"I agree with him, that it is not impossible," said Mrs. Noble
teasingly, after a moment of silence.

"Now, dearest aunty Meg, don't take sides with that odious man! If, in
the distant years, you ever see me on the point of marrying well,
simply mention Mr. Greenwood's name to me, and I 'll draw back even if
I am walking up the middle aisle with an ivory prayer-book in my hand!"

"Just to spite Mr. Greenwood; that would be sensible," said Margery.

"You could n't be so calm if you had to sit at the same table with him
day after day. He belongs at the second table by--by every law of his
nature! But, as I was saying, now that we have rented him to Mrs.
Chadwick with the rest of the furniture, and will have a percentage on
him just as we do on the piano which is far more valuable, I have been
able to look at him pleasantly."

"You ought to be glad that the boarders like you," said Margery
reprovingly.

"They don't, as a rule; only the horrors and the elderly gentlemen
approve of me. But good-by for to-day, aunty Meg. Come to the gate,
Peggy dear!"

The two friends walked through the orange-grove, their arms wound about
each other, girl-fashion. They were silent, for each was sorry to lose
the other, and a remembrance of the dear old times, the unbroken
circle, the peaceful schooldays and merry vacations, stole into their
young hearts, together with visions of the unknown future.

As Polly untied Blanquita and gave a heroic cinch to the saddle, she
gave a last searching look at Margery, and said finally, "Peggy dear, I
am very sure you are blue this morning; tell your faithful old
Pollykins all about it."

One word was enough for Margery in her present mood, and she burst into
tears on Polly's shoulder.

"Is it Edgar again?" whispered Polly.

"Yes," she sobbed. "Father has given him three months more to stay in
the university, and unless he does better he is to come home and live
on the cattle-ranch. Mother is heart-broken over it; for you know,
Polly, that Edgar will never endure such a life; and yet, dearly as he
loves books, he is n't doing well with his studies. The president has
written father that he is very indolent this term and often absent from
recitations; and one of the Santa Barbara boys, a senior, writes Philip
that he is not choosing good friends, nor taking any rank in his class.
Mother has written him such a letter this morning! If he can read it
without turning his back upon his