices came from a distance. Then Miss
+Smith looked up and laughed. "Can you keep a secret for a few days,
+Marian?" she asked. "Come here, dear, and read the letter you brought
+me this morning."
+
+Marian read the short letter three times before she asked, "Are you
+going?"
+
+"Going," echoed Miss Smith; "that is the position I have long wished
+for, Marian. Only think how I shall enjoy teaching botany and English
+in a boarding-school. You see what they say, Marian, they want an
+immediate reply or it will be too late. If you hadn't told me about the
+letter you received the other day, I should have lost the position. I
+imagined what the letter was and sent for a copy. If you hadn't told me
+the truth, Marian, only think what a difference it would have made!"
+
+"I just have to tell the truth," said the little girl.
+
+"I believe you, dear, I never saw a more truthful child in my life."
+
+"Would you dare say I am the most honest child in school?" asked
+Marian, a sudden light making her face beautiful. "Will you write it
+down and sign your name?"
+
+"Well, you are the queerest mortal," exclaimed Miss Smith, but reaching
+for a piece of paper and a pen, she wrote this:
+
+ "Marian Lee is the most truthful pupil in my school.
+
+ "VIRGINIA SMITH, Teacher."
+
+"It's for Uncle George," Marian explained. "He told me to try to
+do something better than anybody else and I haven't done it. He's
+coming for me Saturday and please do ask him to send me to your
+boarding-school. He has often talked about sending me away to school,
+but I used to be afraid to go and made a dreadful fuss, and then I had
+diphtheria."
+
+Uncle George arrived on Friday in time to have a long talk with Miss
+Smith before she left on the evening train. Had Marian known the nature
+of their conversation, she might not have cried so bitterly when the
+hour of parting came.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XX
+
+MORE CHANGES
+
+
+MARIAN had been home a month when Uncle George decided to send her to
+boarding-school.
+
+"It is a curious thing," he remarked to the child, "that other people
+find it so easy to get along with you, and here at home there is no
+peace in the house while you are in it."
+
+The man's tones were savage and Marian cried. Tears always angered
+Uncle George, and when Uncle George was angry with Marian, Aunt Amelia
+generally sighed and straightway did her duty: and Aunt Amelia's duty
+towards Marian consisted in giving a detailed account of the child's
+faults and a history of her sins. She never failed to mention cookies.
+When Marian was wise, she kept still. If she ventured a remonstrance
+serious trouble was sure to follow. Out in the fresh air and sunshine,
+the child managed to be happy in spite of everything: but within the
+four walls of Aunt Amelia's home it took courage to face life. She
+didn't know that her uncle had written to Miss Virginia Smith.
+
+"They're going to do something with you, I don't know what," confided
+Ella. "I'll let you know as soon's I find out." Ella was as good as
+her word. "They're going to send you to boarding-school," was her next
+secret announcement, "but when or where, I don't know."
+
+One morning Marian went to her room after breakfast and sat long by the
+open window, wondering what would become of her and why she had been
+taken from the Little Pilgrim's Home by an aunt who didn't want her.
+Tears splashed upon the window sill. Marian wiped her eyes quickly.
+Young as she was, the child realized how dangerous it is to be sorry
+for oneself. Without a backward glance, Marian walked from the room and
+closed the door she was never to open again. When she came home from
+school that night, the child played in the orchard until supper-time.
+Then she wondered why Aunt Amelia didn't send her to her room. An hour
+passed before the woman looked at the clock and spoke. Instead of the
+words Marian expected to hear, Aunt Amelia said calmly:
+
+"Your trunk is packed and the carriage is waiting to take you to the
+station. Get your coat and hat."
+
+"Where am I going and who is going with me?" demanded the child,
+beginning to tremble so she could scarcely stand.
+
+"I shall accompany you," replied Aunt Amelia, "and it makes no
+difference where you are going. You will know soon enough."
+
+Marian shot a grateful look towards Ella, who was sobbing in a corner.
+But for the little cousin's assurance, Marian would have believed she
+was about to start for the long dreaded reform school. Nevertheless
+it was a shocking thing to be suddenly torn from every familiar sight
+and to be going so blindly into the unknown. Marian looked appealingly
+at Aunt Amelia and Uncle George before she broke down and cried. Aunt
+Amelia's face was stony, Uncle George looked cross and annoyed.
+Marian's grief became wild and despairing.
+
+"I wish I could have my mother's picture to take with me," she sobbed,
+"I wish I could."
+
+"That's a reasonable request and you shall have it," said Uncle George.
+
+"It will be time enough when she is older," Aunt Amelia put in, while
+Marian held her breath. Would she get the picture or not? A word might
+ruin her chances, so she kept still, trying hard to smother her sobs.
+
+"Are you going for the picture or shall I?" demanded Uncle George. Aunt
+Amelia went.
+
+Marian was disappointed when she saw the small photograph of her father
+and mother. She wished for the face in the oval frame. She would have
+been more disappointed had she never seen the photograph, because
+instead of giving it to the child or allowing her to look at the
+picture, Aunt Amelia wrapped it in a piece of paper and put it in her
+own satchel.
+
+Outside in the cool, silent night, Marian stopped crying. There was
+comfort in the steadily shining stars. During the first long hours on
+the sleeping car, Marian tossed, tumbled and wondered where she was
+going. Asleep she dreamed of reform school: awake she feared dreams
+might come true. When trains rushed by in the darkness the child was
+frightened and shivered at the thought of wrecks. At last she raised
+her curtain and watched the stars. Repeating over and over one verse
+of the poem she had recited the last day of school in the country, she
+fell peacefully asleep. There were no more troubled dreams nor startled
+awakenings. When Marian opened her eyes in the morning, the verse still
+haunted her memory.
+
+    "I know not where His islands
+      Lift their fronded palms in air,
+    I only know I cannot drift
+      Beyond His love and care."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXI
+
+MARIAN REMEMBERS HER DIARY
+
+
+"OCTOBER 15.--You might as well keep a diary, especially in a school
+where they have a silent hour. It is the queerest thing I ever heard of
+but every night between seven and eight it is so still in this building
+you don't dare sneeze. It isn't so bad when you have a roommate because
+then you have to divide the hour with her. You stay alone half and then
+you go to the reading-room or the library and read something and try
+not to whisper to any of the girls, while your roommate stays alone her
+half of the hour.
+
+"Perhaps the reason I don't like silent hour is because I used to have
+so many of them at home and now because I haven't any roommate I have
+to stay alone the whole hour. I don't know what to do with myself and
+that is why I am going to keep a diary again.
+
+"There is a good reason why I haven't any roommate. When my aunt
+brought me here the principal said they were expecting a little girl
+just my age and they were going to put her in this room with me. It
+isn't much fun to be a new girl in this kind of a school, especially
+when most everybody is older than you are. When the girls saw my aunt
+they stared, and they stared at me, too. It wasn't very nice and I felt
+uncomfortable. As long as my aunt stayed I didn't get acquainted. I
+didn't even dare say much to Miss Smith. I just moped around and wished
+I was out in the country with the happy Goldings. They said here, 'Poor
+little thing, she's homesick,' but I am sure I wasn't if that means I
+wanted to go back home. My aunt stayed two days and one night. She said
+she was waiting to see my roommate but at last she gave up and went
+home and then I felt different. I began to wonder what kind of a girl
+my roommate would be and when she came I was so happy I could scarcely
+breathe because she was Dolly Russel. We thought we were going to have
+such a good time, and we did for a few days until I was a big goose.
+I wrote home and told my aunt who my roommate was and that ended it.
+Aunt Amelia wrote to the principal and she wrote to me, and then Dolly
+went to room with an old girl eighteen years old, from Kansas.
+
+"Dolly says her new roommate is nice, but she's too old and besides
+that she's engaged. Dolly told me all about it.
+
+"My aunt wouldn't let me room with Dolly because she said we would play
+all the time instead of studying our lessons. I guess she was afraid
+we would have a little fun. She told me in a letter that if she had
+known Dolly Russel was coming to this school she would have sent me
+somewhere else or kept me at home, no matter what Uncle George and Miss
+Smith said. I know why. Dolly has told the Kansas girl and some others
+about my aunt already, how cross she is and such things. I don't mind
+now what anybody says about Aunt Amelia since I have found out that she
+isn't any relation to me. She is just my aunt by marriage and you can't
+expect aunts by marriage to love you, and if your aunt doesn't love
+you, what's the use of loving your aunt.
+
+"If I hadn't passed the entrance examinations here I couldn't have
+stayed. Dolly and a girl whose name is Janey somebody and I are the
+only little girls here. Janey is tall and wears her hair in a long,
+black braid. Mine's Dutch cut. Dolly Russel's is Dutch cut too. Janey
+calls us little kids and she tags around after the big girls. We don't
+care.
+
+"October 16.--There's another girl coming from way out west. Her folks
+are going to be in Chicago this winter and they want her in this
+school. The Kansas girl told Dolly and me.
+
+"October 17.--The new girl has come and they have put her with me.
+She's homesick. Her father brought her and then went right away. I
+didn't see him. I think I shall like the new girl. Her name is Florence
+Weston and she has more clothes than the Queen of Sheba. Miss Smith
+helped her unpack and I felt as if I would sink through to China when
+the new girl looked in our closet. It is a big closet and the hooks
+were nearly all empty because I haven't anything much to hang up. I'll
+never forget how I felt when the new girl said to me, 'Where are your
+dresses?' Before I could think of anything to say, Miss Smith sent me
+for the tack hammer and I didn't have to answer.
+
+"My room looked pretty lonesome after Dolly moved out, but now it is
+the nicest room in school because Florence Weston has so many beautiful
+things. She says this is horrid and I just ought to see her room at
+home. She can't talk about her home without crying. I know I'd cry if I
+had to go back to mine.
+
+"October 20.--That Janey is a queer girl. She won't look at me and I
+really think it is because I haven't any pretty dresses. She is in our
+room half the time, too, visiting with Florence. They are great chums
+and they lock arms and tell secrets and laugh and talk about what they
+are going to do next summer and where they are going Christmas and
+everything. I wish more than ever that I had Dolly for my roommate.
+I wouldn't be surprised if her father is richer'n Florence Weston's
+father.
+
+"That Janey puts on airs. Her last name is Hopkins. She signs her name
+'Janey C. Hopkins.' She never leaves out the 'C,' I wonder why.
+
+"October 21.--I like Florence Weston. She is not a bit like that proud
+Janey.
+
+"November 1.--Sometimes I wish I had never come here to school. Once in
+a while I feel more lonesome, almost--than I ever did at home. It is on
+account of that Janey C. Hopkins. She wants to room with Florence and
+she tried to get me to say I would move in with Laura Jones, the girl
+she rooms with. Janey says she's going to the principal. Let her go.
+Miss Smith told me not to worry, they won't let chums like Florence and
+Janey room together because they won't study.
+
+"November 2.--What did I tell you? I knew she'd be sorry. They won't
+let Janey room with Florence. Florence says she's glad of it. I suppose
+it is on account of hooks. Janey couldn't let her have more than half
+the hooks in the closet.
+
+"November 3.--It wasn't on account of hooks. Florence told me one of
+Janey's secrets and I know now what the 'C' means in Janey's name and I
+know who Janey C. Hopkins is, and I should think she would remember me,
+but she doesn't. Janey told Florence that she is adopted and that her
+new mother took her from the Little Pilgrims' home before they moved
+out to Minnesota. I was so surprised I almost told Florence I came from
+that same home, but I am glad I didn't.
+
+"The only reason Florence doesn't want to room with Janey is because
+she lived in an orphan's home. She says you never can tell about
+adopted children and that maybe Janey's folks weren't nice, and anyway,
+that if she ever lived in an orphan's home she would keep still about
+it.
+
+"I think I shall keep still, but I could tell Miss Florence Weston one
+thing, my folks were nice if they did die. I could tell her what I read
+in that newspaper in the sea-chest, how my father just would go to
+South America with some men to make his fortune and how after a while
+my mother thought he was dead and then she died suddenly and all about
+how I happened to be taken to the Little Pilgrims' Home in the strange
+city where my mother and I didn't know anybody and nobody knew us.
+
+"I could tell Florence Weston I guess that my father left my mother
+plenty of money and she wasn't poor, and after she died the folks she
+boarded with stole it all and pretty near everything she had and then
+packed up and went away and left me crying in the flat, and it just
+happened that some folks on the next floor knew what my name was and a
+few little things my mother told them.
+
+"I won't speak of the Little Pilgrims' Home, though, because I can't
+forget how Uncle George acted about it. It was a pleasant, happy home
+just the same, and when I grow up and can do what I want to I am going
+back and hunt for Mrs. Moore and I won't stop until I find her. I have
+missed her all my life. You can't help wondering why some mothers live
+and some mothers die, and why some children grow up in their own homes
+and other children don't have anybody to love them.
+
+"November 4.--Sunday. The queer things don't all happen in books. I am
+glad I have a diary to put things in that I don't want to tell Miss
+Smith nor Dolly. Just before dark I was in the back parlor with a lot
+of girls singing. When we were tired of singing we told stories about
+our first troubles. I kept still for once, I really couldn't think
+what my first one was anyway. Two or three girls said that when their
+mothers died, that was their first sorrow, but Florence Weston said
+that her first one was funny. She couldn't remember when her own father
+died so she can't count that. The father she has now is a step one.
+
+"Florence says she was a little bit of a girl when her mother took her
+one day to visit an orphan's home and she cried because she couldn't
+stay and have dinner with the little orphans. She says she remembers
+that one of the little girls wanted to go home with her and her mother
+and when she cried that little orphan girl cried too. They all laughed
+when Florence told her story, all but me. I knew then what my first
+sorrow was. What would Florence think if she knew I was that little
+orphan? I must never tell her though or she wouldn't room with me. I
+should think Florence would be the happiest girl in the world. I should
+be if I had her mother. I can see her now if I shut my eyes. Her hair
+was shining gold and her eyes were like the sky when the orchard is
+full of apple blossoms.
+
+"November 25.--Florence has gone to Chicago to stay until Monday
+morning because to-morrow is Thanksgiving day and her folks wanted to
+see her. Florence has two baby brothers and one little sister.
+
+"Dolly Russel's father and mother have come here to be with Dolly
+to-morrow and they have invited me to have dinner with them down town.
+I wonder what Aunt Amelia would say if she knew I am going to be with
+the Russels all day to-morrow. Miss Smith got permission for me to go,
+she knew what to say to the principal, and she kissed me too, right
+before Mrs. Russel. I am already beginning to dread going home next
+June.
+
+"Janey C. Hopkins is going home this afternoon and the Kansas girl
+is going with her. There will be ten girls all alone in the big
+dining-room here to-morrow. I guess they will feel queer. I know one
+thing, I would rather stay here with nobody but the matron Christmas,
+than to go home, and I am glad Aunt Amelia says it would be foolish for
+any one to take such a long journey so I could be home for the holidays.
+
+"Mrs. Russel is going to dress me all up to-morrow in one of Dolly's
+prettiest dresses. I do have some streaks of luck."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXII
+
+FLORENCE WESTON'S MOTHER
+
+
+MARIAN was studying Monday morning when Florence returned from Chicago.
+She burst into the room like a wind blown rose, even forgetting to
+close the door until she had hugged Marian and hugged her again.
+
+"Now shut your eyes tight," she commanded, "and don't you open them
+until I tell you to. You remember when you asked me if I had a picture
+of my mother and I said I hadn't anything only common photographs?
+well, you just wait."
+
+Marian closed her eyes while Florence dived into her satchel for a
+small package.
+
+"I have something in a little red leather case that will make you
+stare, Marian dear, you just wait."
+
+"Well, I am waiting," was the retort, "with my eyes shut so tight I can
+see purple and crimson spots by the million. Hurry up, why don't you?
+Is it a watch with your mother's picture in it?"
+
+"No, guess again."
+
+"A locket?"
+
+"Dear me, no. It is something--three somethings that cost forty times
+as much as a watch or locket. Now open your eyes and look on the
+bureau."
+
+"Why don't you say something?" questioned Florence, as Marian stood
+speechless before three miniatures in gold frames. "That's my mother
+and our baby in the middle frame, and the girl on this side is my
+little sister and the boy in the other frame we call brother, just
+brother, since the baby came. Why Marian Lee! I never thought of it
+before, but you look like brother just as sure as the world!
+
+"Why, Marian! what's the matter, what makes you cry when you look at
+mamma's picture?"
+
+"Nothing, Florence, only I want a mother myself, I always wanted one."
+
+"You poor young one!" exclaimed Florence, "it must be dreadful not to
+have a mother."
+
+"It's like the Desert of Sahara!" Marian declared, dashing the tears
+from her eyes and making an attempt to smile. "You will see your mother
+again soon."
+
+"I know it, Marian, only think, three weeks more and then the holidays.
+Are you going home Wednesday night or Thursday morning?"
+
+"I am not going home until June," was the reply.
+
+"Can you stand it as long as that, Marian?"
+
+The mere thought of feeling badly about not being home for the holidays
+made the child laugh.
+
+"You are the queerest girl," exclaimed Florence, "you cry when I don't
+see anything to cry about and you laugh when I should think you would
+cry."
+
+Marian checked an impulse to explain. How could Florence understand?
+Florence, whose beautiful mother smiled from the round, gold frame,
+the girl whose sister and brothers waited to welcome her home.
+
+"If they were mine," said Marian, gazing wistfully at the miniatures,
+"I would never leave them. I would rather be a dunce than go away to
+school."
+
+"Then my father wouldn't own you," said Florence, laughing. "Mamma
+says she's afraid he wouldn't have any patience if I disgraced him
+in school. You ought to belong to him, Marian, he would be proud of
+you. You know your lessons almost without studying and you have higher
+standings than the big girls. You've been highest in all your classes
+so far, haven't you?"
+
+"Yes," was the reply, "except in geometry, but what of it? Nobody
+cares."
+
+"Don't your folks at home? Aren't they proud of you?"
+
+"I used to hope they would be, Florence; but I tell you, nobody cares."
+
+"Well, haven't you any grandfathers or grandmothers or other aunts or
+uncles?"
+
+"I am not acquainted with them," said Marian. "My uncle hasn't any
+folks, only distant cousins."
+
+"That's just like my father," Florence interrupted. "His folks are all
+dead, though I have heard him mention one half brother with whom he
+wasn't friends. Mamma won't let me ask any questions about him. But,
+Marian, where are your mother's folks?"
+
+Where were they, indeed? Marian had never thought of them. "Well, you
+see," the child hastily suggested, "they don't live near us."
+
+The next time Florence saw Dolly Russel, she asked some questions
+that were gladly answered. "Go home!" exclaimed Dolly, "I shouldn't
+think she would want to go home! You see the St. Claires live right
+across the street from us and I have seen things with my own eyes that
+would astonish you. Besides that, a girl that used to work for the St.
+Claires, her name is Lala, works for us now, and if she didn't tell
+things that would make your eyes pop out of your head! Shall I tell
+you how they used to treat that poor little Marian? She's the dearest
+young one, too--Lala says so--only mamma has always told me that it's
+wretched taste to listen to folks like Lala."
+
+"Yes, do tell me," insisted Florence, and by the time Dolly Russel had
+told all she knew, Florence Weston was in a high state of indignation.
+
+"Oh, her uncle and her little cousin are all right," remonstrated
+Dolly; "they are not like the aunt."
+
+"I know what I shall do," cried Florence. "Oh, I know! I shall tell
+mamma all about Marian and ask if I may invite her to Chicago for the
+holidays. She would have one good time, I tell you. I like Marian
+anyway, she is just as sweet as she can be. I should be miserable if
+I were in her place, but she sings all the day long. My little sister
+would love her and so would brother and the baby. I am going straight
+to my room and write the letter this minute."
+
+"Mrs. St. Claire won't let Marian go," warned Dolly; "you just wait and
+see. She doesn't want Marian to have one speck of fun."
+
+Nevertheless Florence Weston wrote the letter to her mother and
+in due time came the expected invitation. At first Marian was too
+overjoyed for words: then she thought of Aunt Amelia and hope left her
+countenance. "I know what I will do," she said at last, "I will ask
+Miss Smith to write to Uncle George. Maybe then he will let me go.
+Nobody knows how much I want to see your mother."
+
+Florence laughed. "I think I do," she said. "I have told my mother how
+you worship her miniature. I shouldn't be surprised to come in some day
+and find you on your knees before it. My mother is pretty and she is
+lovely and kind, but I don't see how anybody could care so much for her
+picture. Most of the girls just rave over brother, but you don't look
+at him. Just wait until you see him, Marian. I'll teach him to call you
+sister. He says 'Ta' for sister."
+
+"Oh, I wish you would," said Marian, "I love babies and I never was
+anybody's sister of course. He is just as cunning as he can be. I am
+going now to ask Miss Smith to write to Uncle George. She can get him
+to say yes if anybody can."
+
+Miss Smith wrote and rewrote the letter, then waited for an answer
+with even less patience than Marian. At last it came, in Aunt Amelia's
+handwriting. Marian's heart sank when she saw the envelope. Her fears
+were well founded. Aunt Amelia was surprised to find that Marian knew
+no better than to trouble Miss Smith as she had. She might have known
+that Uncle George would not approve of her going to a city the size
+of Chicago to pass the holidays with strangers. Miss Smith, Dolly and
+Florence were indignant. Even Janey did some unselfish sputtering.
+
+"Anything's better than going home," Marian reasoned at last, "and
+what's the use of crying about what you can't help. I ought to be glad
+it isn't June."
+
+As a matter of fact, the holidays passed pleasantly for Marian in the
+big deserted house. The matron and the teachers who were left did
+everything in their power to please the child, and on Christmas Day
+the postman left her more gifts than she had ever received before.
+There were no potatoes in her stocking that year. During the holidays,
+Marian kept the photograph of her own mother beside the miniatures, and
+as the days went by she became convinced that her mother and Florence
+Weston's mother looked much alike.
+
+"My mother is prettier," she said aloud the last day of the old year,
+"but she is dead and as long as I live I never can see her. Perhaps I
+may see this other mother and perhaps she may love me. I shall have
+to put my picture away because it will get faded and spoiled, and I
+think I will pretend that Florence Weston's mother is my mother. Then I
+won't feel so lonesome. I never thought of pretending to have a mother
+before."
+
+When Florence returned after the holidays, she was unable to account
+for the change in Marian. The child was radiantly happy. Tears no
+longer filled her eyes when she gazed too intently upon the miniatures.
+Instead, she smiled back at the faces and sometimes waved her hand to
+them when she left the room. How could Florence dream that Marian had
+taken the little brothers, the sister and the mother for her own.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIII
+
+HOW MARIAN CROSSED THE RAINBOW BRIDGE
+
+
+JUNE sent her messengers early. Every blade of grass that pushed its
+way through the brown earth, every bursting lilac bud or ambitious
+maple, spoke to Marian of June. Returning birds warbled the story and
+the world rejoiced. Teachers and pupils alike talked of June until it
+seemed to Marian that all nature and educational institutions had but
+one object, and that was to welcome June. She dreaded it. June meant
+Aunt Amelia and the end of all happiness. Yet Marian was only one.
+Ninety-nine other girls were looking eagerly forward to the close of
+school. They talked of it everywhere and at all hours.
+
+It was the one subject of conversation in which Marian had no share,
+one joy beyond her grasp. Try hard as she would, Marian couldn't
+pretend to be glad she was going home. That was a game for which she
+felt no enthusiasm. The mother, the little sister and the baby brothers
+in the golden frames would soon be gone, and gone forever. "We're all
+going back West just as soon as school closes," Florence had told her.
+"Next winter we will be home."
+
+Nor was that all that Florence told Marian. She pictured the beautiful
+home in the West in the midst of her father's broad lands. She
+described her room, all sunshine and comfort, and the great house
+echoing with music and laughter. She told Marian of the gardens and
+the stables, of the horses, ponies and many pets. She described the
+river and the hills and the mountain peaks beyond. Florence almost
+forgot the presence of her wide eyed roommate in telling of the holiday
+celebrations at home and of the wondrous glory of the annual Christmas
+tree. Best of all, Florence spoke tenderly of her mother and her voice
+grew tender in speaking of the woman who never scolded but was always
+gentle and kind; the beautiful mother with the bright, gold hair.
+Florence had so much to say about the little sister, brother and the
+baby, that Marian felt as if she knew them all.
+
+Thus it was that Florence Weston was going home and Marian Lee was
+returning to Aunt Amelia. Miss Smith understood all about it and it
+grieved her. She had seen Aunt Amelia and that was enough. She didn't
+wonder that Marian's eyes grew sad and wistful as the days lengthened.
+At last Miss Virginia Smith thought of a way to win smiles from Marian.
+The botany class had been offered a prize. A railroad president,
+interested in the school had promised ten dollars in gold to the member
+of the botany class who made the best herbarium. Marian might not
+win the prize, but it would give her pleasure to try. She would have
+something more agreeable to think of than Aunt Amelia.
+
+It was with some difficulty that Miss Smith obtained permission from
+the principal for Marian to enter the class, and but for the experience
+in the country school, the objection that Marian was too young would
+have barred her out. Miss Smith was right. Marian was delighted and for
+hours at a time Aunt Amelia vanished from her thoughts. The members of
+the botany class were surprised that such a little girl learned hard
+lessons so easily, but Miss Smith only laughed.
+
+In the beginning when the spring flowers came and every wayside bloom
+suggested a specimen, fully half the class intended to win the prize,
+Marian among the number. One by one the contestants dropped out as
+the weeks passed, leaving Marian with perhaps half a dozen rivals. At
+that early day, Miss Virginia Smith, who had no favorites, rejoiced
+secretly in the belief that Marian would win the prize. The commonest
+weed became beautiful beneath her hands and the number of specimens
+she found on the school grounds alone, exceeded all previous records.
+There was never so much as a leaf carelessly pressed among Marian's
+specimens. At last the child began to believe the prize would be hers
+and for the first time, going home lost its terrors.
+
+If she won the prize, Uncle George would be proud of her and she would
+be happy. Finally Marian wrote to her uncle, telling him of the glories
+of commencement week. She was to recite "The Witch's Daughter" at the
+entertainment, to take part in the operetta and to sing commencement
+morning with three other little girls. More than that, she was sure to
+win the prize, even her rivals admitted it. "Now Uncle George," the
+letter proceeded, "please be sure and come because I want somebody that
+is my relation to be here. Florence Weston says her father would come
+from Honolulu to see her win a prize, so please come, Uncle George, or
+maybe Florence will think nobody cares for me."
+
+Marian was scarcely prepared to receive the answer that came to her
+letter from Aunt Amelia. Uncle George was too busy a man to take so
+long a journey for nothing. Aunt Amelia would come the day after
+commencement and pack Marian's trunk. So far as winning the prize
+was concerned, Uncle George expected Marian to win a prize if one
+were offered. That was a small way to show her gratitude for all that
+had been done for her. The child lost the letter. Janey C. Hopkins
+found and read it. Before sunset every one of the ninety-nine knew
+the contents. When night settled down upon the school, one hundred
+girls were thinking of Aunt Amelia, one in tears, the ninety-nine with
+indignation.
+
+The following morning Marian replied to her aunt's letter, begging to
+be allowed to go home with Dolly Russel and her mother, and assuring
+Aunt Amelia that she could pack her own trunk. Even that request was
+denied. Aunt Amelia would call for Marian the day after commencement
+and she wished to hear nothing further on the subject. She might have
+heard more had she not been beyond sound of the ninety-nine voices.
+Marian was too crushed for words. That is, she was crushed for a day.
+Her spirits revived as commencement week drew near and Miss Smith and
+the ninety-nine did so much to make her forget everything unpleasant.
+Marian couldn't understand why the girls were so kind nor why Janey
+C. Hopkins took a sudden interest in her happiness. The Sunday before
+commencement Marian wore Janey's prettiest gown to church. It was
+rather large for Marian but neither she nor Janey found that an
+objection. Miss Smith approved and Sunday was a bright day for Aunt
+Amelia's little niece.
+
+Monday, Dolly Russel's mother came and thanks to her, Marian appeared
+in no more garments that had disgraced the hooks in her closet. She
+danced through the halls in the daintiest of Dolly's belongings, and
+was happy as Mrs. Russel wished her to be.
+
+Every hour brought new guests and in the excitement of meeting nearly
+all the friends of the ninety-nine and being kissed and petted by
+ever so many mothers, Marian forgot Aunt Amelia. Tuesday evening at
+the entertainment she did her part well and was so enthusiastically
+applauded, her cheeks grew red as the sash she wore, and that is saying
+a great deal, as Dolly's sash was a bright scarlet, the envy of the
+ninety-nine.
+
+Florence Weston's father and mother were present at the entertainment,
+but Marian looked for them in vain. "They saw you just the same,"
+Florence insisted when she and Marian were undressing that night, "and
+mamma said if it hadn't been so late she would have come up to our room
+to-night, but she thought they had better get back to the hotel and
+you and I must settle down as quickly as we can. I can hardly keep my
+eyes open." Florence fell asleep with a smile upon her face. Marian's
+pillow was wet with tears before she drifted into troubled dreams of
+Aunt Amelia.
+
+"Isn't it too bad!" exclaimed Florence the next morning. "They are
+going to present the prize in the dining-room at breakfast and my
+father and mother won't be up here until time for the exercises in the
+chapel. I wanted them to see you get the prize. I'm so disappointed.
+Never mind, though, you will see mamma all the afternoon, because she
+is going to pack my things. We leave to-morrow. I am going down-town
+with papa and mamma when we get through packing and stay all night. You
+will have the room all to yourself. What? are you crying, Marian? Why,
+I'll come back in the morning and see you before I go. I wouldn't cry
+if I were you!"
+
+It was easy enough for a girl who had every earthly blessing to talk
+cheerfully to a weary little pilgrim.
+
+Marian experienced the bitterest moment of her life when the prize
+was presented in the dining-room. There were many fathers and mothers
+there, and other relatives of the ninety-nine who joined in cheering
+the little victor. Yet Marian wept and would not be comforted. Even
+Miss Smith had no influence. In spite of the sympathetic arms that
+gathered her in, Marian felt utterly forsaken. She had won the prize,
+but what could it mean to a motherless, fatherless, almost homeless
+child? After breakfast, Marian, slipping away from Miss Smith and the
+friendly strangers, sought a deserted music room on the fourth floor
+where she cried until her courage returned: until hope banished tears.
+Perhaps Uncle George would be pleased after all.
+
+"Where have you been?" demanded Florence when Marian returned to her
+room. "I have hunted for you everywhere. What a little goose you were
+to cry in the dining-room. Why, your eyes are red yet."
+
+The only answer was a laugh as Marian bathed her tear-stained face.
+
+"I want you to look pretty when mamma sees you," continued Florence,
+"so don't you dare be silly again."
+
+In spite of the warning, Marian was obliged to seek the obscurity of
+the fourth floor music room later in the day, before she thought of
+another refuge--Miss Smith's room. The sight of so many happy girls
+with their mothers was more than she could endure and Miss Smith
+understood. Even the thought of seeing Florence Weston's mother was a
+troubled one, for alas! she couldn't beg to go with the woman as she
+once did in the Little Pilgrims' Home.
+
+When the child was sure that Florence and her mother were gone and
+while Miss Smith was busy in the office, she returned to her room. "The
+trunks are here yet," observed Marian, "but may be they won't send for
+them until morning," and utterly worn out by the day's excitement, the
+child threw herself upon the bed and sobbed in an abandonment of grief.
+
+Half an hour later the door was opened by a woman who closed it softly
+when she saw Marian. "Poor little dear," she whispered, and bending
+over the sleeping child, kissed her. Marian was dreaming of her mother.
+
+"Poor little dear," repeated the woman, and kissed her again. That
+kiss roused the child. Opening her eyes, she threw her arms around the
+woman's neck, exclaiming wildly,
+
+"My mother, oh, my mother!"
+
+"But I am not your mother, dear," remonstrated the woman, trying to
+release herself from the clinging arms. "I am Florence Weston's mother.
+I have come for her little satchel that we forgot. Cuddle down, dear,
+and go to sleep again."
+
+At that, Marian seemed to realize her mistake and cried so pitifully,
+Florence Weston's mother took her in her arms and sitting in a low
+rocker held Marian and tried to quiet her.
+
+The door opened and Florence entered. "Why mamma, what is the matter?"
+she began, but without waiting for a reply, she was gone, returning in
+a moment with her father. "Now what is the matter with poor Marian?"
+she repeated.
+
+"Nothing," explained Marian, "only everything."
+
+"She thought I was her mother, Florence, the poor little girl; there,
+there, dear, don't cry. She was only half awake and she says I look
+like her mother's picture."
+
+"You do, you look just like the picture," sobbed Marian.
+
+"What picture?" asked the man; "this child is the image of brother.
+What picture, I say?"
+
+"Oh, she means mamma's miniature," said Florence.
+
+"I don't mean the miniature," Marian interrupted, "I mean my own
+mother's picture," and the child, kneeling before her small trunk
+quickly found the photograph of her father and mother. "There! doesn't
+she look like my mother?"
+
+There was a moment of breathless silence as Florence Weston's father
+and mother gazed at the small card. The woman was the first to speak.
+
+"Why, Richard Lee!" she exclaimed. "That must be a photograph of you!"
+
+"It is," was the reply, "it is a picture of me and of my dead wife, but
+the baby died too."
+
+"Well, I didn't die," cried Marian. "I was two months old when my
+father went away, and when my mother died, the folks wrote to the place
+where my father was the last time they knew anything about him, and I
+s'pose they told him I was dead, but I wasn't, and that's my mother.
+Uncle George knows it----"
+
+"Uncle George, my brother George," for a moment it was the man who
+seemed to be dreaming. Then a light broke over his face as he snatched
+Marian and said, "Why, little girl, you are my child."
+
+"And my mother will be your mother," Florence put in, "so what are you
+and mamma crying about now?"
+
+"Didn't you ever hear," said Marian, smiling through her tears, "that
+sometimes folks cry for joy?"
+
+It was unnecessary for Aunt Amelia to take the long journey. Marian's
+father telegraphed for Uncle George who arrived the next day with
+papers Marian knew nothing about, proving beyond question the identity
+of the child.
+
+The little girl couldn't understand the silent greeting between the
+brothers, nor why Uncle George was so deeply affected when she talked
+of his kindness to her and the many happy days she thanked him for
+since he found her in the Little Pilgrims' Home. Neither could she
+understand what her father meant when he spoke of a debt of gratitude
+too deep for words.
+
+Marian only knew that unpleasant memories slipped away like a dream
+when Uncle George left her with her father and mother: when he smiled
+and told her he was glad she was going home.
+
+         *       *       *       *       *
+
+                            Transcriber Notes
+
+            Tags that surround the words: _fish_ indicate italics.
+                                          =Gladys= indicate bold.
+
+            Words in small capitals are shown in UPPERCASE.
+
+            Retained anachronistic and non-standard spellings as printed.
+
+            Free use of quotes, typical of the time, is retained.
+
+        +------------------------------------------------------------+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Rainbow Bridge, by 
+Frances Margaret Fox and Frank T. Merrill
+
+*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE RAINBOW BRIDGE ***
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