r thought of trying to find out what it was, as
you said. It seemed to me it was something that came of itself, if it
came at all." He spoke with real earnestness.

"Yet it doesn't seem quite logical to take care of our minds and bodies
and never think of our souls, does it?" his companion asked. "I remember
my own schooldays well enough to know how difficult it is not to be
entirely absorbed in what are called secular things. But after all, it
is the motive of a life that makes it fine; and if, in all you do, you
follow the best you know, are faithful and true and kind, that is
religion. The caring for church and things called sacred will come in
time; you can't be grown up spiritually all at once, any more than you
can physically."

"You make it seem reasonable and almost easy," Mark said; "but I thought
one had to understand a lot of things. You see my mother died when I was
a little chap, and there was only Aunt Emily. Uncle George is very
kind, but you can't believe he knows how a boy feels; people forget."

"Perhaps they remember more than impatient young persons give them
credit for," answered Mrs. Morrison, smiling. "There is one thing, Mark:
whatever you do, be in earnest."

In the city streets the electric lights had come out one by one, and
overhead the stars were shining. They walked the last block in silence,
and when they separated at the door, Mark said, "Thank you, Mrs.
Morrison."

"What was he thanking you for?" Frances asked.

"I don't know, Wink, unless it was for some advice."

"I think Mark is a nice boy; I am glad he came home," Frances remarked
as she took off her hat.

At the same moment, down in the study, Mark was saying: "How did you
ever happen to find them, Uncle George?-- Mrs. Morrison and Frances, I
mean. They are not like--everybody; they are the real thing. That
Frances is a regular little princess! How did they happen to come here?"

"I, too, have wondered at it, my boy, but I have learned to take the
good things that come my way without asking many questions," was the old
man's reply.

CHAPTER FOURTEENTH.

THREE OF A NAME.

Frances stood thoughtfully looking out of the window. To-morrow would be
New Year's Day and also her mother's birthday, and she had not
remembered it till this morning. She wondered if she could not in some
way get some flowers for her. She had her Christmas money from Uncle
Allan in California, and there was nothing her mother enjoyed more th