ne in particular of a girl with curly hair, and a very
friendly expression, and Marjorie wondered if she could be the cousin,
who had given Barbara "Lorna Doone." It was strange how intimate she was
beginning to feel with this Barbara, who had died nearly three years
ago.

Marjorie had just finished her unpacking when there was a tap at her
door, and in answer to her "Come in," a girl of about her own age
presented herself. One glance was sufficient to assure Marjorie that she
was the same curly-haired, friendly-faced girl, whose photograph, in a
silver frame, stood in a prominent place on the writing-desk.

"I'm Grace Patterson," announced the visitor, in a voice as friendly as
her face. "Cousin Barbara told me to come right up; my brother and I
have come over especially to see you."

"I'm very glad to meet you," said Marjorie, shaking hands, and drawing
forward a chair for her guest. "I've just been looking at your picture,"
she added, smiling.

Grace Patterson glanced about the room, and a shade of sadness crossed
her bright face.

"It seems so strange to be in this room again," she said; "I haven't
been here since poor Babs--you've heard about Babs, of course?"

Marjorie nodded.

"She was my chum," said Grace, with a little catch in her voice, "and
one of the dearest girls that ever lived. We were almost the same age,
and as neither of us had any sisters, we were together a great deal.
Babs had a governess, and my younger brother and I used to come over
here every day for lessons. Our place is only two miles away, and my
mother and Cousin Barbara are great friends. It nearly killed poor
Cousin Barbara."

"I know," said Marjorie. "It was lovely of Mrs. Randolph to let me have
this room. I have been so interested in Barbara ever since I first heard
about her, but I don't like to talk to her mother or brother about her."

"You know how it happened, I suppose?"

"Oh, yes; Beverly told me that. It must have been a frightful shock to
you all."

"Frightful! I should say it was. Even Beverly has never been quite the
same since. He was devoted to Babs, and they were such chums. I don't
think it would have been quite so terrible if they could have recognized
her afterward, but she was so frightfully injured--oh, I can't bear to
talk about it! They recognized Miss Randolph, Bab's aunt, but poor Babs
was completely crushed, and--oh, let's come downstairs. I can't stand it
up here; it gives me the horrors."

Ther