r last ride on Flyaway. Enjoy it
all you can, Mousie."

Marjorie enjoyed everything all she could.

"Now, hurrah!" he shouted, starting on a quick run down the hill. "I'm
going to turn you over into the brook."

Marjorie laughed her joyous little laugh. "I'm not afraid," she said in
absolute content.

"You'd better be!" he retorted in his most savage tone.

The whole west was now in a glow and the glorious light stretched across
fields of snow.

"Oh, how splendid," Marjorie exclaimed breathlessly as the rapid motion
of the sled and the rush of cold air carried her breath away.

"Hold on tight," he cried mockingly, "we're coming to the brook."

Laughing aloud she held on "tight." Hollis was her true knight; she would
not have been afraid to cross the Alps on that sled if he had asked her
to!

She was in a talkative mood to-night, but her horse pranced on and would
not listen. She wanted to tell him about _vibgyor_. The half mile was
quickly travelled and he whirled the sled through the large gateway and
around the house to the kitchen door. The long L at the back of the house
seemed full of doors.

"There, Mousie, here you are!" he exclaimed. "And don't you miss your
lesson to-morrow."

"To-morrow is Saturday! oh, I had forgotten. And I can go to see
Evangelist to-night."

"You haven't said 'thank you' for your last ride on Flyaway."

"I will when I'm sure that it is," she returned with her eyes laughing.

He turned her over into a snowdrift and ran off whistling; springing up
she brushed the snow off face and hands and with a very serious face
entered the kitchen. The kitchen was long and low, bright with the sunset
shining in at two windows and cheery with its carpeting of red, yellow
and green mingled confusingly in the handsome oilcloth.

Unlike Hollis, Marjorie was the outgrowth of home influences; the kitchen
oilcloth had something to do with her views of life, and her mother's
broad face and good-humored eyes had a great deal more. Good-humor in the
mother had developed sweet humor in the child.

Now I wonder if you understand Marjorie well enough to understand all she
does and all she leaves undone during the coming fifteen or twenty years?

II.

EVANGELIST.

"The value of a thought cannot be told."--_Bailey_.

Her mother's broad, gingham back and the twist of iron gray hair low in
her neck greeted her as she opened the door, then the odor of hot
biscuits intruded itself, and the