any in New York, and I've been
thinking--oh, Undine, I'm almost afraid to say it, it seems so
presumptuous--but just suppose I should meet a surgeon in New York, and
be able to persuade him to come here to see Aunt Jessie, and suppose he
should cure her! It's the one hope that keeps me up every time I feel
like breaking down at the idea of going so far away from everybody."

"It would be perfectly beautiful," Undine agreed warmly, "but do you
suppose any surgeon would be willing to come so far to see some one he
didn't know?"

Marjorie's face, which had brightened for a moment, grew very serious
again.

"I don't know," she said. "If he knew her I'm sure he would come--any
one would--but if he had never even heard of her existence it would be
different, of course. I don't know how I'm going to manage it; I only
know it's the thing I want most in the whole world, and I'm going to try
for it with all my might."

There was a ring in Marjorie's voice, and a light in her eyes, which
impressed her friend, and with a quick, affectionate impulse, Undine
caught her hand and squeezed it.

"I wish I could help," she said, "but there isn't anything I can do
except pray about it. I will pray every night, just as hard as I do to
remember, and if it really should happen I think I should be almost as
happy as you."

Just then the conversation was interrupted by the sound of approaching
footsteps and voices, and with a whispered caution to Undine not to
breathe a word to any one, Marjorie hurried away to join her father and
uncle, who were returning from their walk.

Everybody made a great effort to be cheerful at supper that evening.
Even Mr. Carleton, who was usually rather quiet, threw himself manfully
into the breach, and told funny stories that made them all laugh. After
all, the evening wasn't as dreadful as Marjorie had feared it was going
to be, but when bedtime came, and she had to say good-night to her
family for the last time for eight whole months, she felt herself in
immediate danger of breaking down.

Mrs. Graham sat for a long time by her daughter's bedside that night,
and they had what Marjorie called "a perfectly Heavenly talk." It was a
serious talk, but not a sad one, and when it was over, and Marjorie
flung her arms round her mother's neck, and did break down just a
little, things did not seem nearly as hopeless as she had expected.

"I don't believe any other girl in the world has such a perfect mother
as