band, problems, life in
general--what were they all to the chance at a real bathtub? She
followed Peggy down the hall as a kitten follows a friend with a bowl
of milk.

"O-o! a bathtub!" she said rapturously.

Peggy threw open a door where, among wooden floor and side-wall and
ceiling and everything else of the most primitive, a real and most
enticingly porcelain bathtub sat proudly awaiting guests.

"It'll not be so good as you've been used to," she said with more
suggestion of Irishry than Marjorie had yet heard, "but I guess you'll
be glad of it."

"Glad!" said Marjorie. And she almost shut the door in Peggy's face.

She lingered over it and over the manicuring and hairdressing and
everything else that she could linger over, and dressed herself in the
best of her gowns, a sophisticated taupe satin with slippers and
stockings to match. She'd show Francis what he was perhaps going to be
willing to part with! So when Mrs. O'Mara's stentorian voice called
"Supper!" up the stair, she had not quite finished herself off. The
sophisticated Lucille had tucked in--it was a real tribute of
affection--her own best rouge box; and Marjorie was on the point of
adding the final touch to beauty, as the advertisement on the box said,
when she heard the supper call. She was too genuinely hungry to stop.
She raced down the stairs in a most unsophisticated manner, nearly
falling over Francis and Peggy, who were also racing for the
dining-room.

They caught her to them in a most unceremonious way, each with an arm
around her, and sped her steps on. She found herself breathless and
laughing, dropped into a big wooden chair with Francis facing her and
Peggy and her mother at the other two sides. It was a small table,
wooden as to leg under its coarse white cloth; but, oh, the beauty of
the sight to Marjorie! There were such things as pork and beans, and
chops, and baked potatoes, and apple sauce, and various vegetables, and
on another table--evidently a concession to manners--was to be seen a
noble pudding with whipped cream thick above it.

"The food looks good, now, doesn't it?" beamed Mrs. O'Mara. "I'll bet
ye're hungry enough to eat the side o' the house. Pass me yer plate to
fill up, me dear."

Marjorie ate--she remembered it vaguely afterwards, in her sleep--a
great deal of everything on the table. It did not seem possible, when
she remembered, also vaguely, all the things there had been; but the
facts were agai