study, and we made all that noise, and he wasn't a bit cross. Most
people would have been, even if they had only been writing a letter; and
daddy says that Dr. Hunter's work is most important and valuable, and
that he is a great man. You must be very proud of him, aren't you?"

"Yes; only I don't quite know what it is that he does."

"Neither do I; but, anyway, he is very clever. Daddy says so, and he
says he considers himself very fortunate in being able to know Dr.
Hunter."

This was quite a new aspect of affairs to Marjory. She had been used to
the idea that she and her uncle were rather shunned than otherwise by
other people, that her uncle was a stern old man with whom no one wanted
to be friendly. But now that a man like Mr. Forester, from the great
far-away world of London, should consider her uncle's acquaintance a
privilege--this was indeed something new, and it gave Marjory food for
thought and speculation.

Mr. and Mrs. Forester went to London, and Blanche to Hunters' Brae.
Marjory and Peter fetched her in the pony-cart, and she brought Curly
with her, as she could not bear to leave him for other people to look
after. Silky was delighted with the puppy, and allowed the little fellow
to take all sorts of liberties with him. It was a pretty picture--the
big dog fondling the small one and playing with him.

Lisbeth had done as she had promised, and a second bed had been put up
in Marjory's room. Such a pretty room it was--the best in the house, and
looking out upon the garden. It was pretty by reason of its shape--long
and low, with beams across the ceiling, and casement windows--and not
from any extra decoration or those many knick-knacks which most girls
contrive to collect around them. There were dainty white muslin curtains
and covers, everything was spotless, but there were no ornaments or
trifles lying about. On the bookshelf were Marjory's Bible and
Psalm-book and a copy of the "Pilgrim's Progress"--no other books. These
were all that the doctor considered it necessary for Marjory to have.
There was a glass bowl on the chest of drawers, which was kept filled
with flowers all the year round, and that was the only ornament in the
room. Some might have thought it bare, but it had a simple charm of its
own, with its spotless whiteness and its faint odour of lavender,
stronger when the wardrobe or the drawers were open.

Marjory had been struck by the difference between Blanche's bedroom and
hers when s