ith a smile and
Marian saw that she was a little like Miss Dorothy. "Here she is.
Here is Marian," cried Patty.

Emily nodded pleasantly. "Come near the fire," she said. "It is
quite wintry out. How good it is to see you, Dolly. I am so glad
you are coming home every week."

"Oh, what are those?" said Miss Dorothy as her sister uncovered
a plate.

"Your favorite tea cakes, but you mustn't eat too many of them
or you will have no appetite for supper. It will be rather late
to-night for the boys cannot get back before seven and they begged
me to wait for them. I knew you would be hungry, though, and so I
had tea, ready for you."

The two little girls, side by side, comfortably sipped some very
weak tea and munched their cakes while the older girls chatted. But
Patty made short work of her repast. "Hurry up," she whispered to
Marian, "I have lots of things to show you and we shall have supper
after a while. Is your cough very bad?"

"Not yet."

"They say mine isn't but I hate the whooping part. I hope it won't
get worse."

"I'm afraid it will, for we've only begun to whoop and they say it
takes a long time to get over it."

"Oh, those old they-says always are telling you something horrid.
Come, let me show you the boys' puppies before it gets too dark to
see them; they're out in the shed."

"Oh, I'd love to see them." Marian despatched the remainder of her
cake and was ready to follow Patty out-of-doors to where five tiny
fox terriers were nosing around their little mother. They were duly
admired, then Patty showed the pigeons and the one rabbit. By this
time it was quite dark, so they returned to the house to see the
family of dolls who lived in a pleasant room up-stairs.

"This is where we are to have lessons," Patty told her guest.
"Isn't it nice? Those two little tables are to be ours, and
Emily will sit in that chair by the window. We arranged it all.
These are my books." She dropped on her knees before a row of
low book shelves.

"Oh, how many," exclaimed Marian. "I have only a few, and most
of those are old-fashioned. Some were my grandparents' and some
my father's."

"Doesn't your father ever get you any new ones?"

"He might if he were here," Marian answered, "but you see I don't
know him."

"Don't know your father?" Patty looked amazed.

"No. He lives in Germany, and hasn't been home for seven or
eight years."

"How queer. Isn't he ever coming?"

"I hope he is. I wrote to him not long a