ation
to come again soon--in fact, to come any time they liked.

Marjory walked with Blanche from the farm to a small gate which led into
the Braeside park, Peter watching them, waiting for Marjory's return,
and then walking home with her.

"She's a bonnie lassie yon," said Peter, as he walked stiffly up the
hill beside Marjory. "I'm weel pleased wi' her."

"Yes, isn't she a darling, Peter? I do feel so happy now I've got a
friend, and such a friend. Did you notice how Mrs. Shaw kept looking at
her?"

"Ay," replied Peter, "I did that."

Dr. Hunter was at home when they arrived. They found him sitting on one
of the garden seats smoking.

"I'm taking a holiday too, you see," he called to Marjory. "Come and
tell me about yours."

Marjory obeyed, and was surprised that she felt able to tell her uncle
quite freely about what she and Blanche had been doing; and he, on his
part, was glad to see the light in Marjory's eyes, and to hear the ring
of pleasure in her voice, both of which had been rare of late.

As for Marjory, she went to bed full of contentment, and with a sense
of general well-being. Often she had got up in the morning with a
feeling of dullness, as if there were nothing to look forward to. She
was sure that such a feeling would never come to her again, now that she
had some one to share her days, to share her pleasures and her
troubles--for even girls have troubles of their own, and very real ones
sometimes.

"Everything will be different now," was her thought as she lay down to
sleep. "I shall be glad when to-morrow comes."

CHAPTER VI.

CONFIDENCES.

"'Tis the Land of Little People, where the happy children play,
And the things they know and see there are so wonderful and grand--
Things that wiser, older folks cannot know or understand.
In the woods they meet the fairies, find the giants in their caves,
See the palaces of cloudland, and the mermen in the waves,
Know what all the birdies sing of, hear the secrets of the flowers--
For the Land of Little People is another world than ours."

ANON.

So this is the little gypsy Blanche has been telling me about!"

Such was Mr. Forester's greeting to Marjory when she went to Braeside on
a return visit.

Marjory was not sure that she liked being called a gypsy. That dark hair
of hers was always a sore point, but she was quite certain that she did
not like the kiss which Mr. Forester bestowed upon her in all kindness
of he