and then with an effort, and speaking very quickly, she
said,--

"I've come to say I'm sorry I called you an ugly name, but I think you
were unkind in what you said."

"Do you suppose I care whether you call me names or not?" And the girl
gave a hard laugh.

"No; but I care. I am ashamed of myself."

Mrs. Smylie looked on and listened, curious to see how the affair would
end.

"You are a queer little kid," said Mary Ann. "Any one can see you
haven't been to school. No girl in our school would come and eat humble
pie like this. Well, I believe I did say a lot of stuff just to rub you
up, and if you're sorry I'm sorry too, so we'll shake hands--eh?"

The girls shook hands, and Marjory, again saying good-afternoon to Mrs.
Smylie, left the shop.

Mrs. Smylie replied by a nod. She was a little disappointed at the turn
things had taken. She rather enjoyed having a grievance, and Hunter's
Marjory and her "tantrums" had been a fertile subject for gossip during
the last few days.

"Ye needna hae gien in sae sune," she remarked to her daughter when the
carriage had driven off.

"That was my business," replied Mary Ann, with a toss of her head.

"Hoots, lassie, ye needna haud yer head sae high wi' yer mither. I was
but thinkin' ye micht hae held it higher wi' yon chit."

"I'll never be like her, not if I live to be a hundred and go to fifty
schools--so there." And Mary Ann banged out of the shop, leaving her
mother silent with amazement.

Mary Ann had something to think about. She had been quite taken aback by
Marjory's apology, and for a little while the real Mary Ann had shown
herself. She was not a bad-hearted girl in reality, but she had been
spoiled by those who should have known better; and although every now
and then, at moments such as this, her better nature would assert
itself, it was gradually becoming choked and crushed by selfishness,
conceit, and carelessness. Marjory had been inclined to envy the baker's
daughter her privileges, but in reality Mary Ann was to be pitied rather
than envied, for she had no one to guide and help her. Her parents'
chief care was that she should be better dressed and better educated
than her neighbours. This they felt they could accomplish; and having
done so, they were content, and satisfied that they had done their duty
by their daughter.

The days were full of pleasure for Marjory and Blanche. When the garden
had been thoroughly explored, there were many beautiful pla