over to tell us last night, wearing a diamond the size of
a marble! Of course,"--Margaret was loyal,--"I don't think there's a
jealous bone in Julie's body; still, it's pretty hard! Here's Julie
plugging away to get through the Normal School, so that she can teach
all the rest of her life, and Betty's been to California, and been to
Europe, and now is going to marry a rich New York man! Betty's the
only child, you know, so, of course, she has everything. It seems so
unfair, for Mr. Forsythe's salary is exactly what Dad's is; yet they
can travel, and keep two maids, and entertain all the time! And
as for family, why, Mother's family is one of the finest in the
country, and Dad's had two uncles who were judges--and what were
the Forsythes! However,"--Margaret dried her eyes and put away her
handkerchief,--"however, it's for Bruce I mind most!"

"Bruce is only three years older than you are, twenty-three or four,"
Mrs. Porter smiled.

"Yes, but he's not the kind that forgets!" Margaret's flush was a
little resentful. "Oh, of course, you can laugh, Emily. I know that
there are plenty of people who don't mind dragging along day after
day, working and eating and sleeping--but I'm not that kind!" she
went on moodily. "I used to hope that things would be different; it
makes me sick to think how brave I was; but now here's Ju coming
along, and Ted growing up, and Bruce's girl throwing him over--it's
all so unfair! I look at the Cutter girls, nearly fifty, and running
the post-office for thirty years, and Mary Page in the Library, and
the Norberrys painting pillows,--and I could scream!"

"Things will take a turn for the better some day, Margaret," said the
other woman, soothingly; "and as time goes on you'll find yourself
getting more and more pleasure out of your work, as I do. Why, I've
never been so securely happy in my life as I am now. You'll feel
differently some day."

"Maybe," Margaret assented unenthusiastically. There was a pause.
Perhaps the girl was thinking that to teach school, live in a plain
little cottage on the unfashionable Bridge Road, take two roomers,
and cook and sew and plan for Tom and little Emily, as Mrs. Porter
did, was not quite an ideal existence.

"You're an angel, anyway, Emily," said she, affectionately, a little
shamefacedly. "Don't mind my growling. I don't do it very often. But
I look about at other people, and then realize how my mother's slaved
for twenty years and how my father's bee