had no one better by, but aside from that her life had been lived much
apart from him. Her stepmother? Yes, she would miss her as one misses a
perfect mentor and guide. She had been used to looking to her for
direction. She was thoroughly conscious that she had a will of her own and
would like a chance to exercise it, still, she knew that in many cases
without her stepmother she would be like a rudderless ship, a guideless
traveller. And she loved her stepmother too, as a young girl can love a
good woman who has been her guide and helper, even though there never has
been great tenderness between them. Yes, she would miss her stepmother,
but she would not feel so very sad over it. Harriet and the little
brothers? Oh, yes, she would miss them, they were dear little things and
devoted to her.

Then there were the neighbors, and the schoolmates, and the people of the
village. She would miss the minister,--the dear old minister and his wife.
Many a time she had gone with her arms full of flowers to the parsonage
down the street, and spent the afternoon with the minister's wife. Her
smooth white hair under its muslin cap, and her soft wrinkled cheek were
very dear to the young girl. She had talked to this friend more freely
about her innermost thoughts than she had ever spoken to any living being.
Oh, she would miss the minister's wife very much if she were to go away.

The names of her schoolmates came to her. Harriet Woodgate, Eliza
Buchanan, Margaret Fletcher, three girls who were her intimates. She would
miss them, of course, but how much? She could scarcely tell. Margaret
Fletcher more than the other two. Mary Ann Fothergill? She almost laughed
at the thought of anybody missing Mary Ann. John Middleton? Hanford
Weston? There was not a boy in the school she would miss for an instant,
she told herself with conviction. Not one of them realized her ideal.
There was much pairing off of boy and girl in school, but Marcia, like the
heroine of "Comin' thro' the Rye," was good friends with all the boys and
intimate with none. They all counted it an honor to wait upon her, and she
cared not a farthing for any. She felt herself too young, of course, to
think of such things, but when she dreamed her day dreams the lover and
prince who figured in them bore no familiar form or feature. He was a
prince and these were only schoolboys.

The merry chatter of the young people in the house floated through the
open windows, and Marcia could