ttle else. There was so much
to be said, yet now that their parting was but two weeks off they felt
the weight of the coming separation bearing heavily upon them. Both
young faces wore expressions of deepest gloom as they walked slowly down
the steps of the school building and traversed the short space of stone
walk that led to the street.

It was Marjorie who broke the silence.

"No other girl can ever be as dear to me as you are. You know that,
don't you, Mary?"

Mary nodded mutely. Her blue eyes had filled with a sudden rush of hot
tears.

"But it won't do any good," continued Marjorie, slowly, "for us to mourn
over being separated. We know how we feel about each other, and that's
going to be a whole lot of comfort to us after--I'm gone." Her girlish
treble faltered slightly. Then she threw her arm across Mary's shoulder
and said with forced steadiness of tone: "I'm not going to be a silly
and cry. This is one of those 'vicissitudes' of life that Professor
Taylor was talking about in chapel yesterday. We must be very brave.
We'll write lots of letters and visit each other during vacation, and
perhaps, some day I'll come back here to live."

"Of course you will. You must come back," nodded Mary, her face
brightening at the prospect of a future reunion, even though remote.

"Can't you come with me to dinner?" coaxed Marjorie, as they paused at
the corner where they were accustomed to wait for their respective
street cars. "You know, you are one of mother's exceptions. I never have
to give notice before bringing you home."

"Not to-night. I'm going out this evening," returned Mary, vaguely. "I
must hurry home."

"Where are you going?" asked Marjorie, curiously. "You never said a
word about it this morning."

"Oh, didn't I? Well, I'm going out with----Here comes your car,
Marjorie. You'd better hurry home, too."

"Why?" Marjorie's brown eyes looked their reproach. "Do you want to get
rid of me, Mary? I've oceans of time before dinner. You know we never
have it until half-past six. Never mind, I'll take this car. Good-bye."

With a proud little nod of her head, Marjorie climbed the steps of the
car which had now stopped at their corner, without giving her friend an
opportunity for reply. Mary looked after the moving car with a rueful
smile that changed to one of glee. Her eyes danced. "She hasn't the
least idea of what's going to happen," thought the little fluffy-haired
girl. "Won't she be surprised? Now th