a bird of Paradise
before the glass. It all came over her, the vanity and frivolousness of
the life that Kate loved, and she spoke out with conviction:

"Kate, you'll have to be very different when you're married." Kate had
faced about amusedly and asked why.

"Because _he_ is so good," Marcia had replied, unable to explain further.

"Oh, is that all?" said the daring sister, wheeling back to the glass.
"Don't you worry; I'll soon take that out of him."

But Kate's indifference had never lessened her young sister's awe of her
prospective brother-in-law. She had listened to his conversations with her
father during the brief visits he had made, and she had watched his face
at church while he and Kate sang together as the minister lined it out:
"Rock of Ages cleft for me, Let me hide myself in Thee," a new song which
had just been written. And she had mused upon the charmed life Kate would
lead. It was wonderful to be a woman and be loved as Kate was loved,
thought Marcia.

So in all the hurry no one seemed to think much about Marcia, and she was
not satisfied with her brown delaine afternoon dress. Truth to tell, it
needed letting down, and there was no more left to let down. It made her
feel like last year to go about in it with her slender ankles so plainly
revealed. So she set her heart upon the new chintz.

Now, with Marcia, to decide was to do. She did not speak to her stepmother
about it, for she knew it would be useless; neither did she think it worth
while to go to her father, for she knew that both his wife and Kate would
find it out and charge her with useless expense just now when there were
so many other uses for money, and they were anxious to have it all flow
their way. She had an independent spirit, so she took the time that
belonged to herself, and went to the blackberry patch which belonged to
everybody.

Marcia's fingers were nimble and accustomed, and the sun was not very high
in the heavens when she had finished her task and turned happily toward
the village. The pails would not hold another berry.

Her cheeks were glowing with the sun and exercise, and little wisps of
wavy curls had escaped about her brow, damp with perspiration. Her eyes
were shining with her purpose, half fulfilled, as she hastened down the
hill.

Crossing a field she met Hanford Weston with a rake over his shoulder and
a wide-brimmed straw hat like a small shed over him. He was on his way to
the South meadow. He blushed