I have," was Marjorie's last waking thought. "I don't deserve her,
and never can, but I'm going to try not to disappoint her any more than
I can possibly help. One winter can't last for ever, and when June
comes, and I am at home again, how gloriously happy we shall all be!"

CHAPTER VII

MARJORIE WRITES LETTERS

"October 28th, 19--

"MY OWN PRECIOUS MOTHER:

"The first letter must be to you, of course, and
the next to Aunt Jessie. Uncle Henry says if I
write now I can post my letter when we stop at
Albuquerque this afternoon. Oh, Mother darling,
was it only this morning that I said good-bye to
you all? It seems as if I had been away a month
already.

"I am writing this at the desk in the library car,
and the train shakes so I am afraid my writing
will be worse than ever. Uncle Henry says I shall
soon get accustomed to the motion, but just now it
makes my head ache, and the car feels very hot and
stuffy. I opened the window, but a great many
cinders came in, and a lady in the section next to
mine asked me to close it again, so I had to.

"I hope Father didn't tell you what a goose I was
at the station. I didn't mean to cry so much, but
when I thought of you and Aunt Jessie waving
good-bye to me from the porch, with such a
sorrowful look on both your dear faces, I just
couldn't help it. I am going to cheer up right
away, though, so please don't worry about me.

"It really was very exciting when the train
stopped at Lorton, and Uncle Henry and I got in.
When it began to move, and I realized that I was
actually on board, I gave a kind of gasp, and
would have liked to scream, if I hadn't been
afraid of shocking Uncle Henry. There are not many
people on the train, the colored porter says, and
Uncle Henry and I both have sections to ourselves.
I thought there would be regular beds to sleep in,
but there are not. The porter says they turn the
seats into beds at night, and there are curtains
to let down. I should think it would be very
uncomfortable sleeping so close to other people,
but I suppose one