was "only a boy" but his lips were as white as a man's would
have been.

"I am sorry; I didn't know you were in such earnest," she said,
penitently. "I like Hollis, of course, I cannot remember when I did not
like him, but I am not acquainted with him."

"Are you acquainted with me?" he asked in a tone that held a shade of
relief.

"Oh, you!" she laughed lightly, "I know what you think before you can
speak your thought."

"Then you know what I am thinking now."

"Not all of it," she returned, but she colored, notwithstanding, and
stepped backward toward the kitchen.

"Marjorie," he caught her hand and held it, "I am going away and I want
to tell you something. I am going far away this time, and I must tell
you. Do you remember the day I came? You were such a little thing, you
stood at the kitchen sink washing dishes, with your sleeves rolled back
and a big apron up to your neck, and you stopped in your work and looked
at me and your eyes were so soft and sorry. And I have loved you better
than anybody every day since. Every day I have thought: 'I will study
like Marjorie. I will be good like Marjorie. I will help everybody like
Marjorie.'"

She looked up into his eyes, her own filled with tears.

"I am so glad I have helped you so."

"And will you help me further by saying that you like me better than
Hollis."

"Oh, I do, you know I do," she cried, impulsively. "I am not acquainted
with him, and I know every thought you think."

"Now I am satisfied," he cried, exultantly, taking both her hands in his
and kissing her lips. "I am not afraid to go away now."

"Marjorie,"--the kitchen door was opened suddenly,--"I'm going to take
your mother home with me. Is the key in the right place."

"Everything is all right, Mrs. Rheid," replied Morris. "You bolt that
door and we will go out this way."

The door was closed as suddenly and the boy and girl stood silent,
looking at each other.

"Your Morris Kemlo is a fine young man," observed Mrs. Rheid as she
pushed the bolt into its place.

"He is a heartease to his mother," replied Mrs. West, who was sometimes
poetical.

"Does Marjorie like him pretty well?"

"Why, yes, we all do. He is like our own flesh and blood. But why did you
ask?"

"Oh, nothing. I just thought of it."

"I thought you meant something, but you couldn't when you know how Hollis
has been writing to her these four years."

"Oh!" ejaculated Hollis' mother.

She did not make plans for h