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diff --git a/old/55837.txt b/old/55837.txt deleted file mode 100644 index b773782..0000000 --- a/old/55837.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,5319 +0,0 @@ -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. 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