been
rather spoiled in consequence, but there is much that is fine about her.
She will make a noble woman, I am sure."

Marjorie looked pleased.

"Elsie likes you," she said, "and I don't think she is really fond of
many people. She hasn't nearly as many friends as most of the girls at
school have, but I love her dearly, and so does Babs."

"I had a letter from your father this afternoon," Miss Jessie said,
after a little pause; "I am keeping it for you to read. He says things
are looking up at the ranch, and he is hoping for a better season than
last. He thinks he may possibly be able to come East for us himself next
month. I do hope he can, for it would be such a treat for him."

"I suppose he is thankful to get Mother back," said Marjorie, "but, oh,
how we do miss her, don't we, Aunt Jessie?"

"Yes, indeed, but it wouldn't have been fair to have kept her any longer
when she was so anxious to get home to your father. After all, she had a
good long rest, and your father declares she is looking ten years
younger in consequence."

"What a wonderful winter it has been," said Marjorie, reflectively,
resting her knee against her aunt's knee. "When I left home last
October, how little any of us dreamed of all the strange, beautiful
things that were going to happen. Those first weeks were pretty hard; I
was a good deal more homesick than I let any of you know, but I knew
everybody meant to be kind and I did try hard to make the best of
things. Then came the Randolphs' invitation to spend the holidays in
Virginia, and the wonderful discovery about Undine. And then--as if that
wasn't happiness enough--Dr. Randolph saw you, and brought you and
Mother back to New York with him. The operation was pretty dreadful, but
ever since Dr. Randolph told us he was sure it had been a success,
everything has been simply heavenly."

Miss Jessie said nothing, but softly stroked Marjorie's hair, and there
was such a look of joy in her eyes, that the girl could not help being
struck by it.

"Aunt Jessie," she said, laughing, "do you know, I never realized before
how young you are. I used to think of you as quite a middle-aged lady,
but I don't know how it is, you look different now somehow--almost like
a girl."

"I was twenty-nine last week," said Miss Jessie, smiling; "I suppose
twenty-nine may seem middle-aged to fifteen."

"But it doesn't," protested Marjorie; "not a bit; I think I must have
been a goose ever to have thought suc