had been an orphan ever since she could remember.
She had been brought up by a distant relative of her father's--that
is, she had been given board, lodging, some schooling and indifferent
clothes for the privilege of working like a little drudge in the house
of the grim cousin who sheltered her. The death of this cousin flung
Margaret on her own resources. A friend had procured her employment as
the "companion" of a rich, eccentric old lady, infirm of health and
temper. Margaret lived with her for five years, and to the young girl
they seemed treble the time. Her employer was fault-finding, peevish,
unreasonable, and many a time Margaret's patience almost failed
her--almost, but not quite. In the end it brought her a more tangible
reward than sometimes falls to the lot of the toiler. Mrs. Constance
died, and in her will she left to Margaret her little up-country
cottage and enough money to provide her an income for the rest of her
life.

Margaret took immediate possession of her little house and, with the
aid of a capable old servant, soon found herself very comfortable. She
realized that her days of drudgery were over, and that henceforth
life would be a very different thing from what it had been. Margaret
meant to have "a good time." She had never had any pleasure and now
she was resolved to garner in all she could of the joys of existence.

"I'm not going to do a single useful thing for a year," she had told
Mrs. Boyd gaily. "Just think of it--a whole delightful year of
vacation, to go and come at will, to read, travel, dream, rest. After
that, I mean to see if I can find something to do for other folks, but
I'm going to have this one golden year. And the first thing in it is
our trip to Vancouver. I'm so glad I have the chance to go with you.
It's a wee bit short notice, but I'll be ready when you want to
start."

Altogether, Margaret felt pretty well satisfied with life as she
tripped blithely down the country road between the ranks of snow-laden
spruces, with the blue sky above and the crisp, exhilarating air all
about. There was only one drawback, but it was a pretty serious one.

It's so lonely by spells, Margaret sometimes thought wistfully. All
the joys my good fortune has brought me can't quite fill my heart.
There's always one little empty, aching spot. Oh, if I had somebody of
my very own to love and care for, a mother, a sister, even a cousin.
But there's nobody. I haven't a relative in the world, and