ces for
Marjory to show her friend. She must go to the woods, to the moors, and
to the loch. Dr. Hunter had a pretty little sailing-boat, and Marjory
was an expert sailor, and was allowed to go out on fine days by herself,
though never without permission, in case she should be overtaken by a
sudden storm. The doctor made a study of the weather day by day, and was
able to foretell it to a certain extent. Sometimes, on a day which
looked to Marjory to be quite fine, he would forbid her going on the
loch, and she would find that he had been right.

The days were not long enough for all the delights the girls would have
crowded into them. Marjory always remembered the first Sunday after her
meeting with the Foresters. It came round in due course, and she did not
greet it with much pleasure at first.

First of all came clean clothes, and amongst them a stiffly-starched
petticoat. This was one of Marjory's pet aversions. It crackled as she
walked and made her feel self-conscious. Then there was the best frock
to be put on, which always seemed several degrees tighter than the
everyday ones. Then came breakfast, an hour later on Sundays, to
distinguish it from week days. Another distinguishing mark was the
absence of the usual porridge and the presence of a plate of drop
scones, a favourite dainty of Marjory's which Lisbeth always made for
Sunday.

Dr. Hunter always devoted himself to his niece on Sunday mornings. He
did not usually have much to say at breakfast during the week, but on
Sundays he always made a point of inquiring about her doings, her
garden, her pets, her sewing, and anything else he could think of. He
always came down in his black clothes, and they had a slight odour of
camphor, which the careful Lisbeth used to preserve them from moths.
Marjory ever afterwards associated the smell of camphor with Sunday
mornings at Hunters' Brae. The doctor, like Marjory, never wore his best
clothes unless he felt absolutely obliged to, and sometimes for months
together they only came out once a week. There was camphor in Marjory's
wardrobe too, but she was careful to keep as many bags of lavender as
she could amongst her clothes, to fight the camphor, as she told
Lisbeth; and on the whole the lavender had the best of it.

Seated at the breakfast-table, Marjory always knew what was coming. As
soon as they each had a cup of coffee and something to eat, the doctor
would say, "Well, Marjory, how's things?"

It was always t