ly be one half as glad to see me as I am to see
you."

Elsie was puzzled, but she was a little flattered as well. She was not a
general favorite among her companions, and to find a cousin who had
evidently been longing to make her acquaintance was rather an agreeable
experience. So her face brightened considerably, and her voice was quite
pleasant as she remarked, sinking into the comfortable arm-chair
Marjorie had indicated--

"It is very interesting to meet you. I have often heard papa speak of
you and your mother and father."

"Why, of course you have," laughed Marjorie, wondering in her simple way
whether all New York girls of fifteen were as "grown up" as Elsie. "I
don't believe though that you have thought half as much about me as I
have about you. You see, it's different in Arizona. There aren't very
many people, and they all live a long way from each other. Ever since I
can remember I have longed for a girl friend. But with you it must be
very different, going to school and living in a big city. I suppose you
have lots of friends."

"Oh, yes, I have a good many," said Elsie, with her little society air.
"I am not very fond of them all, though; some girls are so stupid."

"I hope you will like me," said Marjorie, a little wistfully. "We ought
to be even more than friends because we are cousins, and I have always
thought that a cousin must be the next best thing to a sister. Don't you
often long for a sister?"

"Why no, I don't," Elsie admitted. "Indeed, I am not sure that I should
care for one at all. I think being an only child is very pleasant,
though of course having an older brother would have its advantages. He
would introduce one to his friends and bring them to the house. Are you
fond of boys?"

"Oh, yes, I like them very well, but I have never known many. In fact, I
haven't known many people of any kind except Indians and Mexicans."

"Indians and Mexicans!" repeated Elsie in a tone of dismay. "How
perfectly awful! You don't mean that you make friends of those dreadful
people we saw on the train coming home from California, do you?"

"They are not all dreadful creatures," said Marjorie, flushing. "They
are not quite like white people, of course, but some of them are very
good. I know a Mexican boy who is just as bright and clever as he can
be. His father is going to send him to college next year. Then there is
Juanita; she has lived with us for years, and we are all very fond of
her."

"Oh, I