handsome furniture in ash, the
prevailing tint of the pretty things being her favorite shade of light
blue.

"That is a maiden's room," Miss Prudence had said; "and when Prue has a
maiden's room it shall be in rose."

Marjorie was not jealous, as she had feared she might be, of the little
creature who nestled close to Miss Prudence; she felt that Miss Prudence
was being comforted in the child. She was too happy to sleep that night.
In the years afterward she did not leave Hollis out of her prayers, but
she never once thought to pray that he might be brought back again to be
her friend. Her prayer for him had been answered and with that she was
well content.

XVII.

MORRIS.

"What I aspired to be comforts me."--_Browning_.

It was late one evening in November; Prue had kissed them both good-night
and ran laughing up the broad staircase to bed; Miss Prudence had
finished her evening's work and evening's pleasure, and was now sitting
opposite Marjorie, near the register in the back parlor. A round table
had been rolled up between them upon which the shaded, bronze lamp was
burning, gas not having yet been introduced into old-fashioned Maple
Street. The table was somewhat littered and in confusion, Prue's
stereoscope was there with the new views of the Yosemite at which she had
been looking that evening and asking Aunt Prue numerous questions, among
which was "Shall we go and see them some day? Shall we go everywhere some
day?" Aunt Prue had satisfied her with "Perhaps so, darling," and then
had fallen silently to wondering why she and Prue might not travel some
day, a year in Europe had always been one of her postponed intentions,
and, by and by, how her child would enjoy it. Marjorie's books and
writing desk were on the table also, for she had studied mental
philosophy and chemistry after she had copied her composition and
written a long letter to her mother. Short letters were as truly an
impossibility to Marjorie as short addresses are to some public speeches;
still Marjorie always stopped when she found she had nothing to say. To
her mother, school and Miss Prudence and Prue's sayings and doings were
an endless theme of delight. Not only did she take Marjoire's letters to
her old father and mother, but she more than a few times carried them in
her pocket when she visited Mrs. Rheid, that she might read them aloud to
her. Miss Prudence's work was also on the table, pretty sewing for Prue
and her writing