her, and Margaret was only finishing
_her_ capital "M." They were both working "Honor thy Mother that thy
days may be long," on strips of cardboard for their mothers'
birthdays, which, oddly enough, came very close together. Of course
that wasn't exactly the way it was in the Bible, but they had agreed
it was better to leave "thy Father" out because it wasn't his
birthday, and they had left out "the land which the Lord thy God
giveth" because there wasn't room for it on the cardboard.

"I'm ahead!"

"That's because I'm doing mine the carefulest," Margaret had
retorted, promptly. "There aren't near so many hunchy places in
mine."

"Well, I don't care; my _mother's_ the best-looking, if her book-mark
isn't!" in triumph. "Her hair curls, and she doesn't have to wear
glasses."

Margaret's wrath had flamed up hotly. Mother's eyes were so shiny and
tender behind the glasses, and her smooth brown hair was so soft! The
love in Margaret's soul arose and took up arms for Mother.

"I love mine the best, so there!--so there!--_so there!_" she cried.
But side by side with the love in her soul was the secret
consciousness of how very much the Enemy loved _her_ mother, too.
Now, sitting sewing all alone, with the Enemy on the other side of
the fence, Margaret knew she had not spoken truly then, but the
rankling taunt of the curls that Mother hadn't, and the glasses that
she had, justified her to herself. She would never, never take it
back, so there!--so there!--_so there!_

"She's only got to the end o' her 'days,'--I can see clear from
here," soliloquized the Enemy, with awakening exultation. For the
Enemy's "days" were "long,"--she had finished her book-mark. The
longing to shout it out--"I've got mine done!"--was so intense within
her that her chin lost its balance on the fence-rail and she jarred
down heavily on her heels. So close related are mind and matter.

Margaret resorted to philosophic contemplation to shut out the memory
of the silent on-looker at the fence. She had swung about
discourteously "back to" her. "I guess," contemplated Margaret, "my
days 'll be long enough in the land! I guess so, for I honor my
mother enough to live forever! That makes me think--I guess I better
go in and kiss her good-night for to-night when she won't be at
home."

It was mid-May and school was nearly over. The long summer vacation
stretched endlessly, lonesomely, ahead of Margaret. Last summer it
had been so different. A summer