n!"

It was unfortunate for Billy that Merry could never take him seriously.
While the boy poured out his youthful protestations she was gentle and
considerate, but her appeal to his reason proved futile because no such
thing existed. Later, when alone, the absurdity of the situation gave
her an outlet, and she laughed quietly to herself. Poor, dear,
easy-going Billy! She would have spared him even these imaginary
heart-pangs if she could, but the real meaning of life and its
responsibilities was yet for him to learn.

Constant in the purpose to which she had consecrated herself, Merry
received her mother on that eventful morning with mind prepared to
accept the supreme test. She had been standing at the window before her
chamber door opened, looking out across the broad lawn to the wide
expanse of water sparkling in the morning sun. She had watched a stately
four-master sailing majestically by; she had watched the little pleasure
craft, darting in and out as if playing at hide and seek. The great ship
pursued its dignified course, following the track laid down for it by
the mariner's chart; the frolicsome boats went hither or thither,
whichever way the favoring wind filled their sails. The great ship by
holding steadfastly to her course would eventually reach that port
toward which she had set out, with her mission fulfilled; the little
boats would return to the moorings from which they fluttered with no
other purpose accomplished than the pleasure of the passing moment. Yes,
Merry had told herself, it was purpose which counted. She had dashed out
over and over again on brief excursions, but even her serious errands
had been undertaken because they gave her pleasure. Unless the course be
charted, unless the goal be predetermined, there could be no permanence,
no majestic dignity to any performance. The time had come when she would
permit no wavering. She would show her confidence in the experience of
the older mariner, who had plotted out the chart, by following it
without the semblance of a doubt.

"I'm ready, Momsie," she said brightly, turning toward Mrs.
Thatcher,--"why, Momsie! what's the matter? It's all right, dearie. I'm
sure we'll be very, very happy. I'm ready to see Mr. Hamlen whenever you
say. It's all right, dearie."

Mrs. Thatcher sat down wearily, and Merry slipped to the floor at her
feet, looking wonderingly up into her strained face. Marian leaned
forward impulsively and kissed her, resting her ch