XXIII
CHAPTER XXIV
CHAPTER XXV
CHAPTER XXVI
CHAPTER XXVII
CHAPTER XXVIII
CHAPTER XXIX
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ERRATA

Marcia Schuyler

CHAPTER I

The sun was already up and the grass blades were twinkling with sparkles
of dew, as Marcia stepped from the kitchen door.

She wore a chocolate calico with little sprigs of red and white scattered
over it, her hair was in smooth brown braids down her back, and there was
a flush on her round cheeks that might have been but the reflection of the
rosy light in the East. Her face was as untroubled as the summer morning,
in its freshness, and her eyes as dreamy as the soft clouds that hovered
upon the horizon uncertain where they were to be sent for the day.

Marcia walked lightly through the grass, and the way behind her sparkled
again like that of the girl in the fairy-tale who left jewels wherever she
passed.

A rail fence stopped her, which she mounted as though it had been a steed
to carry her onward, and sat a moment looking at the beauty of the
morning, her eyes taking on that far-away look that annoyed her stepmother
when she wanted her to hurry with the dishes, or finish a long seam before
it was time to get supper.

She loitered but a moment, for her mind was full of business, and she
wished to accomplish much before the day was done. Swinging easily down to
the other side of the fence she moved on through the meadow, over another
fence, and another meadow, skirting the edge of a cool little strip of
woods which lured her with its green mysterious shadows, its whispering
leaves, and twittering birds. One wistful glance she gave into the sweet
silence, seeing a clump of maiden-hair ferns rippling their feathery locks
in the breeze. Then resolutely turning away she sped on to the slope of
Blackberry Hill.

It was not a long climb to where the blackberries grew, and she was soon
at work, the great luscious berries dropping into her pail almost with a
touch. But while she worked the vision of the hills, the sheep meadow
below, the river winding between the neighboring farms, melted away, and
she did not even see the ripe fruit before her, because she was planning
the new frock she was to buy with these berries she had come to pick.

Pink and white it was to be; she had seen it in the store the last time
she went for sugar and spice. There were dainty sprigs of pink over the
white ground, and every be