Marjorie excused herself to find Prue and comfort her a little, promising
to ask Aunt Prue to let her go to school with her one day every week, as
a visitor, until the new quarter commenced.

Miss Prudence was not usually so strict, she reasoned within herself; why
must she wait for another quarter? Was she afraid of the cold for
Prue? She must be waiting for something. Perhaps it was to hear from Mr.
Holmes, Marjorie reasoned; she consulted him with regard to every
new movement of Prue's. She knew that when she wrote to him she called
her "our little girl."

While Miss Prudence and Morris lingered at the breakfast table they
caught sounds of romping and laughter on the staircase and in the hall
above.

"Those two are my sunshine," said Miss Prudence.

"I wish mother could have some of its shining," answered Morris. "My
sisters do not give poor mother much beside the hard side of their own
lives."

When Miss Prudence's two sunbeams rushed (if sunbeams do rush) into the
back parlor they found her and Morris talking earnestly in low, rather
suppressed tones, Morris seemed excited, there was an air of resolution
about Miss Prudence's attitude that promised Marjorie there would be some
new plan to be talked about that night. There was no stagnation, even in
the monotony of Miss Prudence's little household. Hardly a day passed
that Marjorie did not find her with some new thing to do for somebody
somewhere outside in the ever-increasing circle of her friends. Miss
Prudence's income as well as herself was kept in constant circulation.
Marjorie enjoyed it; it was the ideal with which she had painted the
bright days of her own future.

But then--Miss Prudence had money, and she would never have money. In a
little old book of Miss Prudence's there was a list of names,--Miss
Prudence had shown it to her,--against several names was written "Gone
home;" against others, "Done;" and against as many as a dozen, "Something
to do." The name of Morris' mother was included in the last. Marjorie
hoped the opportunity to do that something had come at last; but what
could it be? She could not influence Morris' hardhearted sisters to
understand their mother and be tender towards her: even she could not do
that. What would Miss Prudence think of? Marjorie was sure that his
mother would be comforted and Morris satisfied. She hoped Morris would
not have to settle on the "land," he loved the water with such abounding
enthusiasm, he was s