ing low in the west when Marjie with shining face came
slowly down Cliff Street toward her home. Near the gate she met my
father. His keen eyes caught something of the Marjie he had loved to
see. Something must have happened, he knew, and his heartbeats quickened
at the thought. Down the street he had met Judson with head erect
walking with a cocksure step.

The next day the word was brought directly to him that Amos Judson and
Marjory Whately were engaged to be married.

* * * * *

In George Eliot's story of "The Mill on the Floss," the author gives to
one chapter the title, "How a Hen Takes to Stratagem." The two cases are
not parallel; and yet I always think of this chapter-heading when I
recall what followed Amos Judson's admonition to Mrs. Whately, to use
her influence in his behalf. When Marjie's mother had had time to
think over what had come about, her conscience upbraided her. Away
from the little widower and with Marjie innocent of all the
trouble--free-spirited, self-dependent Marjie--the question of influence
did not seem so easy. And yet, she knew Amos Judson well enough to know
that he was already far along in fulfilling his plans for the future.
For once in her life Mrs. Whately resolved to act on her own judgment,
and to show that she had been true to her promise to use all her
influence.

"Daughter, Judge Baronet wants to see you this afternoon. I'm going down
to his office now on a little matter of business. Will you go over and
see how Mary Gentry's arm is, and come up to the courthouse in about
half an hour?"

Mrs. Whately's face was beaming, for she felt somehow that my father
could help her out of any tangle, and if he should advise Marjie to
this step, it would surely be the right thing for her to do.

"All right, mother, I'll be there," Marjie answered.

The hours since she found that precious letter had been alternately full
of joy and sadness. There was no question in her mind about the message
in the letter. But now that she was the wrong-doer in her own
estimation, she did not spare herself. She had driven me away. She had
refused to hear any explanation from me, she had returned my last note
unopened. Oh, she deserved all that had come to her. And bitterest of
all was the thought that her own letter that should have righted
everything with me, I must have taken from the rock. How could I ever
care for a girl so mean-spirited and cruel as she had been to