. She was hungry for
home; she said she was almost starving.

"I wish you a very happy time," said Miss Prudence as she opened
Marjorie's pocketbook to drop a five-dollar bill into its emptiness.

"I know it will be a happy time," Marjorie affirmed; "but I shall think
of you and Prue, and want to be here, too."

"I wish I could go, too," said Prue, dancing around her with Marjorie's
shawl strap in her hand.

There was a book for her father in the shawl strap, "The Old Bibie and
the New Science"; a pretty white cap for her mother, that Miss Prudence
had fashioned; a cherry-silk tie for Linnet; and a couple of white aprons
for Annie Grey, her mother's handmaiden, these last being also Miss
Prudence's handiwork.

"Wait till next summer, Prue. Aunt Prue wants to bring you for the sea
bathing."

"Don't be too sure, Marjorie; if Uncle John comes home he may have other
plans for her."

"Oh, _is_ he coming home?" inquired Marjorie.

"He would be here to-day if I had not threatened to lock him out and keep
him standing in a snowdrift until June. He expects to be here the first
day of summer."

"And what will happen then?" queried Prue. "Is it a secret?"

"Yes, it's a secret," said Miss Prudence, stepping behind Marjorie to
fasten her veil.

"Does Marjorie know?" asked Prue anxiously.

"I never can guess," said Marjorie. "Now, Kitten, good-bye; and sing to
Mrs. Kemlo while I am gone, and be good to Aunt Prue."

"Marjorie, dear, I shall miss you," said Miss Prudence.

"But you will be so glad that I am taking supper at home in that dear old
kitchen. And Linnet will be there; and then I am to go home with her to
stay all night. I don't see how I ever waited so long to see her keep
house. Will calls the house Linnet's Nest. I'll come back and tell you
stories about everything."

"Don't wait any longer, dear; I'm afraid you'll lose the train. I must
give you a watch like Linnet's for a graduating present."

Marjorie stopped at the gate to toss back a kiss to Prue watching at the
window. Miss Prudence remembered her face years afterward, flushed and
radiant, round and dimpled; such an innocent, girlish face, without one
trace of care or sorrow. Not a breath of real sorrow had touched her in
all her eighteen years. Her laugh that day was as light hearted as
Prue's.

"That girl lives in a happy world," Mrs. Kemlo had said to Miss Prudence
that morning.

"She always will," Miss Prudence replied; "she has the gift