objected.

"Ah!" said Mrs. Forester, "now we have got to the root of the whole
matter. So, then, just because her uncle doesn't say, 'Marjory, I am
very fond of you,' therefore Marjory thinks that he doesn't care for her
very much."

Marjory nodded.

"My dear child, you never made a greater mistake. It is not in your
uncle's nature to say much; he is content with doing things for you.
This afternoon he talked of nothing but his plans for you, his ideas for
your education--how his first care has been that you should grow strong
and healthy amongst those outdoor things that you love. For your sake he
has been content to stay in this obscure place, when he would receive
the recognition he is entitled to if he went more into the world. His
very meals he takes at times which he considers best for you. Look at
your frock. Perhaps you don't think much of it, but let me tell you it
is made of the very best tweed that Scotland can produce. Your boots are
strong and sensible-looking, but they are of the finest quality of
leather; your stockings are the best that money can buy. Let me see your
handkerchief. Ah! I thought so," as Marjory obediently produced from her
pocket the little hard, wet ball her tears had made. "This is a plain
handkerchief, but so fine that it is fit for a princess to use. I don't
suppose you ever thought about these things; but it must mean a great
deal of trouble and care to your uncle to get them for you. He told me
he looks after your wardrobe himself. Now, haven't I proved that he
thinks about you a great deal?"

Marjory nodded.

"Don't you believe that, even if your mother had not left you provided
for, your uncle would have been glad to keep you--that he would never
have felt you a burden?"

"I don't know," said Marjory slowly. She was beginning to see her uncle
in a new light, but she could not see him as he really was just yet.

"Well, you will know some day. There are many things which you are too
young to understand, and you must try to trust in your uncle's knowing
what is best for you in the matter of your father, who will return to
you some day, I hope."

"Oh! do you really think that is possible?" cried Marjory. "Could it
ever happen?"

"Certainly it might. I don't see any reason at all why you shouldn't
hope for his coming. And if you will promise to be very patient, and to
hope for the best, I will tell you something very nice that I heard said
about your father a little while