ld not stop herself.
What do you think of her as a school girl triumph?"

"It isn't tempting. I like myself better. I want to be _slow_. Miss
Prudence, I don't want to hurry anything."

"I approve of you, Marjorie. Now what is this little girl thinking
about?"

"Is that your mamma up there?"

"Yes."

"She looks like you."

"Yes, I am like her; but there is no white in her hair. It is all black,
Prue."

"I like white in hair for old ladies."

Marjorie laughed and Miss Prudence smiled. She was glad that being called
"an old lady" could strike somebody as comical.

"Was papa in this room a good many times?"

"Yes, many times."

Miss Prudence could speak to his child without any sigh in her voice.

"Do you remember the last time he was here?"

"Yes," very gently.

"He said I would like your house and I do."

"Nannie is to marry one of Helen's friends, Marjorie; her mother thought
he used to care for Helen, but Nannie is like her."

"Yes," said Marjorie, "I remember. Hollis told me."

"And my best news is about Hollis. He united with the Church a week or
two ago; Mrs. Rheid says he is the happiest Christian she ever saw. He
says he has not been _safe_ since Helen died--he has been thinking ever
since."

Tears were so near to Marjorie's eyes that they brimmed over; could she
ever thank God enough for this? others may have been praying for him,
but she knew her years of prayers were being answered. She would never
feel sorrowful or disappointed about any little thing again, for what
had she so longed for as this? How rejoiced his mother must be! Oh, that
she might write to him and tell him how glad she was! But she could not
do that. She could tell God how glad she was, and if Hollis never knew it
would not matter.

"In the spring he is to go to Europe for the firm."

"He will like that," said Marjorie, finding her voice.

"He is somebody to be depended on. But there is the tea-bell, and my
little traveller is hungry, for she would not eat on the train and I
tempted her with fruit and crackers."

"Aunt Prue, I _like_ it here. May I see up stairs, too?"

"You must see the supper table first. And then Marjorie may show you
everything while I write to Uncle John, to tell him that our little bird
has found her nest."

Marjorie gave up her place that night in the wide, old-fashioned mahogany
bedstead beside Miss Prudence and betook herself to the room that opened
out of Miss Prudence's, a room with