MARJORIE'S 
 WAY 
 
 ALICE TURNER CURTIS
 
 3"
 
 UNiV, OF GAUF. LIBRARY, LOS ANGELES
 
 12 Marjorie 
 
 him for company," replied Betty, with a little one- 
 sided skip. " Just think, Luke Sanders has got four 
 dogs now. He says his father doesn't care. He'd 
 just as soon have taken ' Buff ' too." 
 
 "Is this dog named?" Margie looked at Betty 
 anxiously. 
 
 "Yes, Luke named all three. He hardly stopped 
 to think a minute. This one is 'Buff,' and one is 
 ' Stripe,' and the other is ' Spot.' " 
 
 " Oh, dear," said Margie, " I don't like those names. 
 I had a lovely long name picked out for this 
 one." 
 
 "Well," and Betty skipped sideways with a little 
 flirt of her braid, "father said that if Luke named 
 the puppies they would never get mixed up. He 
 said Luke always had good judgment about naming 
 dogs." 
 
 Margie sighed; it seemed to her that you could 
 hardly expect as much from a puppy named " Buff " 
 as from one named " Napoleon." 
 
 Mrs. Philips came out on the side porch as the two 
 little girls came up through the flower-garden. 
 
 " Oh, mother, Betty has given me the new yellow 
 puppy ! " said Margie, as they set the basket down on 
 the lower step.
 
 Marjories ff^ay 13 
 
 " I hope he will not chase the chickens," said Mrs. 
 Philips a little anxiously. 
 
 " Oh, no, he won't," Betty assured her, giving a 
 gay little jump. " He has been whipped twice, very 
 carefully, for running after the guinea-hens, and now 
 he knows better." 
 
 " Do you really want to keep him ? " asked Mrs. 
 Philips, with a little sigh, turning to Margie. 
 
 " Oh, mother, of course I do ! Luke has four dogs, 
 and his father doesn't care." 
 
 Mrs. Philips smiled a little, and stroked the puppy's 
 shining golden-brown ears, and Margie knew that the 
 puppy was hers. 
 
 " I must go right home now," said Betty, picking 
 up the basket by one handle. "My Grandmother 
 Savory is coming to-day to make a visit. Father 
 drove in to Columbia after her this morning. Mother 
 was right glad to get rid of the puppies before grandma 
 came. She says grandma doesn't like dogs." Betty's 
 bright face grew sober. " Margie," she continued, 
 " my grandmother thinks it's time I went to Columbia 
 and began to go to school, and lived with her." 
 
 Margie nearly loosened her grip on the squirming 
 puppy in her surprise. 
 
 " That's what she wrote my mother," went on Betty ;
 
 Aunt Cora came out to the shaded
 
 Marjorie's Way 
 
 By 
 
 ALICE TURNER CURTIS 
 
 Author of "Marjorie's Schooldays," Etc. 
 Illustrated by E. M. Nagel 
 
 The Penn Publishing Company 
 
 Philadelphia 
 
 1911
 
 COPYRIGHT 1905 BY THE PENN PUBLISHING COMPANY
 
 Introduction 
 
 MARJORIE PHILIPS had two ambitions. One was 
 to be like her aunt, Miss Maria Wing, whom she was 
 visiting in Ashley, a small New England town. The 
 other was to help Luke Sanders, a poor boy whom she 
 left behind her among the South Carolina cotton fields. 
 How both of these ambitions were realized, in ways 
 very surprising to Marjorie, is the story of this book, 
 together with many delightful good times that Mar- 
 jorie found among her new friends in Ashley. Those 
 who would like to know more about Marjorie, Ada, 
 and Adrienne will find them again in "Marjorie's 
 Schooldays."
 
 Contents 
 
 CHAP. PAGE. 
 
 I PLANS AND A PUPPY 5 
 
 II AUNT CORA'S CAKES 16 
 
 III LUKE LOSES SOMETHING 28 
 
 IV ABOUT LUKE'S CLOTHES 35 
 
 V A JOURNEY FOR MARGIE 44 
 
 VI AUNT MARIA'S HOUSE 50 
 
 VII SARAH MULLINS' MANNERS 60 
 
 VIII BETTY'S WIGWAM 72 
 
 IX LUKE'S LESSONS 82 
 
 X A PICNIC AT THE PINES 91 
 
 XI A DAY OF DELIGHTS 102 
 
 XII LUKE'S LUCK 115 
 
 XIII SALUDA SWAMP 124 
 
 XIV A PIECE OF PUNK 135 
 
 XV JUST LIKE AUNT MARIA 146 
 
 XVI MARGIE'S FAIR 157 
 
 XVII LUKE MAKES A NEW FRIEND .... 166 
 
 XVIII THE SURPRISE 171 
 
 XIX MR. FIELD'S NEW PICTURE 177 
 
 XX MARGIE AND LUKE 187
 
 Illustrations 
 
 PAGE 
 
 AUNT CORA CAME OUT TO THE SHADED PORCH 
 
 Frontispiece 
 
 THEY WALKED UP THE PATH TO THE FRONT DOOR . 54 
 LUKE CAME EVERY DAY FOR HIS LESSON ... .85 
 " OH, ADA, IT ALL CRINKLES ABOUT MY FACE" . .154 
 "WHY," SHE EXCLAIMED, " THAT is LUKE SAN- 
 DERS!" . 1 80 
 
 Marjorie's Way
 
 MARJORIE'S WAY 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 PLANS AND A PUPPY 
 
 MARGIE PHILIPS sat on the broad porch which 
 sheltered the side-door where the big rose-tree grew. 
 A little breeze came across the cotton-field and the 
 jessamine and honeysuckle vines moved lazily with a 
 little rustling, sleepy noise. 
 
 Margie sighed, a little happy sigh, as she looked out 
 over the tangled vines and blossoms of the garden. 
 On the other side of the cotton-field and beyond the 
 growth of small pines she could catch a glimpse of an- 
 other house where her friend Betty Savory lived. 
 Margie was thinking about Betty, and of a present 
 which Betty had promised her. There were three 
 new setter puppies at the Savory plantation, and Betty 
 had said that Margie should have one of them. 
 
 " I do hope 'twill be the yellow one," thought Margie. 
 " If she should give it to Luke Sanders he might give it 
 a dreadful name. He calls one of his dogs ' Jones,' just 
 because Mr. Jones gave it to him. If Betty should 
 
 5
 
 6 Marjories Way 
 
 give me the yellow puppy I should name him I 
 should name him " and Margie hesitated a mo- 
 ment, then remembering a formidable row of books in 
 the living-room she decided instantly, " I should name 
 him 'Napoleon.'" Margie looked across the field, 
 thinking it was about time for Betty or Luke to ap- 
 pear. " Oh, dear," she said aloud, " I don't see how 
 Luke will manage about learning to write after I go 
 away. I don't see how he can go to school without 
 better clothes, either," and she sighed again. " I won- 
 der what Aunt Maria would do ? " 
 
 Margie's home was a large comfortable plantation 
 house, but it had evidently seen better days. Not a 
 vestige of paint could be seen on its gray exterior. 
 Indoors there were evident signs that there was but 
 little money to be spent on replenishing worn-out fur- 
 nishings. The carpet on the living-room was worn to 
 a grayness which betrayed nothing of its original de- 
 sign. The ceiling and walls were dull and discolored. 
 The wide old sofa sank in mountainous ripples, and 
 the various chairs had evidently been frequently re- 
 paired by unskilled hands. 
 
 To Margie it seemed the most delightful house in 
 the world. She often thought of the sitting-room at 
 Betty Savory's. At Betty's there were shining new
 
 Marjories W^ay 7 
 
 tables, a bright carpet, and chairs that were evidently 
 not intended to sit in, because Betty's mother fre- 
 quently said that little girls must be very careful and 
 not knock their feet against the legs of the chairs ; 
 and Margie was quite sure that no one, unless it were 
 a very tall person, fully grown up, could possibly sit 
 in a chair without sometimes hitting her feet against 
 the chair-legs. 
 
 She often felt sorry for Betty. For one thing, the 
 Savory house was so new. There was no delightful 
 old attic, filled with trunks and boxes and dilapidated 
 old furniture, where little girls could play on rainy 
 days. Betty did not have such a nice garden, either, 
 and, poor Betty, she did not have any Aunt Maria ! 
 
 At the Savory plantation there were teams of big, 
 strong mules to do the heavy work of ploughing and 
 breaking up new ground ; there were prosperous herds 
 of young cattle, and horses for driving 'and riding. 
 At the Philips' there was only one mule, whose life 
 was one of constant toil ; there were only two cows, 
 and a big flock of hens, that were under one's feet all 
 over the place. 
 
 An old white dog, "Uncle," had been Margie's 
 playmate since she was a baby. But Uncle was 
 getting too fat and indolent, and too old to skip
 
 8 Marjories 
 
 about after his little mistress ; and Betty, the proud 
 possessor of three young puppies, which the Irish 
 setter had made a home for in the new dog kennels, 
 had partly promised Margie the all yellow one. The 
 other two had black spots on their neck and legs. 
 
 Margie had a good deal to think of this morning. 
 There was the new puppy, and something else very 
 delightful and important. Aunt Maria Wing had 
 written that, as Margie was now nearly ten years old, 
 she thought she ought to go regularly to school ; and 
 that she wanted her to come to Ashley, Mrs. Philips' 
 old home, and live with her and go to school. 
 
 Aunt Maria lived in the same house where Margie's 
 mother was born. Years ago, when Margie was only 
 two years old, Aunt Maria had come to the plantation 
 for a visit. Margie sometimes wished that her name 
 had been " Maria " instead of Margie, for she had often 
 resolved to herself to be just like her Aunt Maria 
 when she grew up, because Mrs. Philips said that no 
 one could be more lovely than sister Maria. Margie 
 was glad, however, that her name began with " M " 
 even if it was not "Maria." Her father sometimes 
 called her " Sweet Marjorie," but " Margie " was the 
 pet name given her by her friends. She had confided 
 in Betty that when she grew older, she should be
 
 Marjories tf^ay g 
 
 called " Miss Marjorie," because a great many peo- 
 ple called her aunt " Miss Maria." Margie was 
 always eager to hear of what Aunt Maria had 
 done when she was Margie's age, and she and 
 Betty played many of the games which Mrs. 
 Philips told them that she and Aunt Maria had 
 played. But the story Margie liked best of all was 
 the one her mother told her about Aunt Maria, 
 when she was a little girl, teaching his letters to 
 a little lame boy who could not go to school, carry- 
 ing him her books to read, and saving all her 
 pennies until she had enough money to pay for 
 drawing lessons for him. Margie always waited 
 for her mother to say, " and he showed such 
 talent that others became interested, and he had 
 lessons from one of the best artists in Boston, and 
 now he is an artist himself; and he always says 
 he owes everything he is to your Aunt Maria." 
 
 Margie often wished she could help some one that 
 way. She did not know any lame boy, but there was 
 Luke Sanders, who lived in the little cabin on the 
 main road, and who had often said that he would 
 like to learn to write. She had resolved that he 
 should be her pupil. At first Luke copied Margie's 
 neat " a's " and " b's " rather reluctantly, but he had
 
 10 Marjories Way 
 
 finally become interested, and declared that if he 
 only had proper clothes he would attend the school 
 when it began in the fall. 
 
 As Margie sat thinking about all these things she 
 heard some one calling her name " Mar-gie," " Mar- 
 gie," and she looked up to see Betty coming up the 
 path at the edge of the cotton-field. 
 
 Betty was carrying a large basket and walked 
 very slowly. "Oh, Margie," she called, "I wish't 
 you would come and help bring your puppy. He's 
 'most as heavy as as a bossy-calf ! " 
 
 " O-oh ! " exclaimed Margie joyfully, and hurried 
 down the steps along the path. When Betty saw her 
 coming she put down the basket and straightened up 
 her shoulders. Her brown eyes danced gaily, her 
 yellow hair was drawn smoothly into a big braid, 
 but the braid seemed to dance about her shoulders, 
 and as she waited for Margie she hopped up and 
 down with impatience. 
 
 " Oh, Betty, were you really bringing it over to give 
 to me to keep ? " called Margie before she reached her 
 friend. 
 
 " Yes, yes," laughed Betty, " and mother's right 
 glad to be rid of him. He chewed up two napkins this 
 morning. Father has given the other two to Luke."
 
 Marjorie 
 
 Margie had reached Betty's side by this time, and 
 was kneeling beside the covered basket. 
 
 "Just hear him cry, Betty, he wants to get out," 
 she said. 
 
 "Well, he can't," said Betty seriously, dancing 
 around to the other side of the basket. "If we 
 should let him out he would go straight home, 
 and then my mother would have him disposed of; 
 she said if your folks didn't keep him she should 
 dispose of him!" Even Betty grew sober as she 
 announced her mother's decision. 
 
 " Couldn't we lead him home ? Oh, see his little 
 yellow nose! Betty, I could carry him home in 
 my arms. I'd love to." 
 
 Betty giggled again. " He squirms worse than a 
 worm," she said. "He wriggles all over and slides 
 right away, no matter how strong you hold him. We 
 mus'n't let him out till we get to your house, and then 
 you must feed him right away and keep him tied up 
 for days and days, and only take him walking with a 
 string ; Luke Sanders says so." 
 
 " I wonder how ' Uncle ' will like him," said Margie, 
 taking hold of one side of the basket, while Betty 
 grasped the other. 
 
 " I should think Uncle would be real glad to have
 
 12 Marjorie 
 
 him for company," replied Betty, with a little one- 
 sided skip. " Just think, Luke Sanders has got four 
 dogs now. He says his father doesn't care. He'd 
 just as soon have taken ' Buff ' too." 
 
 " Is this dog named ? " Margie looked at Betty 
 anxiously. 
 
 " Yes, Luke named all three. He hardly stopped 
 to think a minute. This one is 'Buff,' and one is 
 ' Stripe,' and the other is ' Spot.' " 
 
 " Oh, dear," said Margie, " I don't like those names. 
 I had a lovely long name picked out for this 
 one." 
 
 "Well," and Betty skipped sideways with a little 
 flirt of her braid, "father said that if Luke named 
 the puppies they would never get mixed up. He 
 said Luke always had good judgment about naming 
 dogs." 
 
 Margie sighed; it seemed to her that you could 
 hardly expect as much from a puppy named " Buff " 
 as from one named " Napoleon." 
 
 Mrs. Philips came out on the side porch as the two 
 little girls came up through the flower-garden. 
 
 " Oh, mother, Betty has given me the new yellow 
 puppy ! " said Margie, as they set the basket down on 
 the lower step.
 
 Marjories UFay 13 
 
 " I hope he will not chase the chickens," said Mrs. 
 Philips a little anxiously. 
 
 "Oh, no, he won't," Betty assured her, giving a 
 gay little jump. " He has been whipped twice, very 
 carefully, for running after the guinea-hens, and now 
 he knows better." 
 
 " Do you really want to keep him ? " asked Mrs. 
 Philips, with a little sigh, turning to Margie. 
 
 " Oh, mother, of course I do ! Luke has four dogs, 
 and his father doesn't care." 
 
 Mrs. Philips smiled a little, and stroked the puppy's 
 shining golden-brown ears, and Margie knew that the 
 puppy was hers. 
 
 " I must go right home now," said Betty, picking 
 up the basket by one handle. "My Grandmother 
 Savory is coming to-day to make a visit. Father 
 drove in to Columbia after her this morning. Mother 
 was right glad to get rid of the puppies before grandma 
 came. She says grandma doesn't like dogs." Betty's 
 bright face grew sober. "Margie," she continued, 
 " my grandmother thinks it's time I went to Columbia 
 and began to go to school, and lived with her." 
 
 Margie nearly loosened her grip on the squirming 
 puppy in her surprise. 
 
 " That's what she wrote my mother," went on Betty ;
 
 14 Marjorie 
 
 " and that was one reason I was glad you and Luke 
 wanted the puppies. I thought the puppies would 
 make you think of me," and Betty reached into her 
 skirt pocket after her handkerchief, while Margie gave 
 an audible sniffle, and said, " Shall you go to school ? " 
 
 A little smile came back to Betty's face. " Why, 
 didn't I just tell you that my grandma says it is time ? 
 1 High time ' is what she wrote." 
 
 "Oh, Betty," said Margie mournfully, forgetting 
 for the moment all the prospective joys of living with 
 Aunt Maria, " don't dreadful things happen ? " 
 
 " But you don't have to go to Columbia," said Betty 
 reproachfully, " or live with your grandmother and go 
 to school. You can stay here and say your lessons to 
 your mother and teach Luke, and everything." 
 
 " Oh, Betty, haven't I told you ? " 
 
 " No. What is it, Margie ? " 
 
 "I forgot, having Buff come, and hearing about 
 Luke Sanders naming the puppies such homely names, 
 and being afraid my mother wouldn't let me keep 
 Buff, and a little worried, not much, but just the lit- 
 tlest bit, that Uncle might hurt Buff ! I forgot ! " 
 
 " Forgot what ? " and Betty jumped down two steps 
 and back, and thumped the basket up and down. 
 " What have you forgot ? "
 
 Marjories IF ay 
 
 " That I am going away, too. Way off in a country 
 called Massachusetts, where mother used to live." 
 For the moment Margie forgot that Aunt Maria lived 
 in that far off country. 
 
 "My!" said Betty, and, forgetting that she had 
 meant to go directly home, she again seated herself 
 on the step. " Why, who will teach Luke if you go 
 away ? " 
 
 Marjorie sat down beside her. " That is just what is 
 worrying me. I don't see how I can plan for him to 
 have drawing lessons either."
 
 CHAPTEE II 
 
 AUNT CORA'S CAKES 
 
 BETTY leaned back against the upper step and 
 looked at her friend questioningly. " Do you suppose 
 when you go to school that they will call you ' Mar- 
 jorie,' or just ' Margie ' ? " she asked. 
 
 Marjorie looked sober for a minute. " "Well, I don't 
 know ; but my name is ' Marjorie,' of course, and as 
 none of them know me very well I should think 
 likely they would call me ' Miss Marjorie,' at first." 
 
 Betty nodded approvingly. "What do you want 
 Luke to draw ? " she continued. 
 
 " Oh, pictures ! You and me on these steps, per- 
 haps, or our house ; and then, when he gets to be a 
 man, he'll say it was because I helped him," said 
 Margie. 
 
 " I guess Luke won't want to draw," persisted Betty. 
 " My father said the Sanders were all ignorant. Why, 
 Mr. Sanders can't read." 
 
 "Well, Luke can read," replied Margie, "and he 
 can write 'most as well as I can, and if I can manage 
 to get him clothes he's going to school this fall." 
 
 " How can you get him clothes," said Betty, wx>n- 
 
 16
 
 Marjories W^ay 17 
 
 deringly, "if you go way off?" and then, without 
 waiting for her question to be answered, she said, 
 " Oh, Margie, I know 'tain't perlite to say you are 
 hungry when you are visiting ; but this isn't a real 
 visit, and I wouldn't think of asking for cake, nice as 
 your cake is, but just a piece of bread with the littlest 
 bit of sugar on it. Do you suppose your mother 
 would excuse me if I asked for it ? " 
 
 " Oh, I'm hungry too, Betty. Let's step right round 
 to the kitchen," responded Margie. "It's funny we 
 both happened to be hungry to-day. This is the day 
 Aunt Cora bakes cake, and sometimes, not always, but 
 just sometimes, she bakes little ones in crinkly tins for 
 me." 
 
 The two little girls ran round the corner, and Aunt 
 Cora's shining black face peered at them from the 
 kitchen window. 
 
 "Fur de land sake, wot you got, missy?" she 
 asked, pointing at the puppy, who was close at Mar- 
 gie's heels ; and Buff's history was briefly explained. 
 
 "And Aunt Cora, Betty brought him way over 
 here, that is, most of the way, I helped a little ; but 
 we do feel hungry," and Margie looked up pleadingly. 
 " And I should like to offer Betty a cake, after all 
 her trouble," she concluded impressively.
 
 i8 Marjories IF ay 
 
 " Wy, 'cose, missy. Seems sort of strange I was 
 jest a-bakin' cakes ! " and the old negress chuckled de- 
 lightedly. "'Cose you want to offer 'freshments to 
 comp'ny. You step right into the shade, and Aunt 
 Cora'll fetch yer out some 'freshments." 
 
 Margie and Betty exchanged a delighted look. 
 Aunt Cora's treats were well known to them both. 
 Uncle had appeared, and apparently was inclined to 
 be pleased with the puppy, while Buff regarded the 
 fat white dog with evident admiration and delight. 
 After a little the puppy followed his fat friend to- 
 ward the stable. 
 
 Aunt Cora came out to the shady porch that 
 opened from the kitchen, where the two little girls 
 were waiting. She had a china plate in each hand. 
 Upon each plate rested a good sized tart filled with 
 grape jelly, and beside it a small round cake with 
 crinkly edges. A little biscuit spread with fresh but- 
 ter completed the feast. 
 
 " I cal'klate yer won't see many cakes up Norf, 
 missy," remarked Aunt Cora pityingly, as she handed 
 Margie her plate. 
 
 " Oh," said Betty, " isn't this lovely ! " 
 
 " I'm fetchin' some cool milk," called Aunt Cora as 
 she went toward the spring-house.
 
 Marjories If^ay 19 
 
 " There ! and I was so thirsty," said Betty happily. 
 " Margie, my braid seems all loose, someway ; do 
 you s'pose you could braid it over before I go 
 home ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes," said Margie. 
 
 Betty bit into her tart, and turned an ecstatic look 
 toward her friend. " To think my mother wants me 
 to go to Columbia ! " she said, as soon as the tart per- 
 mitted her to speak. 
 
 " And mine wants me to go to Massachusetts," said 
 Margie. 
 
 " Oh, Margie ! " Betty's voice was very sympathetic, 
 and she was deeply surprised when her friend responded 
 cheerfully, 
 
 " It's a right nice place, and I shall have lots of nice 
 little girls to play with. Not just one girl, like you, 
 Betty, but " 
 
 Marjorie's remarks were not finished, for Betty had 
 carefully set her plate on the bench and, with an 
 offended glance toward Marjorie, walked off toward 
 the garden. She paused before turning the corner, 
 and loftily remarked, 
 
 " I bid you good-bye, Miss Philips." 
 
 Just as Betty disappeared Aunt Cora came back 
 with two glasses of foaming milk. "Whar's yo'
 
 20 Marjories tf^ay , 
 
 comp'ny, missy?" she asked, stopping before she 
 reached the kitchen porch. 
 
 " She's just stepped round the corner, Aunt Cora." 
 
 " Roun' de corner ? Well, you step after her and 
 fetch her to get this milk while it's cool." 
 
 So Margie hurried after the offended Betty, glad of 
 an excuse to make friends. 
 
 " Oh, Betty, Betty," she called, running toward the 
 front of the house, " come and get your milk ; it's 
 right out of the spring-house, and cool as cool ! " 
 
 Betty was standing close to the big rose-bush at the 
 corner of the house. She did not turn at Margie's 
 voice, so Margie came near to her and touched her 
 arm. 
 
 " Don't you want some cool milk, Betty ? " she said 
 gently. 
 
 " You know I'm just as thirsty," said Betty plain- 
 tively ; " but you said you should like those Northern 
 girls better than you do me ! " 
 
 " Oh, Betty Savory ! I didn't say any such thing ! 
 I just said there would be lots of girls to play with in- 
 stead of one. How could I like any girl so well as 
 you, Betty ! " Margie's dark eyes were very soft, and 
 her voice sounded as if she felt as badly as Betty, so 
 Betty relented and smiled a little.
 
 Marjories ff^ay 21 
 
 " The milk looks all creamy," suggested Margie, as 
 she smiled back at her friend ; and they both hurried 
 back to the kitchen door where Aunt Cora stood wait- 
 ing. 
 
 "Isn't it funny, Margie, that we are both going 
 away ? I don't have to go till September." 
 
 " Oh," responded Margie, " I don't go to school un- 
 til September, but my Aunt Maria thinks it will be 
 nice for me to come right away and have the summer 
 to get acquainted. Just think, I shan't come home 
 for two whole years ! " 
 
 "Why! Why, that's forever and ever! I am to 
 come home every month and stay over Sunday." 
 
 Just then Mrs. Philips came up the steps, and the 
 little girls moved along to make room for her on the 
 bench beside them. 
 
 " We were just talking about going away," said 
 Margie, and her mother thought there was a tone of 
 sadness in her little girl's voice. 
 
 Mrs. Philips had some knitting-work in her hand, 
 and for a moment she did not reply, but seemed to be 
 thinking about her work. After a moment she said, 
 
 "Well, you are both very fortunate little girls, 
 aren't you ? To go and live with such nice people as 
 Grandma Savory and Aunt Maria, to go to school,
 
 22 
 
 Marjorie 
 
 and grow up to be just the kind of women that we all 
 expect you to be," and Mrs. Philips smiled brightly 
 upon the eager little faces. 
 
 Margie leaned against her mother and watched the 
 busy needles moving back and forth. 
 
 "I suppose you want me to be just like Aunt 
 Maria," she said. 
 
 Her mother laughed a little. " That is what you 
 want to be, yourself, isn't it ? Well, your father and I 
 will be satisfied if you make just such a woman as 
 Aunt Maria," she responded. 
 
 " I s'pose I shall be like grandma," said Betty, a lit- 
 tle doubtfully. 
 
 " And I am sure your mother and father will like 
 that. You will have lovely things to write Margie 
 about, Betty. You must write her all about Colum- 
 bia, and about your grandmother's fine house, and her 
 beautiful china. Why, Betty, did you know that your 
 grandmother has cups and saucers, and all sorts of 
 dishes, that were brought from France over a hun- 
 dred years ago ? Yes, indeed, and they are as deli- 
 cate and fragile as it is possible for china to be. 
 When the terrible war came your grandmother and 
 her servants buried the china in the cellar, and it 
 stayed there until peace was declared. You must be
 
 Marjories If^ay 23 
 
 sure to write Margie all about the china. Then, too, 
 Betty, you are to go to a nice school, and you will 
 make many new friends." 
 
 " Oh, yes," said Betty hopefully. " Won't it be nice, 
 Margie ? " 
 
 " I shall get acquainted with nice girls, too," sug- 
 gested Margie. 
 
 " Why, of course you will," responded Mrs. Philips. 
 " You are both going to have such good times ; but 
 Margie's will begin first, Betty, because she will start 
 for Ashley in two weeks ; so she will have to write 
 the first letter to you. 
 
 "In Ashley Margie will go to the same school I 
 used to attend when I was her age, and some of the 
 girls who were my friends then have grown into 
 women and have little daughters about Margie's age, 
 and she will have them for her playmates. Margie 
 can write you about them, and, when winter comes 
 she will tell you about the sliding and skating, and 
 about the beautiful pine grove where we used to 
 play." 
 
 " Oh, Margie ! " said Betty happily, " we shall have 
 lots to write," then, looking admiringly at Mrs. 
 Philips, she said, " Don't you wish you were a little 
 girl, Mrs. Philips, to go away to school ? "
 
 24 Marjories 
 
 Mrs. Philips nodded smilingly. 
 
 " I s'pose I must be going home," said Betty re- 
 gretfully, " if you'll fix my hair, Margie ? " 
 
 " Come right up to my room," said Margie, in what 
 she felt to be a very grown-up manner, and much like 
 the way in which Aunt Maria would speak, " and I'll 
 make your hair tidy." 
 
 Betty followed her friend into the big hall which 
 ran straight through the house. The stairs curved 
 like the letter S, and when Betty and Margie were 
 "really" little girls, not more than seven years old, 
 they thought it great fun to slide down the shining 
 walnut banisters. Even now Margie sometimes for- 
 got her ambition to be a "truly grown-up" person, 
 and slid swiftly down the delightful curves. 
 
 Betty sat very quietly while Margie brushed and 
 braided her hair. 
 
 "You can do almost everything, can't you, Mar- 
 gie ? " she said gratefully, when it was finished. 
 
 " You know I am 'most a year older than you, 
 Betty," responded Margie, trying not to feel too 
 proud. " When you are older you will prob'ly know 
 'most as much as I do." 
 
 " Oh, yes ! " replied Betty cheerfully. " I shouldn't 
 wonder if I knew more. My grandmother speaks
 
 Marjories IF ay 2$ 
 
 French, and I am to learn that ; and then, too, I am to 
 take music lessons ; so, prob'ly, I shall know a good 
 deal more than you do. What do you s'pose you'll 
 learn, Margie ? " 
 
 This new point of view made Marjorie silent for a 
 moment. She was not angry, only surprised. 
 
 " I don't know," she answered slowly. " Of course 
 the chief thing is for me to learn to be just like my 
 Aunt Maria." 
 
 Betty shook her head. " I don't believe you will," 
 she said. 
 
 " "Well," responded Margie, " of course I may not 
 be as lovely as she is, but I can learn to act the way 
 she does." 
 
 " Oh, she ain't lovely," said Betty. " My mother re- 
 members her, and she says Miss Maria Wing is a right 
 plain person." 
 
 " Betty Savory ! my aunt is lovely ! She has 
 beautiful eyes, and she smiles all the time ; and she 
 is tall, oh, ever so tall," said Margie, whose ideal of 
 beauty was to be taller than any one else, " and she is 
 good, good as can be ! " she concluded. 
 
 " My mother says Miss Maria Wing is short ; stubby 
 was what she said she was, stubby," and Betty re- 
 peated the word with emphasis. Margie was very
 
 26 Marjories ff^ay 
 
 near to tears, but she had been taught that one must 
 always be polite to a guest, so she choked back the 
 little sob, and the angry words which were so near, 
 her lips, and said, " Well, Betty, you were real good 
 to give me the puppy. I'll fetch the basket home 
 to-morrow." 
 
 "I s'pose I must be going," responded Betty 
 meekly ; and then, resolving not to be out done in po- 
 liteness she said, " I enjoyed my lunch, the tart 'spe- 
 cially ; and I can take the basket as well as not. I'm 
 sure you're welcome to Buff." 
 
 Margie held open the chamber door for her guest 
 to pass out first, and politely followed her down the 
 stairs and across the hall to the porch. Betty picked 
 up her basket from the steps. " Good-bye," she said. 
 
 "I'll walk a little way with you," said Margie, 
 taking hold of the basket. " Please let me carry it, 
 Betty, as far as the woods ; then you can take it the 
 rest of the way." 
 
 " You're real good, Margie," said Betty. " I 
 shouldn't be s'prised a mite if your Aunt Maria was 
 tall, as tall as Luke Sanders' father, maybe." 
 
 Mr. Sanders was the tallest man in the neighbor- 
 hood, and Betty felt that even Margie could expect 
 nothing more in height than that.
 
 Marjories Jf^ay 27 
 
 "P'raps my mother has forgotten how tall she 
 was," continued Betty, anxious that complete peace 
 be established. " She may have grown tall. I have. 
 Why, I've grown most the whole of me since I was 
 two years old, and so have you, Margie, and likely as 
 not your Aunt Maria has grown more than we have. 
 She's prob'ly as tall again as when my mother saw 
 her!" 
 
 Margie felt a little doubtful about this, but she did 
 not dispute it. 
 
 The two little girls were now very near the edge of 
 the woods, and in a moment they were in the shade of 
 the trees nearest the cotton-field. Under a tree just 
 off the path sat a boy. His face was freckled, and his 
 eyes were very light blue. His thick hair was a faded 
 yellow, and he had evidently outgrown the worn 
 trousers and faded shirt which he wore. A straw hat 
 with a torn brim lay beside him, and his feet were 
 bare. 
 
 " Oh, there's Luke. Hullo, Luke ! " called Betty. 
 
 Margie looked toward the boy, a little anxious 
 pucker coming in her forehead. "Oh, dear," she 
 sighed, " I'm 'fraid Luke doesn't look the way boys 
 do who grow up to be artists."
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 LUKE LOSES SOMETHING 
 
 LUKE was industriously at work upon some strips 
 of leather, evidently parts of a discarded boot. Fas- 
 tened securely to a small sapling near at hand were 
 Spot and Stripe. He nodded to Margie and Betty 
 as they came nearer, and said, " I'm making collars for 
 the pups," and the girls sat down beside him. 
 
 " They're not very pretty collars, are they ? " sug- 
 gested Betty, as Luke pushed the blunt needle through 
 the leather, and carefully fastened the ends of the 
 stout thread. 
 
 "Not very," agreed Luke, a little despondently; 
 " but they'll have to do till cotton picking, then p'raps 
 I can earn money enough to buy them new collars." 
 
 " Oh, Luke ! " said Margie reproachfully, " you are 
 going to school this fall." 
 
 " "Well, cotton-picking's all over 'fore school begins, 
 ain't it ? " said Luke a little defiantly. He was a year 
 older than Margie, but he very seldom remembered it. 
 
 " Did you know Margie was going away in two 
 weeks ? " asked Betty. Luke nodded ; he was holding 
 
 28
 
 Marjories Way 29 
 
 a bit of leather between his teeth just then, and could 
 not speak. 
 
 " And, Luke," said Margie, " after I'm gone you can 
 say your lessons to my mother. I know she'd like to 
 have you, and you can write me letters same as Betty 
 does ; and when fall comes you must go to school." 
 
 Luke shook his head. " Not 'less dad can manage 
 to get me some better clothes," he said firmly. " I 
 tried it last fall, and the Watson boys were calling me 
 names and plaguing me all the time, so dad said to 
 quit goin'. I shan't go 'thout I have shoes," and Luke 
 replaced the leather in his mouth and turned an anx- 
 ious eye toward the puppies. 
 
 For a moment Margie did not say anything. She 
 was thinking that Luke was not like Arthur Field, the 
 lame boy whom Aunt Maria had taught. Margie re- 
 membered that her mother said that " Arthur was al- 
 ways so glad when Aunt Maria came to see him, and 
 so eager to learn." She thought Luke was not very 
 eager about learning. 
 
 " "What do you s'pose you'll learn when you go to 
 school ? " asked Luke, as he put the last stitch in his 
 work. " I s'pose you'll learn grammar, for one thing." 
 
 " Oh, yes," said Margie. 
 
 "Dad says my mother knew grammar. He says
 
 30 Marjories Way 
 
 if she'd lived she would have had me learn more'n 
 I'm likely to now," he continued, rising to his feet 
 and moving toward the dogs. The girls followed 
 him, and helped him adjust the leather collars on 
 the puppies' necks. In a few minutes the puppies 
 were well leashed, so that Luke could easily lead them. 
 The boy looked at them admiringly. " I never saw 
 smarter pups," he said. " I'll take right good care of 
 them, Betty." 
 
 " I know you will, Luke," responded the little girl, 
 and nodding a cheerful good-bye the boy started on 
 his way through the woods toward his home, a small 
 house about half a mile distant. 
 
 "Oh, Betty," said Margie, as he disappeared, "I 
 must manage to get Luke some shoes. His father 
 never will. I never seem to save pennies enough ; I 
 don't see how Aunt Maria did ; but some way I must 
 earn money or Luke will never grow up like Arthur 
 Field." 
 
 " He'll grow up better," declared Betty, who was 
 familiar with the story of the lame boy, " because both 
 of Luke's legs are straight, and Mr. Field's legs were 
 all twisted when he was a boy." But this did not 
 seem to comfort Margie. 
 
 Luke's father had a blacksmith shop near his cabin,
 
 Marjories ff^ay 31 
 
 and here Mr. Sanders shod horses, repaired wagon- 
 wheels and, when not at work, sat in the sunny doorway 
 and smoked. Luke and his father lived alone. Luke 
 did most of the work in the house, and his father de- 
 clared that he was " good as a girl 'bout housework." 
 The neighbors often felt sorry for the motherless boy, 
 and many a crisp, brown loaf from Aunt Cora's oven, 
 or spicy cake from Mrs. Savory's well-ordered kitchen, 
 found its way to the little house. 
 
 Luke was very happy as he led his new puppies 
 home. Notwithstanding Marjorie's fears Luke really 
 was anxious to learn, and he was glad that Mrs. Phil- 
 ips was to be his teacher. And he now owned the 
 handsome setter pups, that were trotting along with 
 occasional pulls on their leash to remind their new 
 master that they were not to be wholly overlooked. 
 But Luke's chief cause for happiness was a promise his 
 father had given him that morning. 
 
 It would be a moonless night, and Mr. Sanders had 
 told Luke that he would take him on a coon hunt. 
 Old " Pointer," one of Luke's dogs, was a famous coon 
 dog, and Luke could hardly wait for night to come. 
 If they treed a coon perhaps Luke could climb the tree 
 and shake the coon off some branch where the animal 
 was sure to perch. Luke remembered one dark night
 
 32 Marjories 
 
 of the previous spring when this had happened, and 
 when the coon had snarled at him fiercely as he tried 
 to poke it off the swaying branch. Luke liked to re- 
 member that he had not been frightened by the snarls, 
 but had persevered until the coon had let go its hold 
 and dropped to the ground below, where Mr. Sanders 
 was ready for it. Luke thought about the savory 
 stew which his father had made next day. 
 
 As he hurried the puppies along toward their new 
 home he decided that he would keep them in the shed, 
 close to the kitchen, until they had become well ac- 
 quainted with "Pointer" and "Jones." The older 
 dogs, he decided, could sleep in a box-like kennel that 
 he had made back of the house. 
 
 As he came out of the woods into the turnpike a 
 man driving a pair of thin, tired-looking horses 
 stopped his team and called out, " Hi, boy ! " and 
 Luke walked toward the wagon. The man's face was 
 covered with a dark beard, and his hooked nose and 
 black, beady eyes did not make a very pleasant im- 
 pression on the boy. He wore a close, dark cap, and 
 in the back of the wagon was a large pack, such as is 
 sometimes carried by pedlars, covered with a black 
 enameled cloth. 
 
 " Got some puppies, have you ? " he said, as Luke
 
 Marjories Way 33 
 
 came near, pointing his whip at Spot and Stripe; 
 "pretty little fellows, too." The man's voice was 
 more pleasant than his appearance, and his praise of 
 the dogs sounded friendly. 
 
 " "What's their names ? " he asked. 
 
 " This is ' Spot,' sir," answered Luke politely, " and 
 the other is * Stripe.' " 
 
 " Good enough," said the man. " Just hand * Spot ' 
 up here a minute, will you ? I like dogs." 
 
 Luke handed him the puppy, and the man rubbed 
 its head and seemed much pleased with it. " Just lift 
 his brother up so I can see the two of them together," 
 he said, putting Spot down in the bottom of the wagon 
 between his feet, and twisting the dog's leash about 
 the whip socket. 
 
 " Where did you say you got these dogs ? " he 
 asked. 
 
 " Betty Savory gave them to me," replied Luke, as 
 he lifted Stripe into the wagon. 
 
 "They are nice puppies," said the man, his little 
 black eyes twinkling like beads, as he leaned down 
 and patted Stripe, and twisted his leash around the 
 iron foot-rest in front of the wagon-seat. 
 
 " I'll buy these puppies, my boy, if you'd like to 
 sell."
 
 34 Marjories Way 
 
 Luke laughed a little and shook his head vigorously. 
 " Oh, I couldn't sell dogs that were given to me," he 
 responded. 
 
 The man watched Luke sharply. " Wait a minute, 
 young man, till you see how much I'll pay you for 
 them, and I guess you'll change your mind. I'll give 
 you a dollar ! Yes, sir, a whole dollar, and I'll take 
 the dogs ! " He had reached into a pocket, and now 
 held up a round silver dollar. 
 
 Luke shook his head again. " No, sir, I don't want 
 to sell them." 
 
 The man's friendly look vanished. " You look as if 
 you needed money," he sneered. " You'd better take a 
 dollar when it comes your way. Last call ; what d'you 
 say?" 
 
 Luke came a step nearer the wagon intending to 
 take the puppies out, and as he did so the man flung 
 the silver dollar into the road and called out, 
 
 " There's your money ; I'll keep the pups." At a 
 word the thin horses sprang forward, and before Luke 
 could grasp at the wagon the team was out of his 
 reach, leaving a whirling cloud of dust behind. 
 " Stop ! " screamed the boy frantically, running after 
 it. " Stop ! Stop ! "
 
 CHAPTER IY 
 ABOUT LUKE'S CLOTHES 
 
 THE driver of the team was evidently familiar with 
 the road, and knew that there was no house for nearly 
 a mile. The Sanders' cabin he had passed just before 
 meeting Luke, and there was little possibility of his 
 meeting any one before he was well out of the boy's 
 reach, and could cover the puppies up with the blankets 
 which lay on the seat beside him. With the dogs con- 
 cealed from sight he could pass any traveler with the 
 security that no one would wonder how he came by 
 the setter pups. 
 
 But Luke did not think of all this. He remembered 
 the man's cruel face, and the thought that Spot and 
 Stripe were at his mercy made his feet go all the 
 faster. He must catch up with that team. But run 
 as fast as he could the distance between them steadily 
 increased until even the distant cloud of dust van- 
 ished, and the boy, out of breath and discouraged, 
 sank down by the roadside and sobbed bitterly. The 
 rosy twilight had faded into the soft summer dusk 
 when he started for home. His heart was very sore. 
 He felt that he should never see the puppies again 
 
 35
 
 36 Marjories Way 
 
 and, worse than that, he feared the man would terrify 
 and abuse the little creatures. 
 
 His father stood in the doorway as Luke came into 
 Mie yard. 
 
 " "Well, son," he drawled out, " gettin' late to meals ; 
 what's the trouble ? " for as soon as the boy came near 
 his father noticed the tear-stained face. Luke sat 
 down on the rough step, and told his story. Mr. 
 Sanders listened. 
 
 " Where's the dollar ? " he questioned anxiously. 
 
 Luke turned a reproachful look toward his father. 
 " Do you think I took it ? " he asked. 
 
 " "Well, son," responded the man slowly, " it looks to 
 me that's about all you'll ever get, and as for leavin' a 
 good dollar layin' in the road, that seems reckless. 
 You're too tired to go searchin' for it, but I'll step 
 down and see if I can't find it. He was a powerful 
 mean sarpint, son, that's what he was, to get your 
 purps that way," he added consolingly ; " now you 
 step in and wash up, and by the time I come back 
 with that dollar the bacon will be done to a turn, and 
 the corn-cake is all ready now ; " and Mr. Sanders 
 stepped briskly down the road to look for the silver 
 dollar. 
 
 " Too bad," he reflected, as he looked about in the
 
 Marjories ff^ay 37 
 
 dusty road. " I reckon the two of them would have 
 fetched five dollars in Columbia ; but we've more dogs 
 now than we've any use for ; it's hard on the boy, 
 though ; he's such a tender heart for animals, just like 
 his pa," and Mr. Sanders sighed. He soon found the 
 dollar and hurried back to the little house. 
 
 " It's your money, Luke," he said, handing it to the 
 boy. 
 
 " I don't want it," said Luke. 
 
 " "Well, son, then your pa will take care of it for 
 you," and Mr. Sanders dropped the coin back into his 
 pocket. Luke had but little appetite for the corn- 
 cake and bacon, and crept away to bed without speak- 
 ing of the coon hunt. Mr. Sanders seemed to have for- 
 gotten it also, for he sat on the door-step until late in 
 the evening, wondering if there was any way that he 
 could discover who the man was who had taken Luke's 
 puppies. " I hope the critter will sell them to some 
 nice folks," and with this hopeful thought Mr. Sanders 
 also went to bed. 
 
 The two weeks between the day that Spot and 
 Stripe disappeared and the day when Margie was to 
 start for Ashley went very rapidly. She and her 
 mother had many long talks about Mrs. Philips' own 
 school-days, and about all the interesting things which
 
 38 Marjories Way 
 
 Margie would see on her journey to Massachusetts. 
 The little girl was very anxious to take Buff with her. 
 
 " I could make a present of him to Aunt Maria," she 
 suggested. " I could take him as a surprise, and she 
 would be real pleased. He's the loveliest thing I have, 
 mother, and you know you told me that when we give 
 away anything it should be something worth the giv- 
 ing," said Margie, noticing that her mother did not 
 seem to agree with the suggestion that Buff should be 
 a surprise to Miss Wing. 
 
 Finally it was decided to write Aunt Maria and ask 
 her permission for Margie to bring Buff, but not as a 
 gift. 
 
 " It would hurt Betty's feelings, my dear, if you 
 gave the puppy away." 
 
 " Oh, but I wouldn't give it to any one but Aunt 
 Maria, and Betty would like that ! " said Margie confi- 
 dently. 
 
 Betty was very much surprised when Margie told 
 her that Buff was to go to Ashley. 
 
 " Oh, Margie, will you have to take him in a basket?" 
 she asked, remembering how heavy the puppy was the 
 day she had tugged him over to the Philips' planta- 
 tion. 
 
 " No, in a train," answered Margie cheerfully. " It
 
 Marjories If^ay 39 
 
 takes a train two days and a night to get there, and I 
 am to sleep in a nice little bunk on the side of the 
 car, and Mrs. Jones in a long bunk right under me ; 
 and p'raps there'll be a little bunk somewhere for 
 Buff." 
 
 " But he won't stay in it, Margie, you know he won't. 
 He goes running and chasing everywhere, and he'd 
 run right out of the door and p'raps you'd never catch 
 him ! " 
 
 " Oh, dear," said Margie, " I s'pose he would. But 
 I can tie him to his bunk. I think Aunt Maria will 
 be real pleased that I thought to bring him, don't you, 
 Betty?" 
 
 Betty looked a little doubtful. "Folks don't all 
 like puppies," she said. " If I was to take a puppy to 
 Columbia I expect my grandma would send me right 
 home ! You see puppies chew things so," she added 
 apologetically. 
 
 "But Aunt Maria isn't like your grandma," re- 
 sponded Margie. 
 
 "No, I s'pose grandmas know more than aunts," 
 said Betty thoughtfully. " Did you know Luke Sanders' 
 father found the dollar?" she continued before Margie 
 could question her first statement. " He found it in 
 the road, but Luke won't let him buy shoes with it."
 
 40 Marjories 
 
 " Of course he won't," said Margie. " Luke's going 
 to try and find that man some time and get the pup- 
 pies back and give him his old dollar." 
 
 Betty shook her head wisely. " Luke can't ever find 
 him. And if he should, the puppies would be all grown 
 up into dogs. If Luke wants to go to school I should 
 think he'd like to spend the dollar for shoes. My 
 mother said she should think Mr. Sanders would be 
 'bliged to the man for taking them." 
 
 This was a new point of view to Margie, and Betty 
 continued, " And mother says if Luke wants clothes he 
 ought to go to work and earn clothes. She says boys 
 ought to be independent." 
 
 After Betty went home that day Margie thought 
 over what her little friend had said about Luke earn- 
 ing clothes. She remembered that the lame boy had 
 not had any father, only a mother who had earned their 
 living by going out as a seamstress. She did not re- 
 member that Aunt Maria had ever bought clothes for 
 Arthur Field. She had taught him to read, paid for 
 his first drawing lessons, and lent him books; but, 
 apparently, had not been concerned about his cloth- 
 ing. 
 
 Margie sighed a little. It seemed very difficult to 
 imitate Aunt Maria. In the first place Luke was not
 
 Marjories ff^ay 41 
 
 lame. To be sure she had taught him to read, just as 
 Aunt Maria had the lame boy, but what ought she to 
 do next ? In the midst of her puzzle her mother 
 came out on the porch with her basket of sewing. 
 Margie was not old enough to notice that her mother 
 was never idle. If she sat on the porch her hands 
 were busy with sewing or knitting. In the mornings 
 she was at work in the garden, or helping Aunt Cora 
 with the household tasks. It seemed to Margie that 
 her mother was a perfectly care-free person, only 
 doing just what she liked to do best. But to Mrs. 
 Philips' constant industry and effort was due no 
 small part of the comfort of the old plantation house. 
 There were many days when Mr. Philips was not 
 strong enough even to come out on the sunny 
 porch. 
 
 Mrs. Philips noticed that Marjorie was very 
 thoughtful, and waited until the little girl was ready 
 to tell what was troubling her. 
 
 " Mother, I was thinking about Luke ! " she said. 
 
 "Yes, dear." 
 
 "And about his not having clothes to wear to 
 school. Aunt Maria never bought clothes for the 
 lame boy, did she ? " 
 
 " Oh, no ! Your Aunt Maria was a young girl at
 
 42 Marjories 
 
 that time. She only taught him what she could, and 
 helped him that way." 
 
 " But she paid for his first drawing lessons ! " 
 
 " That was only a few dollars that she had saved 
 penny by penny." 
 
 " I've only got thirty-eight cents, and I have been 
 saving ever so long," said Margie. 
 
 Mrs. Philips made no response, and after a little 
 Margie spoke again. 
 
 "Luke can't go to school unless he has better 
 clothes, and Betty's mother thinks he ought to earn 
 them himself, but I want to help him." 
 
 Mrs. Philips nodded approvingly. " That's right, 
 my dear, help him all you can. You can write to 
 him, and it will be good practice for him in answering 
 your letters. Tell him about your studies and what 
 you are learning and that will interest him and help 
 him." 
 
 "I was thinking about getting him clothes," re- 
 sponded Margie. "I s'pose if the lame boy had 
 needed shoes Aunt Maria would have got them for 
 nim, wouldn't she ? " 
 
 " If she could," answered Mrs. Philips. 
 
 " Well, it seems to me that I'd better get shoes for 
 Luke instead of drawing lessons. lie don't seem to
 
 Marjories ff^ay 43 
 
 care about drawing, and there's nobody to teach him 
 if he did," concluded Margie. " I've just about given 
 up his ever being an artist. I'll have to think up 
 something else for him to be."
 
 CHAPTEE V 
 
 A JOUBNEY FOE MAEGIE 
 
 MAEJOEIE was to go to Massachusetts with Mrs. 
 Jones, a milliner in Columbia, who had promised to 
 take charge of her until they reached Boston, where 
 Aunt Maria would meet them. Aunt Maria had 
 written that Margie might bring Buff. She added 
 that she was not much used to dogs, but perhaps Buff 
 would make Margie feel more at home. Margie 
 promised her mother that she would watch the puppy 
 very carefully, and not let him annoy Aunt Maria. 
 
 Luke had promised Margie that he would save the 
 money he hoped to earn picking cotton to buy shoes. 
 
 " I should like to tell my aunt about you," Margie 
 had explained to him. " I wish I could tell her that 
 you were going to be an artist, but I guess you never 
 will be that ; so I want to tell her that you are going 
 to school and are going to be something else. What 
 do you think you'd like to be, Luke ? " 
 
 This was a new proposition. Luke had never been 
 consulted as to his future before, and he looked at 
 Margie a little blankly. 
 
 44
 
 Marjories Way 45 
 
 "I do' know," he answered slowly, digging one 
 bare heel into the soft warm earth. " Artists ain't so 
 much. Dad says they have a machine they call a 
 camera, and just point it at things they want to take 
 pictures of and then pull a spring, or something like 
 that, and there the picture is, all took. I guess you 
 don't have to know much to do that," Luke concluded 
 scornfully. 
 
 " Oh, Luke, that is just taking pictures, it isn't 
 being an artist. An artist draws things with a pencil, 
 and then when he knows enough he paints them. 
 But I guess you'll have to do something else." 
 
 "I s'pose I could keep store," suggested Luke 
 hopefully. 
 
 But Margie shook her head. "No, anybody can 
 do that. We'll have to think up something for you to 
 be. I'll tell you," she said ; " I will ask my Aunt 
 Maria what you had better be, and then I'll write you 
 what she says and you can begin right off." 
 
 Luke did not look greatly pleased at the prospect, 
 but he made no objections. 
 
 " I've got a present for you, Margie," he said. 
 " 'Tain't very much. I wanted to give you something, 
 and I made you this. Guess 'twill remind you of 
 something."
 
 46 Marjories 
 
 The boy had drawn a small object from his pocket 
 and was regarding it closely. 
 
 " Oh, Luke, what is it ? " said Margie eagerly, and 
 Luke handed her his gift. It was a small wooden 
 dog which the boy had carved with his knife from a 
 block of white pine. As Margie took it she ex- 
 claimed, " "Why, it looks just like ' Uncle ' ! " 
 
 A smile brightened the boy's face. "I tried to 
 make it like ' Uncle,' " he said. " I thought taking 
 Buff you might forget old ' Uncle.' " 
 
 " It's lovely, Luke. I shall always keep it," said 
 Margie. " Thank you." 
 
 Luke looked very happy at Margie's praise of his 
 gift. 
 
 " You write me what your aunt thinks I'd better 
 be," he said, and Margie nodded cheerfully. 
 
 " I've about decided since you made this dog," she 
 said, " that you'd better be a carpenter. Carpenters 
 make houses and things out of wood, and p'raps that's 
 the best thing to be." 
 
 " All right," agreed Luke. " I s'pose I'll have to 
 go to school just the same ? " 
 
 " Yes, indeed," replied Margie soberly. 
 
 At length the day came for Marjorie to start on her 
 journey. The black leather trunk, with mamma's
 
 Marjories Jf^ay 47 
 
 initials in brass nails on the top, all packed with 
 Marjorie's clothing, was strapped on the back of the 
 carryall ; the old mule was brushed and groomed and 
 harnessed ready to start for Columbia, and Betty and 
 Luke had come to say good-bye. 
 
 Betty and Margie evidently regarded the journey 
 as a delightful affair, and Mr. Philips and his wife 
 seemed unusually cheerful. Luke was rather dull and 
 quiet, and rubbed Buff's head so vigorously that the 
 puppy finally snapped his objections ; and then Luke 
 picked him up and held him. Uncle kept close to 
 Margie, as if he realized that all this commotion con- 
 cerned his little mistress ; while Aunt Cora stood in 
 the kitchen door, her usual smile hid behind her 
 white apron, which she held to her eyes. 
 
 When they were all seated in the carriage, Luke 
 lifted Buff up to the seat beside Margie. Mr. Philips 
 started up the mule, and Margie called back, " Good- 
 bye," and then again, " Good-bye, Uncle," for the old 
 dog was following the team down the driveway. He 
 stopped just as Mr. Philips turned into the main road, 
 and, with his head on one side, watched the carriage 
 out of sight. He could hear Buff's barks and yelps 
 for several minutes. Then Uncle walked slowly back 
 to the house, and lay down in the shade of the big
 
 48 Marjories 
 
 rose tree at the corner. It seemed very quiet and 
 peaceful to him. That barking puppy was evidently 
 out of the way for a time, and Uncle resolved to have 
 a good rest before he got back. 
 
 " You won't have to do lessons now Margie's gone, 
 will you, Luke ? " said Betty, skipping along to keep 
 up with the boy's long steps. 
 
 " Mrs. Philips is going to teach me now," said Luke, 
 a little proudly, for he felt that it was a great ad- 
 vance to have Mrs. Philips for a teacher instead of 
 Margie. 
 
 " What for ? " inquired Betty. 
 
 " What for ! " echoed Luke scornfully. " So I will 
 know something, and be like other folks. You have 
 lessons, don't you ? " 
 
 " Yes, but I don't want to have lessons," responded 
 Betty; "and as for you being like other folks, I'm 
 sure you are much nicer than any boy I know." 
 
 " Umph," said Luke ; " you don't know any other 
 boy. There isn't any other boy lives anywhere near 
 here." 
 
 " I do know another boy ! I know two boys. 
 Twin boys they are. And their names are Lee 
 Ponsonby Clay and George Lafayette Clay, and 
 they live in the next house to my grandma's in
 
 Marjories Way 49 
 
 Columbia, and they are real South Carolinians. 
 Why, they could write years ago. I guess they 
 could always write," she concluded. 
 
 Luke made no response. Some way he did not feel 
 interested in twin boys, especially boys who could 
 always write. 
 
 After a moment's silence Betty continued, "And 
 they have got a great, big dog; 'most all white, 
 their dog is. His name is * Hero,' and he's a Sam 
 Barnard ! " 
 
 " What's a ' Sam Barnard ' ? " inquired Luke. 
 
 " Oh, it's the kind of a dog the Clay boys have," 
 replied Betty, with a little flirt of her yellow braid. 
 " Grandma says that 'way off in the Alps Sam Barnard 
 dogs go out and rescue travelers, and bring them in 
 out of the snow." 
 
 But Luke was not much interested. He was 
 wondering if Margie's aunt would decide for him 
 to be a carpenter. 
 
 " It will be a long time before Margie comes home, 
 won't it ? " he said soberly. 
 
 " Two years," replied Betty ; " and when she comes 
 back, everybody is going to call her * Miss Marjorie,' 
 and she is going to be just like her Aunt Maria."
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 AUNT MAEIA'S HOUSE 
 
 MBS. JONES seemed surprised when she saw Buff, 
 and Margie was very much surprised when she was 
 told that the puppy could not go in the same car with 
 them, but must ride in the baggage-car. 
 
 "But Buff will be lonesome," she said, when the 
 stout baggage-man lifted her up so she could see 
 where Buff was to ride. 
 
 "Oh, I'll look after him," said the baggage-man. 
 " I like dogs, and this one is a nice little fellow. I 
 saw two a good deal like him this morning, only they 
 were spotted. Two boys had them down by the 
 State House. Don't you worry about this puppy," 
 he added ; " I'll take good care of him." 
 
 "Thank you very much," said Margie gratefully, 
 smiling at the big man ; and she and Mrs. Jones went 
 to their own car. 
 
 "When the train left the station at Columbia Margie 
 waved her hand to her father and mother as long as 
 she could see them. They were smiling and waving 
 
 5
 
 Marjories ff^ay 
 
 too, but Margie had a choked feeling in her throat, 
 and began to feel, as the train moved out of the 
 station, that a terrible thing had happened. Here 
 she was going away from everything she knew. She 
 wished that Mrs. Jones was not there so she could put 
 her head down on the seat and cry. One or two tears 
 did creep down her cheeks, but she wiped them quickly 
 away. When she looked up Mrs. Jones was smiling 
 at her, and Margie smiled back. Then she tried to 
 think about Aunt Maria, and resolved to be so much 
 like her that even her dear mother would be surprised. 
 She had just decided upon this when Mrs. Jones put a 
 little package on her lap. 
 
 " What is it ? " asked Margie. 
 
 " Open it and see," said Mrs. Jones, with another 
 smile and a nod of her head that made Margie look at 
 her more closely and wish that she would smile again ; 
 for when Mrs. Jones laughed you could hardly see her 
 eyes, and little dimples came in her cheeks and about 
 her mouth. 
 
 " Open it and see," repeated Mrs. Jones, thinking 
 the little girl had not understood her. 
 
 Margie untied the silver string and took off the 
 white wrapping paper, and found a lovely little box 
 all covered with roses. She then removed the cover,
 
 52 Marjories 
 
 and there was a brimming box of the most delicious 
 candy she had ever seen. 
 
 " Oh," said the little girl rapturously. 
 
 " I thought little girls liked candy," said Mrs. Jones ; 
 " and I don't mind eating a piece now and then my- 
 self ; " and she picked out a chocolate cream and put 
 it between her white teeth. 
 
 While they were enjoying the candy, Margie told 
 her companion about Betty, and then she opened her 
 little leather traveling-bag and took out the wooden 
 dog Luke had made, and told her about Uncle. 
 
 " I guess Luke will be a carpenter when he grows 
 up," she said, looking at the wooden dog admiringly ; 
 and she felt very much encouraged when Mrs. Jones 
 told her that carpenters were very useful men, and 
 that it was an excellent trade. 
 
 Mrs. Jones seemed to find so many interesting 
 things to talk about and to laugh about, and Margie 
 was so interested in watching her eyes and her dim- 
 ples, that she almost forgot the little note-book and 
 pencil that her father had given her, and which she 
 had expected to fill with notes about her journey, and 
 then write it all home to her mother and Betty. She 
 slept soundly all night, and the train went so smoothly 
 and so swiftly that she told Mrs. Jones she couldn't
 
 Marjories Way 53 
 
 remember any of the scenery. The journey was soon 
 over, and when they left the train in Boston a lady 
 hurried up to them and said, " I know this is my dear 
 Marjorie," and the little girl looked up to the dark, 
 smiling eyes so like her own dear mother's. 
 
 But she was sorry to say good-bye to Mrs. Jones. 
 
 " When I go home I will go on the train with you, 
 won't I ? " she said. 
 
 " I'm sure I hope so," replied Mrs. Jones, and Mar- 
 gie was always glad to remember that Mrs. Jones told 
 Aunt Maria she would not wish for a more pleasant 
 traveling companion than Margie. 
 
 Poor Buff whined piteously when he was at last set 
 down on the platform at Margie's feet. The journey 
 had seemed a very long and lonesome time to him. 
 Margie smoothed his silky head and told him who 
 Aunt Maria was. She wondered why the bright smile 
 seemed to fade out of Aunt Maria's face when she 
 looked at Buff. 
 
 There was another short ride in a train, and then 
 Aunt Maria and Margie and Buff got out at the little 
 station of Ashley. Margie thought it was the prettiest 
 place she had ever seen. The little wooden depot had 
 flower-beds each side of it ; and as they walked up the 
 road she noticed that almost every house was painted
 
 54 Marjories Way 
 
 white, with green blinds, and that there were flowers 
 in the gardens. 
 
 Miss Wing's house was one of those that was painted 
 white. It was a square house with a door in the mid- 
 dle. A picket fence shut off the garden from the 
 street, and Miss Wing opened the gate for Marjorie 
 and Buff to go through. Then they walked up the 
 path, paved with red brick, to the front door. When 
 Aunt Maria opened the door she kissed Margie 
 again. 
 
 "This was your grandmother's and grandfather's 
 home ; it was your dear mother's home, and now you 
 must feel it is yours." Just then a howl from Buff 
 made them both turn quickly round. Close to Mar- 
 gie's feet was the puppy, curled up in a round bunch, 
 while a few feet away stood a large Maltese cat, its 
 tail waving in the air, its fur standing up, and evi- 
 dently ready to spring upon the frightened puppy. 
 
 " Oh, dear me ! " exclaimed Miss Wing. " I am 
 afraid that Sarah Mullins isn't going to like the dog." 
 
 Margie had gathered Buff up in her arms, and Miss 
 Wing " shoo-ed " the cat off the piazza. 
 
 " Is your cat's name ' Sarah Mullins ' ? " asked 
 Margie. 
 
 " Yes," responded Aunt Maria. " You see old Mrs.
 
 Marjories Jf^ay 55 
 
 Mullins gave me the kitten, and so I named it after 
 her. I'm afraid Sarah and the dog will fight." 
 
 " Luke Sanders 'most always names dogs after people 
 who give them to him," said Margie. " I hope Sarah 
 Mullins won't hurt Buff," she added. 
 
 Miss Wing sighed. " Well, we will have to watch 
 till she gets used to him. What do you give him to 
 eat?" 
 
 " Oh, he likes milk pretty well, and sometimes we 
 give him chicken-bones. He's a real good puppy." 
 
 Miss Wing smiled at Marjorie's wistful face, and 
 leaned down and patted Buff's yellow head. 
 
 " I am sure he is," she said ; " and when Sarah and 
 I get used to him we shall be a very happy family. 
 Now we will go up-stairs and see your room. Yes, 
 Buff may go up-stairs this time." 
 
 Margie looked at her aunt and, remembering that 
 Betty had said that she shouldn't wonder if Aunt 
 Maria was tall as Mr. Sanders, smiled a little. For, 
 even to Margie's loving eyes Aunt Maria was short. 
 She was, as Betty had declared, " stubby." 
 
 Margie thought the little room over the front door 
 was the whitest room she had ever seen. With its 
 frilled muslin curtains, its white bed and a faded 
 carpet of dull blue and white it seemed very cool and
 
 56 Marjories Way 
 
 restful to , the tired little girl. Buff evidently ap. 
 proved of the bed, for he made a scrambling jump up 
 the side, and was greatly surprised when Aunt Maria 
 seized him and set him down on the floor. 
 
 " There ! his feet have left marks on your nice white 
 bed," said Aunt Maria, giving the puppy a gentle 
 shove with her foot. 
 
 Margie looked at him reprovingly. " Do you think 
 I ought to slap him, Aunt Maria ? " 
 
 " Yes, I believe I would," responded her aunt. 
 
 Margie sighed a little. " I think you had better do 
 it," she said. " I'm afraid he wouldn't know what I 
 meant." 
 
 Buff had snuggled close beside Aunt Maria, and was 
 evidently intent on making friends. She leaned down 
 and patted him. 
 
 " I'll slap him next time," she said, with a little 
 laugh ; " you see, my dear, he has come so far to see 
 me that I don't feel as if it would be really polite to 
 slap him to-day," and she laughed again. 
 
 Margie looked at her admiringly. Somehow she 
 did not seem to care if Aunt Maria was short. She 
 wished Betty could see her smile. 
 
 In a short time the little black trunk, with the initials 
 on the top in brass-headed tacks, was brought into the
 
 Marjories W^ay 57 
 
 room, and Aunt Maria unpacked it while Margie sat 
 in the little white rocking-chair by the window and 
 rested. A woodbine grew up the piazza posts, and 
 crept up about the window, and Aunt Maria told 
 Margie that some humming-birds made their nest 
 among those vines every year, and if she watched 
 closely she would see them going back and forth from 
 the nest. 
 
 When Miss "Wing began to take the things out of 
 Marjorie's little hand-bag she came across the little 
 wooden dog. 
 
 " There," she said, holding it toward Margie. " Now 
 that is a nice quiet dog." 
 
 " That's Uncle," said Marjorie. 
 
 Miss Wing looked at it more closely as she set it 
 down on the white bureau. 
 
 " So it is," she said. " Uncle was about Buff's age 
 when I saw him, but this little image looks like him. 
 Who made it ? " 
 
 "Luke Sanders, the boy I taught to write," said 
 Margie proudly. She wondered to herself if Aunt 
 Maria would not at once think how much her little 
 niece was like her. " He's going to be a carpenter," 
 Margie continued, " that is, if you think that is a good 
 thing for a boy to be."
 
 58 Marjories ff^ay 
 
 Miss Wing looked a little puzzled, but she responded 
 quickly. " Why I should think it would be a very 
 nice trade for him, but," and Aunt Maria looked 
 at the wooden dog again admiringly, " I should think 
 he would want to be an artist." 
 
 Margie shook her head. " I s'posed you would feel 
 that way," she said; "but Luke can't be an artist. 
 I've talked to him about it, but he can't draw, but he 
 can make things in wood ; so I think he can be a car- 
 penter. I said I'd ask you." 
 
 Aunt Maria laughed a little and gave the wooden 
 dog a pat. "Well, then he shall be just what he 
 wants to be most, carpenter or artist," she said. 
 " Now we must go down-stairs and get our supper, and 
 give Buff some milk." 
 
 Margie thought it was just like playing keep house 
 to be in Aunt Maria's kitchen. The stove was so shin- 
 ing black, the floor such a beautiful yellow, and the 
 braided rugs so bright and round. On the mantel- 
 shelf was a clock shaped like a church, and the glass 
 door of the clock had a bunch of red strawberries 
 painted on it. The dining-room was separated from 
 the kitchen by a little passageway. Aunt Maria 
 showed Margie how to set the table, and put on the 
 mulberry china which had belonged to Margie's
 
 Marjories tf^ay 59 
 
 grandmother. The little girl told her aunt about 
 Betty and Grandmother Savory's china. " And now 
 I can write her about my grandmother's china," said 
 Margie. 
 
 " Oh, but there is nothing historical or remarkable 
 about this," said Aunt Maria. " Almost every house 
 in the village has a set just like it." But Margie re- 
 solved to tell Betty about it just the same. 
 
 She went to bed very early that night, and the little 
 wooden dog on her bureau seemed to look at her as if 
 to say, " Good-night, Miss Marjorie."
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 SAKAH MULLINS' MANNERS 
 
 WHEN Marjorie woke up the next morning Aunt 
 Maria was standing beside the bed with a very sober 
 face. 
 
 " I am afraid Buff is lost," she said, as she helped 
 Margie braid her hair. " I let him out this morning 
 when I started the fire, and he scampered off as fast 
 as he could go down the street. I have sent the little 
 Webb boy to look for him, and perhaps he will find 
 and bring him back before we are through breakfast." 
 
 Aunt Maria was glad that Margie did not cry. She 
 had been almost afraid to tell her about Buff, but 
 Margie had made so many good resolutions that she 
 did not even think of crying. Indeed, she almost felt 
 to blame for Buff's truancy, for she could see that 
 Miss Wing was very much concerned. 
 
 " Oh, I will go after him, Aunt Maria. If I go out 
 in the street and call ' Buff,' * Buff,' perhaps he will 
 hear me and come." 
 
 Miss Wing thought that this was an excellent plan, 
 
 and they both went out and walked down the street 
 
 60
 
 Marjories W^ay 61 
 
 a little way ; Margie called " Buff," " Buff," but they 
 did not see anything either of the Webb boy or of the 
 puppy. Miss Wing met one or two neighbors, to 
 whom she described the puppy, and at last they gave 
 up the search and went home. 
 
 Aunt Maria did not seem to feel as badly as Margie 
 had expected. 
 
 " Perhaps Buff is lost," she said ; " and I expect 
 Sarah Mullins would be pleased not to see him again." 
 
 " But you wouldn't want poor Buff lost, would you, 
 Aunt Maria ? " said Margie plaintively. " Why, he 
 would wander about, and get hungry and lonesome, 
 and " 
 
 Margie felt the tears very near, but Aunt Maria had 
 taken close hold of the little girl's hand. 
 
 " Lost ! " she "said. " Why, I wouldn't lose Buff for 
 anything. You may be sure he won't go hungry or 
 get lonesome in Ashley. Why, Margie, I don't be- 
 lieve there are a dozen dogs in the village ! Think of 
 that. I shouldn't wonder if everybody made friends 
 with such a nice puppy ; and probably all the boys 
 will want to buy him." 
 
 Margie smiled a little at this. "I wouldn't sell 
 Mm," she said. 
 
 "Sarah Mullins" was washing her face and occu-
 
 62 Marjorie 
 
 pied the centre of the front door-step, so Miss Wing 
 stepped carefully to one side not to disturb her, and 
 Margie did the same. 
 
 " I'm afraid if Buff came back he would be afraid 
 of Sarah, and go away again," said Margie, looking at 
 the Maltese cat, which did not condescend to notice 
 them. She thought if it had been Uncle or Buff how 
 they would have jumped about and said in welcoming 
 barks how glad they were to have them come home. 
 Margie decided that she did not like cats. 
 
 The Webb boy proved a trusty messenger, for in a 
 little while he came into the yard bringing Buff with 
 him. Sarah Mullins was still on the step, but this 
 time she did not seem to mind Buff at all. She 
 looked at him with a polite curiosity, but did not arch 
 her back or act at all displeased. 
 
 The puppy eyed her doubtfully for a moment, won- 
 dering if this was a new kind of a dog ; then, waggling 
 his whole body he approached nearer and finally 
 settled down beside her. Sarah went on with her 
 toilet without noticing him. The Webb boy watched 
 Buff's proceedings with vague disappointment as he 
 rang the bell. " That pup won't ever be a fighter," 
 he soliloquized. 
 
 When Miss Wing and Margie came to the door and
 
 Marjories tf^ay 63 
 
 saw their two pets in such a friendly proximity they 
 were greatly surprised. 
 
 " Well," said Miss "Wing, " this is a change." 
 
 " That's just like Buff," said Margie. " He made 
 friends with Uncle, although Uncle never liked him, 
 and now he has made friends with Sarah, and he will 
 stick right to her and follow her everywhere." 
 
 " Dear me ! he seems so clumsy that I am afraid he 
 will get hurt if he follows Sarah," said Miss Wing, re- 
 membering Sarah's fondness for climbing tall trees 
 and venturing out on window-ledges. Buff had 
 settled himself comfortably beside the cat, and now 
 ventured to rub his head against her shoulder. 
 
 Sst ! Whish ! Quicker than a flash, Sarah had given 
 him a slap with her paw which sent the puppy howl- 
 ing to the far end of the piazza, where Margie ran 
 after and tried to comfort him. 
 
 " Don't you think they'd better fight it out now ? " 
 suggested the Webb boy hopefully. " I've heard folks 
 say that after one good, square fight a dog and cat 
 were more apt to be good friends." 
 
 "Buff can't fight," said Margie. Sarah Mullins 
 soon strolled down toward the fence, and Buff was 
 taken into the shed, where he found a nice basin of 
 milk and a plate of bones on the floor, and soon for-
 
 64 Marjories Way 
 
 got his troubles, and when a few moments later Sarah 
 appeared from behind the wood-pile he did not re- 
 member to be afraid of her. But basins of milk 
 seemed to Sarah Mullins to be her own special prop- 
 erty, and she had no intention of allowing this yellow 
 puppy to defraud her of her rights ; so she very 
 promptly pounced upon him. Buff wheeled round with 
 a yelp of terror, and managed to plant his front feet 
 square in the basin, splashing the milk in every direc- 
 tion. His terrified howls brought Margie flying into 
 the shed, and she unfortunately left the kitchen door 
 open behind her. In an instant Buff had rushed into 
 the kitchen, leaving prints of his wet feet all over the 
 shining yellow floor. Sarah had turned her atten- 
 tion to the milk, so Buff was soon comforted, his feet 
 wiped, and he stayed close to his little mistress until 
 Sarah was shut down in the cellar for the night. 
 
 After this Margie watched the puppy more closely. 
 She had made friends with the "Webb boy, whose name 
 was Ferdinand Augustus, and had told him about 
 Luke, and showed him the little wooden dog, which 
 Ferdinand had promptly offered to buy. 
 
 " I'll give you a quarter for it," he said. 
 
 " "Why, you can't sell gifts," said Margie ; but Fer- 
 dinand's prompt admiration of Luke's handiwork gave
 
 Marjories Way 65 
 
 the little girl a new idea. If Luke was really going to 
 be a carpenter, she thought, he might as well begin to 
 practice at once. 
 
 " I'll get Luke to make you a wooden dog, if you 
 want one," she said to her new friend, and Ferdinand 
 agreed with surprising promptness. 
 
 " I tell you what," he said eagerly ; " you write him 
 to make me two dogs, one like Buff and one like that 
 coon dog of his, and I'll pay fifty cents for the two." 
 
 " Oh, will you ! " responded Margie. " I'll write him 
 to-day. The money will be a great help," she added, 
 seriously. 
 
 She reflected, that, in a way, this was the same way 
 Aunt Maria had helped the lame boy ; for the lame 
 boy had painted little pictures which Aunt Maria had 
 found purchasers for, and the money had been used for 
 drawing lessons. It was hard that Luke could not be 
 an artist, she thought, but perhaps after he had been 
 to school and grew older he might develop a talent 
 for drawing. She looked at Ferdinand's neat clothes 
 almost enviously, wishing Luke had some one to buy 
 clothes for him. 
 
 Marjorie watched her aunt very closely, and often 
 when alone practiced her aunt's manner of walking, 
 of sitting down and, standing before her little mirror
 
 66 Marjories IF ay 
 
 would endeavor to smile like Aunt Maria. She watched 
 her at the table and endeavored to hold her fork ex- 
 actly as Aunt Maria did. There was one difficult 
 problem. They did not like the same things to eat. 
 Aunt Maria liked her toast very brown and crispy, and 
 Margie did not like toast at all. Aunt Maria ate her 
 oatmeal without sugar, and to Margie oatmeal without 
 sugar seemed impossible. Then Margie liked pickles, 
 while Aunt Maria declared that the sight of them 
 made her mouth pucker. 
 
 But Margie was persistent ; she thought of all the 
 plans her mother had made for her to come to Ashley 
 so she could grow up like Aunt Maria, and she reso- 
 lutely ate the crispy toast, refused the most tempting 
 pickles, and shook her head when her aunt asked her 
 if she did not want sugar on her oatmeal. 
 
 She learned to set the table exactly as Miss Wing 
 did, and her aunt often thought that there was never 
 such a thoughtful, helpful girl as her little niece. 
 
 " You must be a great help to your mother," she 
 said one day when Margie had carefully washed the 
 dishes and was putting them away. 
 
 " But I never do these things at home," said Margie. 
 " Aunt Cora does all the work." 
 
 "But your dear mother has so much to do," re-
 
 Marjories ff^ay 67 
 
 sponded Miss "Wing. " She does all the sewing, and 
 knits and works in the garden. I often think what a 
 hard time she has had." 
 
 " What, mamma ? " said Margie in surprise. " Why, 
 mamma only does just what she wants to." 
 
 " My dear child, your mother works harder than 
 Aunt Cora, and besides that she has to plan very care- 
 fully to keep you all comfortable. I want you to try 
 all you can when you are older to make things pleas- 
 ant for her." 
 
 " Oh, but I am trying now," said Margie earnestly, 
 thinking of the oatmeal without sugar. " I am trying 
 all I can." 
 
 " That's right," said her aunt ; " if your father was 
 strong and well everything would be easier. Do you 
 know, Margie, I have a great plan in my head. I be- 
 lieve I will tell you about it." 
 
 " Oh, do, Aunt Maria ! " 
 
 " Well, in the first place, your mother hasn't been 
 north since she was married, fifteen years ago ; and I 
 have seen her only once in all those years." 
 
 Margie nodded. 
 
 " And I have been thinking how fine it would be if 
 she and your father would come north and stay a 
 month or two with us."
 
 68 Marjories VFay 
 
 "Oh !" said Margie; then she grew silent, remem- 
 bering how often she had heard them talk of that very 
 thing, and always her mother had said that they 
 could not afford it. So Margie shook her head, 
 sadly. 
 
 " They can't afford it," she said. 
 
 " But I have a plan," said Aunt Maria, gaily. " You 
 know the beautiful pine grove on the hill? Your 
 grandfather never would allow a tree to be cut there, 
 but the underbrush was always kept cleared away and 
 the trees well cared for, so that now they are so beau- 
 tiful that people drive from neighboring towns to see 
 them ; and now the town of Ashley wants to buy that 
 hill for a park, so that I will not have a chance to cut 
 down the beautiful trees and sell them for timber. 
 And they will pay me two thousand dollars for the 
 ten acres. And I shall write your mother that I will 
 give her one thousand if she and your father will come 
 and get it." 
 
 " Oh, goody ! " said Margie. " When do you suppose 
 they'll come ? " 
 
 "I think about Thanksgiving time," said Aunt 
 Maria. 
 
 That afternoon they walked up the hill to the pines. 
 Buff went with them, chasing a chipmunk along the
 
 Marjories ff^ay 69 
 
 fence, and falling over in his hurry to go faster than 
 his uncertain legs would carry him. 
 
 The big pine-trees were on the slope of the hill. 
 They did not grow very closely together, and the 
 ground under them was thickly carpeted with the 
 clean pine-needles. Miss Wing leaned against a big 
 tree and touched it affectionately. 
 
 " Your mother and I used to call this circle of trees 
 the library," she said. "When we were children 
 father and mother used to come up here with us on 
 Sunday afternoons in summer and father would read 
 to us. Sometimes we brought a lunch with us, and 
 then we would go over where those big, big trees are 
 and eat it there ; and we called that the dining-room. 
 We were never allowed to leave any pieces of paper 
 or rubbish about. Your grandfather was very proud 
 of this grove. People say there are very few such 
 trees left in Massachusetts." 
 
 Marjorie looked about admiringly. The sunlight 
 flickered through the green boughs, but it was very 
 cool and every little breeze was fragrant with the 
 breath of the pine. "We will come up here real 
 often, won't we, Aunt Maria ? " she said. " I think it 
 would be a lovely place to play dolls. Every tree
 
 jo Marjories 
 
 could be a house, and every doll have a tree, and then 
 they could visit." 
 
 "Mercy me!" exclaimed Miss Maria, looking at 
 Marjorie anxiously. " What have I been thinking of ! 
 You haven't a doll to your name." 
 
 Marjorie laughed. " I have four at home," she said ; 
 " but you see, being such a large girl, and bringing 
 Buff, I thought I better not bring even Victoria. 
 She's the littlest one." 
 
 ""Well," said Miss "Wing, "I have two beautiful 
 dolls in a bureau drawer in my room ; they have been 
 there twenty years, and I expect that they will need 
 new clothes and new names by this time. We will 
 get those dolls out to-night ; and I tell you what we 
 will do, Margie, we will have a dolls' party here in the 
 grove. We will ask the little Streeter girls, and 
 Mollie West, and Adrienne Wilson, and Josie Stevens 
 and Ferdinand Webb. And I will make strawberry 
 ice cream." 
 
 "Oh, Aunt Maria," said Margie, "that will be 
 lovely. When will we have the party ? " 
 
 " We will have it Saturday," said Miss Wing. 
 
 Margie could hardly believe that so many delightful 
 things could happen in one day ; for she was looking 
 forward to the visit from her mother and father, and
 
 Marjories W^ay 71 
 
 now she was not only to have two dolls of her own, 
 but a party with strawberry ice cream. She sighed a 
 little, however, for all these things seemed to make it 
 almost impossible for her to grow like her aunt as 
 rapidly as she had hoped to do.
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 BETTY'S WIGWAM 
 
 BETTY had taken her dolls out under the pine-trees 
 where she could look across toward Margie's house. 
 She had changed the name of her best doll to " Mar- 
 jorie." It did not seem as lonely to Betty after she 
 had decided to rename her doll. She had a new game 
 to play to-day, she was " making-believe " that the 
 pine woods was Ashley, where Margie had gone to 
 live, and that she herself was " Aunt Maria." One 
 doll was named " Betty " and the other was " Mar- 
 jorie," and " Betty " and " Marjorie " had just started 
 for school when the real Betty saw Luke coming along 
 the path by the cotton-field. 
 
 " Luke ! Luke Sanders," she called after him, and 
 the boy waved his hat in answer. When he came 
 nearer Betty was dancing about. " Oh, Luke ! " she 
 said, "I've thought of something lovely for you to 
 do!" 
 
 "What?" asked Luke, a little doubtfully. 
 
 " You can build me a playhouse right here under 
 the trees. Not a doll's playhouse, but a real, truly 
 
 72
 
 Marjories fPay 73 
 
 one, big enough for me to go into. And I can keep 
 ' Margie ' and ' Betty ' in it, and when I come down 
 here to play I can make believe it is Ashley." 
 
 " What could I make it out of ? " asked Luke. 
 
 " Oh, you can get some boards and things," said 
 Betty ; "and I should like to have you begin it right 
 away, because the first thing we know I will be going 
 to Columbia to go to school." 
 
 Luke looked about the open space where Betty had 
 been playing. It was surrounded by large trees, but 
 near the centre of the opening were two slender 
 young pines. The boy looked at these carefully. 
 
 " I could make you a camp," he said, " such as 
 hunters make when they are away off in the forests.'' 
 
 " Oh, how will you make it, Luke ? " 
 
 " First I will have to bend these young trees over," 
 said Luke, " and fasten the tops down to the ground 
 with big rocks. And then put pine boughs all across 
 the top from one tree to the other to make a 
 roof." 
 
 " But the ends and sides will be all open," objected 
 Betty. "I don't want that kind of a house." 
 
 " Well," said Luke, " I can't make a board house. 
 I s'pose I might make a wigwam." 
 
 " A wigwam ? " asked Betty.
 
 74 Marjories IF ay 
 
 " A wigwam is what the Indians call their house," 
 explained Luke. 
 
 " Did you ever make one ? " questioned Betty. 
 
 " No," said Luke ; " but there's a man who lives the 
 other side of Saluda Swamp, who has seen Indians 
 and wigwams, and he told me about them. They are 
 like this ; " and with a stick Luke marked off on the 
 soft earth a rude picture of a wigwam. 
 
 "Oh, Luke, let's make one. I could help," said 
 Betty. 
 
 "The best wigwams are covered with the skins of 
 wild animals," said Luke, thoughtfully. 
 
 " And we haven't any wild animals, have we ? " 
 said Betty. 
 
 " But if Indians are off in the woods they cover 
 them with the branches of trees," continued Luke. 
 
 " Oh, we can do that," agreed Betty. 
 
 " If we had blankets or rugs to cover it it would be 
 a lot better and easier," continued Luke. " Dad has 
 an old buffalo robe in the shed that I know he'll lend 
 me." 
 
 "And I guess I can get a shawl," added Betty. 
 " Let's begin now, Luke." 
 
 " We'll have to have some poles for the frame," 
 said Luke. "I guess dad will lend me some; he's
 
 Marjories W^ay 75 
 
 got a lot of poles cut for the beans, and piled up 
 back of the shed. I'll go get some." 
 
 " And I'll go with you," said Betty happily ; and 
 putting the dolls carefully under a pile of brush the 
 children started after the poles. 
 
 They proved longer and heavier than Betty had ex- 
 pected ; but she tugged bravely away at the bunch she 
 had selected, and listened to Luke's explanation of 
 how real wigwams were built. 
 
 By the time they got the bean poles to the clearing 
 in the wood they were too tired to begin work, and 
 Luke said that it was time for him to go home and 
 get his father's supper. " But I'll come over in the 
 morning and bring the buffalo robe," he said. 
 
 " And I'll bring a shawl," said Betty. " It will be 
 lovely to have a real Indian house, won't it ? And 
 when Margie comes home, if she isn't too grown up, 
 she can play in it, too." 
 
 Luke was at the pine woods in good season the 
 next morning, and brought with him the buffalo 
 robe, a sharp hatchet and a ball of stout twine. 
 First he drew a good sized circle in the soft earth, 
 and then began to stick the poles in, each one 
 slanting toward the centre of the circle. It did 
 not make as high a framework as he had expected,
 
 76 Marjories Jf^ay 
 
 and he found it an easy matter to throw the old 
 robe over the top of the sticks. Then he took his 
 string and wove it around the poles about three 
 feet from where they went into the ground, so that 
 it would be firmer. He had this all completed when 
 he saw Betty coming across the cotton-field. She 
 was coming very slowly, and her arms were filled, 
 while something trailed behind her at which she 
 stopped to look every few steps. " Luke," she 
 called, "oh, Luke, come and pick up the wild- 
 beast's-skin." 
 
 Luke ran to meet her, and found that a long black 
 rug was trailing behind her, while in her arms were 
 her two dolls, a big shawl, and a tin pail. 
 
 Betty dropped her burdens as Luke reached her, 
 and pointed proudly toward a much-worn bearskin rug. 
 
 " Wild-beast-skin," she said proudly. " Once 'twas 
 a bear, but now it's all worn out, and my mother says 
 we can have it for the wigwam." 
 
 " What's the pail for ? " asked Luke, gathering up 
 the shawl, the bearskin and the tin pail, and leaving 
 Betty only the dolls to carry. 
 
 " Oh, that's to keep house with," said Betty. " Oh, 
 Luke, I'll have to stoop way over to get into it," said 
 Betty.
 
 Marjories Way 77 
 
 " Indians always do," replied Luke, who was busy 
 fastening the bearskin over the back of the tent. The 
 shawl covered one side and, although a goodly space 
 remained open Betty said that she did not care, that 
 she could play it was a window. But Luke insisted 
 on cutting pine boughs and weaving them in and out 
 until the only opening in the wigwam was the place 
 left for a door. By the time this was done Luke had 
 to hurry home to help his father, and Betty found it 
 much pleasanter to sit just outside the wigwam than to 
 stay in it. But she felt very proud of the new play- 
 house, and " Margie " and " Betty " were sent in and 
 out quite as if it was their own home. 
 
 Luke did not come back to the wigwam that day, 
 but he had a plan which he had not told Betty. He 
 had resolved to himself that when it got dark he 
 would creep out of bed without awakening his father, 
 and go up and sleep in the wigwam. He wished that 
 there was some boy to go with him so they could 
 play at being Indians, but he thought it would be 
 almost an adventure to creep through the woods in 
 the dark, crawl into the wigwam, roll himself up in a 
 blanket, and sleep until morning. 
 
 It seemed a very long day, but Luke went to bed as 
 early as he could. He got into bed without undress-
 
 78 Marjories Way 
 
 ing, and pulled the thin quilt over him. Mr. Sanders' 
 bed was in the same room, but it seemed to Luke that 
 his father would never come indoors and go to bed. 
 But at last Mr. Sanders was safely in bed, and Luke 
 began to listen for the faint snores which would 
 assure him that his father was fast asleep. Luke 
 slipped noiselessly out of bed, rolled up the thin quilt, 
 and crept cautiously down the narrow, creaking stair- 
 way. A whispered word to the uneasy dogs and they 
 became silent, and the boy was out of the house and 
 running swiftly along toward the woods. As he 
 reached the shadow of the big trees he thought 
 he heard some one behind him, and stopped and 
 looked back, but there was nothing to be seen, and 
 Luke went on more slowly. Now he was a scout on 
 the outlook for hostile Indians who must be near at 
 hand, and he frequently ran behind a big tree, and 
 peered out cautiously, as he imagined a scout might 
 do. Once he was almost sure that he saw a figure 
 moving among the trees, and with his heart beating 
 more quickly than usual he hurried on toward the 
 wigwam. 
 
 It looked very low and dark to Luke as he came 
 near it, and when he had poked the quilt in and pre- 
 pared to follow it through the opening he almost wished
 
 Marjories Jf^ay 79 
 
 that he was safe at home. What if some wild ani- 
 mal had crawled in there for a night's shelter ? There 
 were not any dangerous wild animals in the vicinity, 
 but at the thought of them Luke paused and reached 
 into his pocket for his one-bladed knife. Opening 
 the blade and grasping the handle firmly Luke fol- 
 lowed the quilt into the wigwam. The night was 
 warm, there was but little air stirring, and it seemed 
 very close to Luke, shut in by the shawl and bearskin 
 rug. He found that the wigwam was hardly large 
 enough for him to stretch himself out in comfort, and 
 the ground seemed full of roots and uncomfortable 
 places. 
 
 He had closed his knife and put it back in his 
 pocket, and was trying to imagine himself an Indian 
 chief when he heard steps outside the wigwam. The 
 boy held his breath and listened. Some one was surely 
 walking around the little camp. Then came a sub- 
 dued laugh, which frightened Luke even more than 
 the steps. He felt sure that it was a tramp who had 
 wandered from the highway to sleep in the woods. 
 
 " He will try and crawl in here to sleep," thought 
 Luke, " and I must get out." 
 
 The boy listened anxiously, but did not hear any 
 further sounds. It grew very warm and he wished
 
 8o Marjories 
 
 that he had left the quilt at home. Finally he went 
 to sleep. "When he awoke he felt sure that it must be 
 very near morning, and crawled out of the wigwam, 
 pulling the quilt after him. It was so dark and still 
 that Luke stood for a moment wondering what time 
 it was. He wanted to get home before daylight, be- 
 fore his father should wake up and miss him. 
 
 " Dad would be frightened to wake up and find me 
 gone," thought the boy, and quickly rolling up the 
 quilt he started for home. It seemed a much longer 
 distance than usual, and in the dark Luke stumbled 
 over the roots of the trees, and once fell over a pile of 
 brush. As he neared the house he gave a low whistle 
 that the dogs might recognize him, and crept into the 
 house and up the stairs. He slipped off his clothes 
 and crept into bed. In a moment, he thought,, his 
 father would say it was time to get up, and Luke was 
 very sleepy for a boy who had slept all night in the 
 woods. 
 
 "Well, son," his father said in a moment, "got 
 home all safe, didn't you ? " and there came a chuck- 
 ling laugh, such as Luke had heard when he lay in the 
 wigwam. 
 
 " Oh, dad, how did you know ? " asked Luke. 
 
 " Oh, I just followed you," replied Mr. Sanders.
 
 Marjories Way 81 
 
 " And then I really did see somebody in the woods, 
 and somebody did walk around the wigwam ? " 
 " I did," said Mr. Sanders. 
 " Is it most time to get up, dad ? " 
 " The clock has just struck eleven, son." 
 " Oh, dad ! wasn't I in that wigwam but an hour ? " 
 "Just about an hour." Then there was a little 
 silence, but after a moment a sleepy voice said, 
 " Dad, you won't tell ! " 
 " No, sir," said Mr. Sanders.
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 LUKE'S LESSONS 
 
 ONE morning a few days after Marjorie's departure 
 for Ashley, Mrs. Philips was busy in the kitchen. 
 Aunt Cora was needed to help in the garden, so the 
 mistress of the house found many extra things to do. 
 Her thoughts were very full of the little girl so far 
 away, and when a firm knock on the side of the open 
 kitchen door caused her to turn around she was pleased 
 to see that it was Luke Sanders. 
 
 His hair was as smooth as water could make it. his 
 faded shirt was clean, and Mrs. Philips noticed that 
 he had on a pair of new jean trousers. In one hand he 
 held the remains of an old straw hat, while the other 
 grasped a large book. He looked up at Mrs. Philips 
 with a bashful smile, and said : 
 
 " I s'pose you was lookin' for me before this, but 
 I've had a good deal to do this week." 
 
 Mrs. Philips smiled, and wondered what the book 
 was that Luke held so firmly. 
 
 " Margie said you'd hear my lessons," said the boy 
 finally, laying the book on the window-sill. " She 
 
 82
 
 Marjories tf^ay 83 
 
 said it was time I learned to do suras. I didn't have 
 any book about 'rithmetic, but dad bought this at 
 an auction once, and he says it's got figures in it." 
 
 Mrs. Philips for a moment hesitated. She had so 
 much to do ; how could she spare time for the task 
 Margie had promised ? But when she looked at the 
 boy's wistful face, noticed the effort he had made to 
 come as tidy and clean as possible, and remembered 
 how little chance he had to learn, she resolved that 
 she would find time. 
 
 u I must help this boy as I would wish any one to 
 help my little girl," she thought, and picked up Luke's 
 book and read the title, " Ancient and Modern Astrol- 
 ogy." 
 
 " I am afraid this book will not be of much use to us," 
 she said, with the kindly smile which always made 
 Luke wish that Mrs. Philips was his mother ; " but 
 we shan't need a book at present." 
 
 Margie had forgotten to tell her mother of the 
 promise to Luke, but Mrs. Philips did not wish the 
 boy to know it. 
 
 " I have Margie's slate," she said, " and I will get it 
 for you, and you can have your lesson right here by 
 the window, while I finish my ironing." 
 
 She went for the slate, and sitting down by Luke
 
 84 Marjorie 
 
 told him what figures represented and set him a good, 
 clear copy. She found that he could count readily, 
 and as she ironed she gave him simple problems in ad- 
 dition. 
 
 " Now," she said, " we will have a little lesson in 
 mental arithmetic. If I iron one towel every two 
 minutes, how many towels will I iron in an hour? 
 There are sixty minutes in an hour, you know." 
 
 This seemed a great puzzle to Luke, and at first he 
 was disposed to give it up. But Mrs. Philips would 
 not listen to " giving up." 
 
 " Why," she said, " before Margie gets home, I shall 
 expect you to tell me how many square feet there are 
 in an acre, and all sorts of things. No giving up, 
 Luke, when you begin anything worth while ; " and 
 after a few uncertain guesses Luke worked out the 
 right answer to the problem, and was more pleased 
 than Mrs. Philips herself. 
 
 " I s'pose I'll be learning grammar soon," said Luke 
 hopefully, when the lesson time was over. 
 
 Then Mrs. Philips explained to him what " gram- 
 mar " meant. 
 
 " We will take nouns and pronouns for our first les- 
 son in grammar," she said. 
 
 " Nouns and pronouns," repeated Luke admiringly.
 
 Luke came every day for his lesson
 
 Marjories W^ay 85 
 
 " And after this, Luke," she continued, " we will 
 have our lesson begin at three in the afternoon. I 
 will be on the side porch at that hour and you come 
 right there." 
 
 " Yes'm," said the boy, looking up at her gratefully. 
 "Ain't there something I can do for you, Mrs. 
 Philips ; you are so good to me, I'd do anything for 
 you." 
 
 " There will be something you can do for me later 
 on," said Mrs. Philips, resting her hand on the boy's 
 shoulder, and feeling a little choking in her throat as 
 she looked at his thin face. " Now, I baked some 
 bread myself this morning, and I am going to wrap 
 up a loaf for you to take home to surprise your father 
 with; and to-morrow perhaps we will begin on 
 nouns." 
 
 " Yes'm. Nouns and pro-nouns," said Luke. 
 
 Luke came promptly every day for his lesson, and 
 however tired or busy Mrs. Philips might be, she was 
 always ready for her pupil. When Margie wrote to 
 Luke about making the wooden dogs for Ferdinand he 
 came to Mrs. Philips with a sober face. 
 
 " Don't seem as if I ought to take money for whit- 
 tling things out of wood," he said, " 'specially when I 
 do it 'cause I like to," but Mrs. Philips assured him
 
 86 Marjories 
 
 that it was perfectly right for Ferdinand to pay for 
 the wooden dogs. 
 
 " Old Pointer ' will look better in wood than Buff," 
 explained Luke. " You see Pointer's nose and ears 
 are easier to make ; they are like this ; " and with a 
 few strokes of his slate pencil Luke drew old Pointer's 
 head, and held it up for Mrs. Philips to see. " While 
 Buff's head is like this ; " and the pencil drew a like- 
 ness of Margie's puppy. 
 
 Mrs. Philips was silent for a moment as she looked 
 at the slate. 
 
 "Margie wanted you to be an artist, didn't she, 
 Luke ? " she said at length. 
 
 "Yes'm," answered the boy, "but she's decided, 
 since I gave her the wooden dog, that I'd better be a 
 carpenter." 
 
 " Why did she want you to be an artist ? " ques- 
 tioned Mrs. Philips. 
 
 "Because that lame boy was. The one her Aunt 
 Maria taught to read, same as Margie taught me," ex- 
 plained Luke. 
 
 " Did Margie ever see you draw ? " 
 
 "Why, I never did draw," said Luke. "Margie 
 used to say there wasn't anybody to teach me ; and 
 she said she guessed I didn't look the way artists did."
 
 Marjories Way 87 
 
 Mrs. Philips smiled. " Well, this looks very much 
 like ' Pointer,' " she said. 
 
 Luke laughed. " Margie says artists make beautiful 
 pictures that look so much like real people that some- 
 times folks think it is real people. Did you ever see a 
 picture like that, Mrs. Philips ? " 
 
 "I have seen excellent portraits," she answered 
 thoughtfully. 
 
 Betty came over sometimes in the late afternoons, 
 and listened admiringly to Luke's lessons. Margie 
 had written to Betty that she had a secret, that it 
 could not be told until Mr. and Mrs. Philips came 
 north, as it was to be a surprise for them ; and some- 
 thing which would please them very much. She 
 added that even her Aunt Maria did not know about it. 
 
 " What do you s'pose it is, Mrs. Philips ? " Betty 
 questioned eagerly. 
 
 " I cannot imagine," responded Mrs. Philips. " I 
 have a secret myself," she continued with a little 
 laugh, " and a surprise for Margie, too, and I can't 
 even tell Betty." 
 
 Betty laughed and said she was going to have a 
 secret herself, and that she wouldn't tell anybody. 
 But in a few days she confided in Mrs. Philips that she 
 and Grandma Savory had a lovely secret.
 
 Marjorie 
 
 "Nobody is to know it until grandma comes again, 
 and that will be the week before I go to Columbia," 
 she said, " but I'll tell you a little bit about it. It's 
 about Luke and the Clay boys." 
 
 " And I'll tell you a little bit about my secret," said 
 Mrs. Philips. " My secret is about Luke, too." 
 
 Luke was present when these confidences were ex- 
 changed, and he immediately began to lay deep 
 schemes to discover the secret about the Clay boys 
 and himself. He questioned Betty vigorously, but not 
 a word would she tell him. 
 
 " I hope you can go to school this fall, Luke," Mrs. 
 Philips said one day. " The school at the corner does 
 not begin until late in October. Don't you think 
 your father would be willing for you to go ? " 
 
 Betty was there that afternoon, and when Luke 
 answered, " He'd be willing enough ; but I don't want 
 to go, for I haven't any decent clothes, and the other 
 boys make fun of me ; " then Betty had giggled, and 
 her yellow braid swung rapidly back and forth. Luke 
 looked at her reproachfully, and Betty's face sobered 
 quickly. After Luke went home that day Betty told 
 Mrs. Philips her secret, and was delighted when Mrs. 
 Philips said she thought it was the nicest secret she 
 had ever heard.
 
 Marjories 
 
 " Is it as good as yours ? " Betty said, suggestively. 
 
 But Mrs. Philips only laughed and said, " Oh, my 
 secret can not be told for ever so long. But I promise 
 to tell you first." 
 
 " Before you do Margie ? " 
 
 Mrs. Philips nodded. " Yes, before I tell Margie ; 
 because it is to be a surprise for her." 
 
 " Do you suppose my secret is as nice a one as Mar- 
 gie's ? " questioned Betty. 
 
 " "Why, I think it must be," replied Mrs. Philips. 
 
 "I thought about it first," explained Betty, "the 
 day grandma said Luke was about as tall as the Clay 
 boys ; and when I told grandma that Luke didn't have 
 any clothes 'cept now and then a shirt and his father's 
 old trousers, why then grandma thought of it too. 
 And she said right off that the Clay boys didn't half 
 wear out their clothes, and that 'twas a shame, 
 grandma said. And after she went back to Columbia 
 she talked with Mrs. Clay, and grandma wrote me a 
 letter and said that Mrs. Clay had given her two sets 
 of everything. Think of Luke having two hats ! " 
 and Betty jumped up and down and giggled again. 
 "I guess Margie would feel real encouraged about 
 Luke's being an artist if she knew that," she added. 
 
 " I am sure she would," agreed Mrs. Philips.
 
 90 Marjorie 
 
 "Father said the Sanders were all dreadful high- 
 spirited. He said he'd bet Luke wouldn't touch the 
 things with a ten foot pole." 
 
 "Oh," Mrs. Philips' tone was puzzled and disap- 
 pointed. " Then we must plan to have Luke pay for 
 the things," she said. " They are just what he will 
 need for school." 
 
 " I thought about that when he said he hadn't any 
 clothes. That's what made me giggle," said Betty, 
 " for grandma will come in about a week, and then he 
 will have lots of clothes, if he will take them." 
 
 " Luke is so generous himself that I believe he will 
 take them. And when your grandma comes, dear 
 Betty, you can give Luke the things yourself, and tell 
 him all about it just as you have me." 
 
 "I'm going to write Margie about it, too," said 
 Betty. " You see it will make her think of the folks 
 that helped Arthur Field, won't it?" 
 
 "Yes, perhaps it will," smilingly agreed Mrs. 
 Philips.
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 A PICNIC AT THE PINES 
 
 THE two dolls which Aunt Maria had told Margie 
 about proved to be beautiful creatures. One was a 
 china doll with black curls, and unusually red lips and 
 cheeks. Her hands and feet were also of china. Her 
 body was of kid, and all her clothes could be put on 
 and off. Her white muslin gown had become a creamy 
 shade which Margie thought much prettier than a fresh 
 white dress would be. 
 
 " What is her name ? " asked Margie, holding up her 
 new treasure admiringly. 
 
 " Her name is Georgianna Violet," said Miss Wing. 
 
 " That's a lovely name," said Margie, setting Geor- 
 gianna Violet carefully up against the pillows on 
 Aunt Maria's bed, and turning to look at the other 
 doll which Aunt Maria had taken out of the bureau 
 drawer. 
 
 This doll was of wax ; her hair was yellow and her 
 eyes were blue, and her name sounded very fine ; it 
 was Rosamund Antoinette. When Margie heard these 
 beautiful names she could not but feel sorry that Luke
 
 92 Marjories 
 
 Sanders had named her puppy Buff; and she was 
 greatly surprised when her Aunt Maria said that she 
 thought "Buff" a far better name for a dog than 
 " Napoleon." 
 
 " Perhaps a girl nearly ten ought not to play with 
 dolls," she said rather soberly to her aunt. " Did you 
 play with dolls when you were as old as I am, Aunt 
 Maria ? " 
 
 " My dear child, I played with dolls until I was nearly 
 fifteen years old," said Aunt Maria ; " and I think ten 
 is just the nicest age to really enjoy dolls. When I 
 write to your mother I shall tell her to bring all your 
 dolls in her trunk." 
 
 Margie smiled happily. " My," she said, " that will 
 be six dolls ! " 
 
 " A large family," remarked Miss "Wing seriously. 
 
 When Ferdinand received his invitation to the party 
 he came over to inquire if Buff was to go ; and on 
 being told that he was, said that he guessed he would 
 come. He looked at Margie's dolls in smiling amaze- 
 ment. 
 
 " I'd rather have Buff," he said. " Dolls can't play 
 with you, or run, or do anything." 
 
 " But they are lovely to make believe with," said 
 Margie. " You can play that they are queens, or sis-
 
 Marjories Way 93 
 
 ters, or that they are children, or company or any- 
 thing." 
 
 " "Well, you can play that a dog is a wild tiger or a 
 lion, and when he runs after you that your life is in 
 peril," said Ferdinand. "Why, I'd rather have 
 wooden dogs like the one Luke gave you than dolls. 
 You could play menagerie with wooden animals." 
 
 The day of the dolls' party proved bright and pleas- 
 ant. Each little girl had brought two dolls. Ferdi- 
 nand was the first guest to arrive, and as he helped 
 with the ice cream freezer and promised to keep an 
 eye on Buff, Miss Wing decided that one boy in the 
 party was very acceptable. 
 
 The ice cream freezer and the baskets with the sand- 
 wiches and cakes were carried to a group of trees 
 which Miss Wing called the "dining-room," and the 
 little party gathered in the shade of the " library." 
 Here each little girl selected a tree as a house for her 
 dolls, and they went calling upon each other from tree 
 to tree. Margie received the most calls, because all 
 the little girls wanted to see Georgianna Violet and 
 Rosamund Antoinette, and look at their old-fashioned 
 dresses. 
 
 The afternoon passed delightfully, and about five 
 o'clock Miss Wing called them all to the "dining-
 
 94 Marjories tf^ay 
 
 room " and they enjoyed the ice cream and goodies she 
 had ready for them. Ferdinand was very quiet all 
 through supper-time. Buff kept very close to him, ap- 
 parently tired out, for during the afternoon he had run 
 busily about. Once he had seized a doll belonging to 
 Ada Streeter, and it had caused great excitement un- 
 til Margie captured the doll and restored it safely to 
 its frightened owner. 
 
 As they were finishing their cakes Ferdinand "Webb 
 took something out of his pocket and examined it care- 
 fully. It was rolled up in his handkerchief ; and after 
 looking at it a moment he scrambled to his feet and 
 going up to where Miss "Wing was busy packing up the 
 baskets, he said, 
 
 " Miss "Wing, I've got a nice bonfire all ready, and 
 if you'd like to have me, I'll light it, without a match." 
 
 " Mercy sakes ! " exclaimed Miss "Wing. " All my 
 life I have watched these trees to be sure no fire came 
 near them " 
 
 " Oh," interrupted Ferdinand, " I know that ; my 
 father has always told me about being careful about 
 wood-lots, especially your pines, Miss "Wing. My bon- 
 fire is down on the edge of the ploughed ground. It 
 isn't so much the fire I want to show you, as the way 
 I'm going to light it," explained Ferdinand.
 
 Marjories Jf^ay 95 
 
 "Well, then we will all go down and see your 
 wonderful match," said Miss Wing. 
 
 " But it isn't a match at all," persisted Ferdinand ; 
 "it's a lot more interesting than a little sliver of a 
 match. You wait and see, Miss Wing." 
 
 The little girls were all wondering how Ferdinand 
 could light a fire without a match. Josie Stevens 
 said that she knew, that her grandmother had told 
 her how people used to strike fire with flint and steel. 
 
 " Oh, no," said Ferdinand, " it isn't that." 
 
 When the girls reached the pile of brush which 
 Ferdinand had gathered in the lower field they 
 stood about and watched him make his prepara- 
 tions for his mysterious fire. 
 
 From his pocket he took the treasured handker- 
 chief, unrolled it and displayed a brown, spongy 
 substance as large as a silver half-dollar. 
 
 " That's punk," he announced. 
 
 " Punk ? " queried Margie. " What is punk ? " 
 
 " Oh, I guess it's a kind of rotten wood," explained 
 Ferdinand. " It grows on old stumps. Sometimes it 
 shines in the night and folks call it ' fox-fire.' " 
 
 He did not add that it had taken him all day 
 Friday to find the small quantity which he dis- 
 played so proudly.
 
 96 Marjories Way 
 
 Ferdinand now took from another pocket two 
 pieces of smooth wood and began to rub them 
 briskly together, holding them close to the punk. 
 He worked vigorously for several minutes, and 
 finally a spark sprang from the heated wood and 
 settled on the punk. He now gave all his atten- 
 tion to encouraging the spark, and placing the punk 
 in a bed of light shavings and birch bark under 
 the edge of the bush heap soon started a crackling 
 blaze. 
 
 "There," exclaimed Ferdinand proudly, his face 
 red from so much puffing and blowing ; " that's what 
 Indians and trappers do when they are lost in the 
 woods and haven't any matches and are almost ready 
 to freeze to death. I read about it in a book, and I've 
 worked it twice before." 
 
 The little girls thought it very wonderful, and 
 when Margie next wrote to Luke she told him 
 about the wonderful punk, and added the informa- 
 tion which Ferdinand had given her that, after punk 
 was lighted, it would smoulder an entire day and night 
 unless kindled by exposing it to a draught. This 
 seemed very remarkable to Margie. She was sure 
 Luke could find quantities of punk along the edges 
 of the Saluda Swamp.
 
 Marjories Way 97 
 
 A few weeks after the dolls' party school began, 
 and Margie found that Ada Streeter was to be her 
 seat-mate. Ever since the dolls' party the two little 
 girls had been very friendly, and Margie was glad to 
 sit next Ada in school. They had established a secret 
 post-office under a large rock half-way between their 
 houses. Aunt Maria told Margie one day that, when 
 she was a little girl she and Ada Streeter's mother 
 had had a place near the big rock where they left 
 notes for each other ; so Margie had lost no time in 
 proposing to Ada that they should also have a post- 
 office. "Then when we grow up we can tell our 
 little girls about it just as Aunt Maria told me," 
 Margie said, and Ada agreed. 
 
 It was sometimes difficult for Margie to keep her 
 mind on her lessons, for she was now counting the 
 weeks before her mother and father would reach 
 Ashley, and her mind was full of a delightful sur. 
 prise that she was planning for them. She had con- 
 fided in Ada in regard to her plan, and in the daily 
 notes which were tucked under the rock the " secret " 
 was often referred to. 
 
 One Saturday morning Miss Wing told Marjorie 
 that they had been invited to spend the day with 
 some friends who lived on a farm just outside the village.
 
 98 Marjorie 
 
 "Mr. Wyman will drive in after us about ten 
 o'clock," she said, "and we must be all ready and 
 not keep him waiting." 
 
 " Can Buff go ? " Margie asked eagerly. 
 
 Miss Wing shook her head. " I am afraid there 
 are too many chickens and ducks and kittens at Mr. 
 "Wy man's, and that Buff might get into trouble," 
 she said. 
 
 Margie had heard a great deal about Mr. Wyman. 
 He and her Grandfather Wing had been schoolboys 
 together, and when her mother and Aunt Maria were 
 little girls they used to go out to the farm to spend 
 the day just as Margie was going. 
 
 It was just ten o'clock when Mr. Wyman stopped 
 his big brown horse at Aunt Maria's front gate, 
 and he nodded his approval to find Miss Wing and 
 Marjorie all ready to start. 
 
 "So this is little Miss Marjorie," he said, holding 
 out his hand to the little girl, and Margie smiled up 
 at him, and wished that Betty could be there. 
 
 Mr. Wyman had very white hair and whiskers, and 
 he was so stout that he seemed to nearly fill the front 
 seat. After he had told Margie about what her 
 mother used to do when she visited the farm, he
 
 Marjories ff^ay 99 
 
 turned to Miss Wing and said, "Well, what do 
 you hear about Arthur Field nowadays ? " 
 
 " Oh," said Miss Wing, " he is South now, and on 
 his way home he may stop and visit Marjorie's 
 mother." 
 
 "Oh, Aunt Maria, you never told me that," said 
 Margie. 
 
 " Why, I believe I didn't," responded Miss Wing, 
 with a little laugh. " You see I didn't know it until 
 the other day." 
 
 "'Twill do him good to get where it's warmer," 
 said Mr. Wyman. " And I s'pose he can paint pic- 
 tures wherever he is." 
 
 Margie sighed as she thought about Arthur Field. 
 If Luke could only have been an artist instead of a 
 carpenter perhaps Arthur Field would have become 
 interested in him, and Luke would have grown up just 
 like him ; only of course Luke would not be lame. 
 But she had little time to think about it, for they 
 soon reached the farm ; and when they went into the 
 big kitchen Margie thought that it was the nicest 
 kitchen that ever was. Aunt Maria said that every- 
 thing was just the same as it had been when she was 
 a little girl. 
 
 Mr. Wyman asked Margie if she would like to know
 
 ioo Marjorie 
 
 what her mother had liked to do best of all when she 
 came to the farm? and when she said, "Yes," he 
 brought in a big basket heaped full of shining ears of 
 corn. Then he brought out a fire-shovel and a small 
 tub. Margie laughed when he laid the shovel across 
 the tub with the handle resting on the floor, and be- 
 gan to draw the ears of corn across the edges while 
 the kernels fell into the tub. 
 
 Then Mr. Wyman took the corn-cobs and told 
 Margie that when her mother was a little girl she 
 used to build forts and houses with corn-cobs ; and he 
 showed her how to make real log-cabins, " such as my 
 mother lived in when she was your age," he said. 
 
 " Oh, I wish I had brought my dolls to put in these 
 houses," said Margie. 
 
 " Well, you must bring them next time," he said. 
 
 After luncheon Mr. Wyman took them through the 
 big barns. 
 
 " I'm glad Buff didn't come," said Margie, as a jet 
 black kitten scampered by them. " You see cats don't 
 seem to like Buff," she explained to Mr. Wyman. 
 
 '' Then he'd have a pretty hard time out here," said 
 Mr. Wyman ; " for I've got seven cats, and most of 
 them black." 
 
 On the drive home Mr. Wyman and Miss Wing
 
 Marjories Way 101 
 
 talked about Arthur Field, and Margie listened eagerly. 
 It seemed to her a very wonderful thing to be an artist 
 and paint pictures ; and she thought how proud Aunt 
 Maria must be that she had taught him to read, and 
 helped him to learn to draw. 
 
 " I taught Luke to read, too," she thought to her- 
 self ; " but I guess it isn't going to turn out just as I 
 thought it would. Being a carpenter isn't what I 
 expected of him."
 
 CHAPTEK XI 
 
 A DAY OF DELIGHTS 
 
 " MARGIE, Margie," called Aunt Maria very early 
 one morning about a week after the visit to Farmer 
 Wyman's, " get up, my dear. For what do you sup- 
 pose has happened ? We are invited to spend the day 
 in Boston with Mrs. Melchin." 
 
 " Who is Mrs. Melchin ? " questioned Margie 
 eagerly, as she jumped out of bed; "and why didn't 
 she ask us before ? " 
 
 " Come right down to breakfast," responded Aunt 
 Maria, " and I will tell you all about it ; " and in a 
 few moments Margie was sitting at the breakfast- 
 table. 
 
 " Mrs. Melchin," said Aunt Maria, " lives in a beauti- 
 ful house on Beacon Street in Boston, and she is an 
 old lady. She was a friend of your grandmother's, 
 and when your mother and I were little girls we were 
 sometimes invited to go in and spend a day with Mrs. 
 Melchin just as we are invited to-day. Only in those 
 days we used to be asked by a letter, but this invitation 
 came by telephone." 
 
 102
 
 Marjories W^ay 103 
 
 "Did you like to go and visit her?" questioned 
 Margie, with a little tone in her voice as if she herself 
 did not care much about the visit. 
 
 " Like to go ! " exclaimed Aunt Maria. " Indeed 
 we did ! We used to think and talk about it for 
 weeks after a day with Mrs. Melchin ; and I want to 
 take the nine o'clock train this morning so that we 
 can have a lovely long day with her." 
 
 " What did you and mamma do when you went to 
 see Mrs. Melchin ? " asked Margie. 
 
 " Wait and see," said Miss Maria, with a little nod 
 of her head, which made Margie sure that something 
 very pleasant must be in store for her. 
 
 The day was warm, and Aunt Maria wore the pretty 
 gray dress which Margie always admired, and the 
 pink cameo brooch. Margie wore a white dress, and 
 her best hat. Aunt Maria said that Mrs. Melchin 
 always liked to see little girls in white ; and Margie 
 began to think that Mrs. Melchin must be a very 
 particular old lady if Aunt Maria was so careful to 
 please her. Margie almost wished that she could stay 
 at home and play with her dolls on the shady piazza ; 
 but she remembered Aunt Maria's nod, and wondered 
 what delightful surprise could be in store for her at 
 the beautiful house on Beacon Street.
 
 104 Marjories 
 
 When they reached Boston they walked through 
 the long railway station and then through a narrow 
 street, and came out directly opposite to a beautiful 
 garden. 
 
 " Oh ! " said Margie eagerly, " is this Mrs. Melchin's 
 garden ? " 
 
 "No, indeed," said Aunt Maria, with a little laugh, 
 "these are the Public Gardens, and they belong to 
 every one in Boston." 
 
 Then Margie noticed that a great many people 
 were walking about under the trees. They walked 
 across the gardens and over a bridge where they 
 stopped a moment to watch the swan boats. 
 
 " Oh, auntie, can't I, can't I have a ride behind one 
 of those big birds ? See, there are children on that 
 one ! " said Margie, as the boats with the big wooden 
 swans carved in front paddled near the bridge. 
 
 " "Why, I think we have time," said Aunt Maria ; 
 " and I believe I would like to go myself." And they 
 went down the broad stone steps which led from the 
 bridge to the boat landing. Another boat was about 
 to start for its cruise around the tiny lake, and Aunt 
 Maria gave the boatman ten cents and she and Margie 
 took a seat right behind the wooden swans. 
 
 " Isn't this lovely ? " said Margie happily. " Is
 
 Marjories ff^ay 105 
 
 there anything at Mrs. Melchin's house as nice as 
 this ? " and again Aunt Maria nodded her head and 
 said, 
 
 " "Wait and see." 
 
 " Oh, Aunt Maria, as soon as Luke gets to be a car- 
 penter perhaps he can make a boat just like this," said 
 Margie. 
 
 " I have no doubt that he could," agreed Aunt 
 Maria. 
 
 "I will write and tell him all about it," said 
 Margie. 
 
 It did not take very long to go under the bridge, 
 around the tiny island and back to the landing- 
 place, and when Margie stepped on shore she looked 
 back admiringly at the swan boat. As they started 
 to go up the steps to the bridge Margie noticed two 
 little girls sitting on one of the steps and watching 
 the boats as they started out. These little girls were 
 bare-headed, and one of them had bare feet. Their 
 cotton dresses were not very clean. They sat there 
 very quietly, and when Margie and her aunt came 
 along the children moved nearer the water to make 
 room. 
 
 " They look just as if they wanted a sail," whispered 
 Margie.
 
 io6 Marjorie 
 
 "Why, so they do," said Aunt Maria; and she 
 stopped near the little girls and said, " Have you ever 
 had a sail around the lake ? " 
 
 The larger of the two looked up and answered 
 quickly, " Oh, no, ma'am ! Why, it costs five cents ! " 
 
 The other little girl said, " It costs ten cents for two." 
 
 "So it does," responded Aunt Maria; "and I am 
 going to pay your fares so you can enjoy it as much 
 as this little girl did." 
 
 " Oh ! " said the smaller child, turning a look of de- 
 light upon her sister. 
 
 " It's lovely," said Margie, as the two girls sprang 
 up and stood eagerly waiting to see what would hap- 
 pen next. 
 
 Aunt Maria went back to the boat landing and saw 
 the children started on their unexpected pleasure trip, 
 and she and Margie waved their hands to them as the 
 boat started off. 
 
 " Didn't they look happy ? " said Margie. " Some- 
 way I feel glad, too." 
 
 " Of course you do ! " replied Aunt Maria. " Hap- 
 piness is contagious, just like the measles ! " 
 
 " We are having such a good time now," said Margie. 
 " Will we have any better time when we get to Mrs. 
 Melchin's house ? "
 
 Marjories U^ay 107 
 
 And again Aunt Maria said, " "Wait and see ! " 
 
 They left the gardens and walked up a long hill, 
 and when they had nearly reached the top Aunt 
 Maria stopped in front of a tall brick house and rang 
 the bell. Margie stood very close to her aunt. She 
 felt as if something remarkable was about to happen. 
 
 The door was opened by a tall, solemn-looking man. 
 Margie wondered if this was Mr. Melchin, but just 
 then her aunt said, " Good-morning, Billings. Will 
 you tell Mrs. Melchin that Miss Wing and Miss 
 Marjorie have come." 
 
 " Yes, Miss Wing ; Mrs. Melchin is expecting you. 
 She said you were to step right up-stairs, if you please, 
 miss, and that the little girl was to wait in the library 
 a moment, if you please, ma'am." 
 
 " Yery well, Billings," said Miss Wing, and Billings 
 drew back some heavy curtains at the end of the hall. 
 
 "Eun in there, dear, for a moment," said Aunt 
 Maria. "Billings will tell you when to come up- 
 stairs." 
 
 When Marjorie went into the library she did not 
 see any one there. It was a large room with book 
 shelves all around the walls. At the farther end of 
 the room was a large bay-window, and Margie walked 
 toward it and looked out. The window overlooked a
 
 io8 Marjorie 
 
 long narrow garden where several trees grew. As 
 Margie stood there looking out she heard a voice say, 
 
 " Wh}^ good-morning ! " 
 
 Margie looked about, thinking some one had come 
 into the room. She did not see any one, but she said 
 " Good-morning." 
 
 " Nice morning ! " said the voice. 
 
 " Yes'm," said Margie. 
 
 " Nice morning," said the voice again. 
 
 Margie decided that her reply had not been heard, 
 so she said again in a louder tone, 
 
 " Yes'm," and looked around the room more care- 
 fully. She thought perhaps Mrs. Melchin had come 
 down-stairs after all, but as she could not see any one 
 she began to feel a little frightened and went near 
 the door and sat down in a big leather-covered chair. 
 
 " Sit down, sit down," said the voice. 
 
 " Yes'm," replied Margie. " I have." 
 
 " Take a seat, sit down," continued the voice. 
 
 "Oh, dear, I guess she's deaf," thought the little 
 girl, and trying to speak very distinctly, she said, 
 
 " Yes'm. I am sitting right near the door." 
 
 " Well, well," said the voice. 
 
 Margie began to wish that Aunt Maria would come. 
 She thought to herself that it was not very polite for
 
 Marjories ff^ay 109 
 
 this person, whoever it might be, not to sit where her 
 visitor could see her. 
 
 Just then Billings drew back the curtains and said, 
 
 " You are to step up-stairs, miss, if you please," and 
 Margie followed him up the stairs and to a large room 
 directly over the library. 
 
 "This is Marjorie," said Aunt Maria, coming to 
 meet her and leading her toward a silver-haired old 
 lady who sat in a high- backed chair near a small table. 
 Margie noticed that Mrs. Melchin's eyes were very 
 soft and black, and that the hand she extended to the 
 little girl was covered with shining rings. 
 
 " Sit down near me, dear," said the old lady, after 
 Aunt Maria had taken off Margie's hat. " I wonder 
 if you saw the parrot in the library ? " 
 
 " Oh," said Margie, with a little gasp. " "Was that 
 a parrot that talked to me?" She was so sur- 
 prised that Aunt Maria and Mrs. Melchin both 
 laughed. 
 
 "Yes, my dear," said Mrs. Melchin. "What do 
 you think of an old lady who is so lonesome that she 
 has three parrots to talk to her? The one in the 
 library is named ' Pickwick,' the one in the dining- 
 room I call ' Nero,' and that one which you see on his 
 perch in the window is ' Beauty.' "
 
 no Marjories Way 
 
 Margie looked toward the window and saw a beau- 
 tiful bird swinging in the window. 
 
 " Oh," she said. 
 
 " Go and talk to him if you wish to," said Mrs. 
 Melchin, and Margie walked slowly toward the win- 
 dow. But " Beauty " would not talk, so Margie 
 looked about the room. As she looked she remem- 
 bered that Aunt Maria had said that Mrs. Melchin 
 had a beautiful house, and the little girl thought that 
 this room was very beautiful. The walls were cov- 
 ered with silk hangings which looked very soft and 
 lovely. Low cabinets stood here and there, and 
 Margie saw that the one nearest to where she was 
 standing was full of beautifully carved tiny elephants. 
 The largest elephant was perhaps an inch high, and 
 on his back was a ball of crystal. There were tiny fig- 
 ures on the backs of the other elephants, and as Margie 
 looked at them she wished that Luke could see them. 
 
 After looking at these Margie went to the next 
 cabinet, and here were the queerest little figures of 
 Chinamen and of all sorts of people. None of them 
 were over an inch high, and all looked so real, so 
 much like tiny living people that Margie said a little 
 soft " oh," under her breath. There was another 
 cabinet and this was full of birds, carved just as the
 
 Marjorie 
 
 \ \ \ 
 
 elephants and people were, out of yellowish ivory. 
 There were parrots, robins, cranes, eagles, and many 
 birds whose names Margie did not know. 
 
 Before Margie had finished looking at these Mrs. 
 Melchin said, " Now, my dears, we will have lunch, 
 and Margie shall see ' Nero.' ' : 
 
 When they went into the dining-room "Nero" 
 called out, " All ready for luncheon." 
 
 " Nero " was not as handsome a bird as " Beauty," 
 and Mrs. Melchin said he was sometimes cross. 
 
 "That is why I keep him in a cage," she said. 
 " ' Pickwick ' doesn't mind having his head smoothed 
 occasionally, and ' Beauty ' likes a little attention of 
 that sort, but ' Nero ' snaps that sharp beak of his at 
 every one who goes near him." 
 
 Margie thought she had never had such a nice 
 luncheon before. There were small melons, filled with 
 little pieces of ice and sprinkled with sugar. There 
 were fat little chops with white frilled paper around 
 them, and there was creamed potato, with red toma- 
 toes, and crisp bread sticks. After these were eaten 
 Billings brought in ices which looked like ripe peaches 
 and which tasted like strawberries, and were so cool 
 and delicious that Margie had two whole peaches. 
 And with these were all sorts of small cakes.
 
 112 
 
 Marjorie 
 
 While they were eating " Nero " had a good deal to 
 say. 
 
 " Coffee ought to be hot," he said several times, and 
 made a queer noise which sounded like the rattling of 
 knives and forks against china. 
 
 After luncheon while Mrs. Melchin and Aunt Maria 
 were looking at a new set of china Margie went close 
 up to the bird's cage and said, " Nero ! " 
 
 " Well, well," said the bird turning its head on one 
 side and looking at her with its bead-like eyes. 
 
 This made Margie laugh, and, forgetting that Mrs. 
 Melchin had said that "Nero" did not like people 
 very near him, she went close to his cage and said, 
 " Nero want his luncheon ? " 
 
 " No coffee," said " Nero," and Margie laughed with 
 delight, and putting her hand between the bars of his 
 cage tried to smooth his soft plumage. 
 
 In an instant the bird had made a snap at her hand, 
 and although Margie drew it out quickly the parrot had 
 made an ugly nip at the soft flesh and Margie screamed 
 with pain. 
 
 Aunt Maria and Mrs. Melchin hurried to her side, 
 and Aunt Maria wrapped her handkerchief around the 
 wounded hand, and they all hurried up-stairs, where 
 the wound was carefully bathed and bandaged.
 
 Marjories Way \ 13 
 
 Neither Mrs. Melchin nor Aunt Maria said a word of 
 blame to the little girl, but comforted her as best they 
 could. 
 
 Mrs. Melchin asked Aunt Maria if she remembered 
 the doll trunk. 
 
 " Indeed I do," said Aunt Maria. " I was hoping 
 you would remember it," continued Aunt Maria, " for 
 I really think it would make me young again to see 
 those dolls." 
 
 " Why, you are nothing but a girl now," said Mrs. 
 Melchin. 
 
 Mrs. Melchin sent for Billings and told him to bring 
 down the trunk which stood in a closet in the blue 
 room, and in a few moments he came back with a 
 high, narrow trunk. He lifted the lid and took out a 
 tray. In this tray was a doll dressed like a Chinese 
 lady, another dressed like a Norwegian peasant, and a 
 doll in a Holland costume. As Mrs. Melchin lifted 
 each doll from its place she told Margie what country 
 it came from. There were ten dolls in all, and in 
 looking at them Margie forgot all about the hurt 
 hand. Aunt Maria seemed to enjoy them as much as 
 Margie did. 
 
 The afternoon passed so quickly that when Aunt 
 Maria said that it was nearly five o'clock, and that
 
 ii4 Marjories Way 
 
 they must start for home, Margie could hardly realize 
 that the da} 7 was gone. She told Mrs. Melchin that 
 she had had a lovely time. 
 
 " All but * Nero's ' bite," said Mrs. Melchin. 
 
 " But you told me he did not like to have people 
 touch him," said Margie. " I guess it was my fault." 
 
 " And will you come again ? " asked Mrs. Melchin. 
 
 " Oh, yes, indeed," said Margie. 
 
 As they went down the hill Margie said, 
 
 " Oh, Aunt Maria, didn't we have the nicest time ! 
 When will we go again ? " 
 
 " "Why, we will go again just as soon as Mrs. Melchin 
 asks us ! " said Aunt Maria, with a little laugh.
 
 CHAPTEK XII 
 
 LUKE'8 LUCK 
 
 GRANDMA SAVOBY arrived at the plantation the 
 last week in August. Beside her trunk she brought a 
 good-sized bundle, and when it was taken out of the 
 carriage she said to Betty, who was dancing about 
 on the porch, " There is our surprise, my dear. Two 
 of everything except shoes and stockings." 
 
 Betty had thought of various plans to prepare Luke 
 for his good fortune, but none of her plans seemed 
 just the thing. Her grandmother finally suggested 
 that Betty ask Luke to come up to the house the next 
 afternoon. 
 
 "I will tell him about the Clay boys and their 
 dogs," she said, " and then I can bring it about some 
 way." 
 
 " You mean the Clay boys' Sam Barnard ? " ques- 
 tioned Betty jumping up and down beside her grand- 
 ma's chair. 
 
 " Oh, yes, their Saint Bernard, old Hero, and the 
 two new dogs that you haven't seen. They are twin 
 dogs just as the boys are twins. A pedlar had them 
 
 "5
 
 n6 Marjories 
 
 on his wagon, and when the boys saw them they made 
 a bargain, and got the two for five dollars. The boys 
 think everything of them and old Hero seems to like 
 their company." 
 
 So it was decided that Betty should go over to Mrs. 
 Philips' about the time Luke came for his lesson and 
 ask him to go home with her and hear about the Clay 
 boys' dogs. She found him on the porch with Mrs. 
 Philips. Luke had just received Margie's letter telling 
 about the punk, and was discussing it with Mrs. Philips. 
 
 "I believe I know just where to get a lot of it; 
 down around those old cedar stumps at the edge of 
 the swamp. It'll save lots of matches, won't it, for I 
 can keep the punk just smoldering, same as Margie 
 writes about, and then whenever we want to light a 
 fire we can blow it up into a blaze." 
 
 Just as he finished Betty came dancing up the path. 
 " My grandma has come," said Betty, and a look of 
 understanding passed between her and Mrs. Philips, 
 "and she says the Clay boys have two new dogs, 
 twins ; they bought them of a pedlar." 
 
 Luke folded up Margie's letter. 
 
 " "When did they buy the dogs ? " he asked anx- 
 iously. 
 
 " Oh, about two months ago," said Betty.
 
 Marjories tf^ay 117 
 
 "I'll bet it's Spot and Stripe," exclaimed Luke. 
 "Did your grandma say what kind of dogs they 
 were ? " 
 
 " No," said Betty ; " but if you come home with me 
 she will tell you all about them." 
 
 Luke looked at Mrs. Philips for permission, as his 
 lessons had just begun. 
 
 " "Why, yes," she said in response to his look, " I 
 think you can miss to-day's lesson, and study a little 
 longer at home." 
 
 " Yes, ma'am, I will," said Luke. " It seems as if I 
 must find out if the Clay boys have bought my 
 dogs. Oh, I hope they have, for Betty says they like 
 dogs." 
 
 " Yes, just the same as you do, Luke," answered 
 Betty ; and the two hurried away along the path by 
 the cotton-field toward the Savory plantation. 
 
 " I never thought about Spot and Stripe," said Betty 
 eagerly; "but buying them of a pedlar looks that 
 way." In fact Betty had almost forgotten her " sur- 
 prise " for Luke in this possible discovery. Grandma 
 was waiting for them in the cool sitting-room, and on 
 the little round table beside her stood a glass pitcher 
 filled with lemonade, and beside it three glasses. 
 
 " flow do you do, Luke ? " she said pleasantly, and
 
 ii8 Marjorie 
 
 she noticed approvingly the boy's clear eyes and polite 
 bow. Both the children were very warm, and when 
 grandma gave them each a glass of lemonade they 
 thought nothing had ever tasted so good. 
 
 " I came to ask about the Clay boys' dogs," said 
 Luke. "Are they brown setter dogs with white 
 spots ? " 
 
 " Why, yes," responded Mrs. Savory, " I believe they 
 are." 
 
 " And do you know if the man they bought them 
 of had a black beard, and long teeth, and a big nose, 
 and two skinny old horses ? " 
 
 Mrs. Savory laughed a little at Luke's description. 
 
 " No, I don't know how he looked, but the boys 
 said he was a foreigner and that his horses looked 
 tired and half fed ; I know George Clay said he would 
 liked to have bought the horses also." 
 
 Luke settled back in his chair and smiled a little. 
 " I believe those were my dogs," he said, and then 
 Grandma Savory listened to the story of Spot and 
 Stripe, and heard also about Buff, who had gone to 
 Massachusetts with Margie. 
 
 " Do you feel as if the dogs belonged to you now, 
 Luke ? " she asked, when he, with Betty's assistance, 
 had finished the story.
 
 Marjories IF ay 119 
 
 " No, ma'am," said Luke slowly, " I don't know as 
 I do, now that I know they have a good home and 
 that the Clay boys own them. If the old pedlar had 
 kept them, or sold them where they were abused, I 
 should have tried to get them back ; but I guess the 
 Clay boys can do a sight more for them than I 
 could." 
 
 Grandma took off her glasses and rubbed them 
 briskly, and then looked at Luke more kindly than 
 ever. 
 
 " I don't know how the Clay boys will feel," she 
 said. " You know they are real Southern boys, Luke, 
 just as you are, and if they felt the dogs were yours, 
 they would want to pay you for them. The Clay boys 
 don't have very much money, either. The five dollars 
 they paid the pedlar, I happen to know, took all the 
 spending money they will have for three months," and 
 grandma sighed a little as if she was very sorry for the 
 Clay boys. 
 
 " Well, then they mustn't know a thing about it," 
 said Luke. " They didn't know the dogs were stolen, 
 and they needn't know. You see the man did throw 
 me a dollar my dad has it now and so perhaps I 
 haven't any right to them anyway." 
 
 But grandma still looked doubtful.
 
 120 Marjories Way 
 
 " Let me see," she said, " if I can't think of some 
 way out of it. I think that you and George Clay are 
 just about of a height ; he is a stouter boy than you 
 are." 
 
 " Yes'm," said Luke, wondering what this had to do 
 with Spot and Stripe. 
 
 " Now it happens," continued grandma, " that Mrs. 
 Clay has given me two suits of clothes that are a tight 
 fit for the twins, and I brought them down here. 
 Now suppose you take these clothes in pay for the 
 dogs. Then you will feel satisfied, and then if the 
 twins ever know about Spot and Stripe they will feel 
 that they really belong to them." And grandma again 
 took off her glasses, and waited. 
 
 Luke did not answer for a moment. Two suits of 
 clothes, he thought had ever such good fortune come 
 to a boy who had already earned fifty cents just by 
 whittling out wooden dogs ! With two suits of clothes 
 he could not only go to school, but, remembering Mrs. 
 Philips' kindly encouragement, why could he not be- 
 gin to try to be a carpenter, or an artist, as Margie had 
 always wanted him to be ? 
 
 It was so long before Luke answered that grandma 
 and Betty began to be a little anxious, and Betty's 
 yellow braid danced from one shoulder to the other
 
 Marjories If^ay 121 
 
 as she kept turning her head first toward grandma, 
 and then toward Luke. 
 
 When he did answer, his voice seemed to choke a 
 little and all he said was, " Yes, ma'am." 
 
 " Of course," responded Grandma Savory. " Now 
 you and the Clay boys will be square whatever hap- 
 pens. Betty, do you think you could bring down 
 that bundle on top of my trunk? Luke might like 
 to take the things now." 
 
 " Oh, yes indeed," said Betty, and she skipped out 
 of the room. 
 
 " Do you know what the Clay boys call the dogs ? " 
 asked Luke. 
 
 At this grandma sighed in relief; she felt that 
 " Betty's surprise " was a real success. 
 
 "I don't think the names they have as suitable as 
 those you gave them," she answered. " One dog they 
 have named ' Tramp,' and the other ' Boots.' " 
 
 " Oh, dear," said Luke, moving uneasily in his chair. 
 " I don't see how they could, when the puppies were 
 so silky and pretty." 
 
 "I don't either," agreed grandma heartily; "and 
 now that the dogs are really and properly paid for 
 why can't I tell the twins all about it ? About you,
 
 122 
 
 Marjories 
 
 I mean, and have them call the dogs 'Spot' and 
 Stripe,' again ? " 
 
 "Why, I should like to have you," said Luke 
 soberly, picking up the bundle Betty had brought in. 
 He stood a moment looking down at his bare feet, and 
 then turning toward Grandma Savory he said, with 
 his freckled cheeks flushing, " You think the dogs are 
 worth it ? " 
 
 " Indeed, I do," she responded ; and with a little 
 bob of his head, Luke said, " Good-bye," and started 
 for home. 
 
 When he got about half-way through the pine 
 woods, near where he had once sat making leather 
 collars for Spot and Stripe, he put down his bundle 
 and proceeded to unwrap it. He took out a neat suit 
 of gray cloth ; with it was a cap of the same material. 
 Under this lay neatly folded a suit of dark-blue serge. 
 Two striped linen shirts were at the bottom of the 
 bundle and several white linen collars, and a blue 
 necktie. Luke gazed at these treasures in admiration. 
 As he sat looking at them he recalled his one term of 
 school, and his own humiliation at his ragged shirt 
 and trousers and bare feet. He remembered the 
 silver dollar and his fifty cents now with satisfaction. 
 " It will help buy shoes and stockings," he thought :
 
 Marjories ff^ay 123 
 
 " and with these clothes of course I can't go barefoot. 
 I must get some work so as to earn another dollar," 
 and he looked again at his new possessions. As he 
 looked a few tears crept down his cheeks, but he 
 brushed them quickly away. " I s'pose it's because I 
 never had nothing before that I feel so choked up and 
 funny," he said to himself, as he tied up the bundle 
 and started for home. 
 
 " I'll bet I can learn right fast in these clothes," he 
 thought, a little smile coming about his mouth. "I 
 guess Margie would be real pleased to see these 
 clothes. I wonder what carpenters learn first? I 
 must ask dad."
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 SALUDA SWAMP 
 
 WHEN Luke received Margie's letter telling of her 
 wonderful visit to Mrs. Melchin, and about the carved 
 elephants, and tiny figures of men and birds, he re- 
 solved that he would try to make some tiny wooden 
 birds for Mrs. Philips. "I guess she won't keep 
 them in glass cases," he thought, " but perhaps she'd 
 like to have them ; " and the boy began to pass many 
 quiet hours closely observing the mocking-birds, which 
 came in flocks to the woods near the swamp, and he 
 watched anxiously for a sight of the redbird ; as he 
 wanted the birds he made to be as nearly like the real 
 birds as possible. 
 
 Saluda Swamp was considered a very dangerous 
 place. There were small hummocks of long grass, 
 old stumps half-hidden by the water, and here and 
 there smooth stretches of brown earth that looked 
 like solid ground but which were really dangerous 
 quicksands. Now and then cattle that had escaped 
 
 from their pasture had wandered into this swamp and 
 
 124
 
 Marjories ff^ay 125 
 
 had been swallowed up, and children were always 
 cautioned to keep away from this spot. 
 
 It was a favorite place with the birds. The red- 
 birds nested in some of the dead trees that bent over 
 one side of the swamp, and Luke knew that here he 
 could watch them ; and one afternoon he resolved to 
 go very near the swamp and see if he could not get 
 near enough to one of these birds so that he could be 
 sure of the shape of its wings, and of its manner of 
 perching upon a bough. 
 
 He had not told his father where he was going, as 
 he expected to be at home long before supper-time. 
 Near the edge of the swamp were a number of pine 
 stumps, half hidden by the tall grass, and on one of 
 these Luke sat down and looked around for his red- 
 bird. As he looked he noticed on a stump a short 
 distance from him a brown growth which he imme- 
 diately decided must be punk, and he resolved to 
 secure it. Between the place where he sat and the 
 stump where the punk grew was a stretch of the 
 smooth brown earth. Luke knew what it was very 
 well, but was sure that he could easily jump from one 
 stump to another. 
 
 When he sprang across his jump carried him a little 
 too far, and he landed in the water on the further side
 
 126 Marjories ff^ay 
 
 of the punk stump. But as he was barefoot and his 
 trousers were rolled up above his knees, he did not 
 much care, and crawled up to the big roots and ex- 
 amined what he had thought to be punk. But it 
 proved entirely different from the bit Margie had sent 
 him, and Luke sat down on the stump and began to 
 think more about getting punk than he did about 
 watching for birds. lie looked closely at the stumps 
 near at hand, but could not see any trace of punk. 
 Further out in the swamp, surrounded by several 
 hummocks of tall grass, was a little group of dead 
 trees, and Luke felt sure that on these he would find 
 punk. 
 
 But how was he to get to them ? Between the 
 stump where he sat and the hummocks of grass were 
 several stretches of water. This water looked shallow 
 and easy to wade across, but Luke knew that its looks 
 were deceptive, and that it would be dangerous for 
 him to attempt to wade. There were stumps half 
 covered by water, and Luke thought that by jumping 
 from one stump to another he could reach the bunch 
 of dead trees safely. 
 
 " I'm sure there's punk on those trees," thought the 
 boy, " and I could get a lot and put it inside my shirt. 
 I guess I ought to be smart enough to make a jump
 
 Marjories If^ay 127 
 
 like that," and he stood up on his stump and looked 
 hopefully toward one about five feet distant, and 
 nearly covered with water. 
 
 Luke made the jump successfully, but the rotten 
 wood crumbled a little as the boy came solidly down 
 on it. Whenever he moved his feet it crumbled more; 
 and, with only a moment's pause, he jumped again, 
 landing this time on a ragged stump whose sharp 
 splinters hurt his bare feet. But he found comfort- 
 able standing room and looked ahead. 
 
 Two more jumps and he could reach the bunch of 
 trees. They were both longer jumps than those he 
 had taken, but Luke felt that he must go ahead. He 
 chuckled a little to himself to think that he had ever 
 been afraid of the swamp. 
 
 " It would be easy enough to go across," he said. 
 " I'll be half way when I get to the dead trees." But 
 now it was the brown treacherous earth instead of 
 water over which he must jump. Again he drew his 
 feet together and sprang forward, and this time he 
 came a little short of the mark. His feet struck in 
 the soft earth, but his hands caught the top of the 
 stump and he pulled himself quickly up. 
 
 " Gee ! " he said, looking back, " that's worse than 
 water." For the earth had seemed to grasp at his
 
 128 Marjorie 
 
 feet and legs as if to pull him down, and it had taken 
 all his strength to pull himself up on to the stump. 
 
 " One more now," and again the boy sprang for- 
 ward, this time for one of the solid-looking grass 
 hummocks near the dead trees. 
 
 As his feet touched it he felt the hummock sink be- 
 neath him. In a moment the grass was partly covered 
 by water ; Luke heard a gurgling sound, and felt the 
 water about his ankles. If he could only get to the 
 next hummock he would be within reach of the trees. 
 With a desperate effort he pulled out one foot and set 
 it on the next hummock and drew the other after him. 
 But this hummock began to sink just as the boy 
 grasped at a dead branch which bent toward him. 
 
 He felt it bend and crack, but fortunately it did not 
 break, and Luke was able to pull himself to a secure 
 footing on the roots of the dead trees. 
 
 " G.ee," said the boy again. Even yet he did not 
 realize his dangerous position and began to look about 
 him for punk. Sure enough, here was an abundance 
 of it, and Luke wished that Ferdinand Webb could see 
 how plenty punk was about Margie's old home, and 
 how easy to get. 
 
 After he had secured as much as he could carry in- 
 side his cotton shirt, he began to remember about the
 
 Marjories If^ay 1 29 
 
 redbirds. One or two had flitted by him, and now, 
 as he sat down on the big root of an old tree and 
 leaned back against the half-decayed trunk, he saw 
 one light almost within his reach. 
 
 The bird tilted its pretty head as if wondering 
 what Luke was ; but the boy kept very still, and the 
 bird evidently decided that he was a part of the tree, 
 and so did not fly away, but sent its musical notes 
 out upon the quiet air. 
 
 After watching the bird until it flew away, Luke 
 began to think of getting back to solid ground. As 
 yet he had not felt frightened, but now as he looked 
 at the grass hummocks and realized that this time he 
 must make a jump of at least twelve feet in order to 
 reach the first stump, he knew that he was in a 
 dangerous position. 
 
 " I guess it's pretty near supper-time," he thought 
 with a little feeling of homesickness. " I s'pose dad 
 will think I'm at Betty's and won't look for me." 
 And remembering this Luke began to get frightened. 
 He could not get back to solid land without help. 
 The swamp was nearly a mile from his father's house, 
 and even when Mr. Sanders missed his son he would 
 not think of coming to the swamp in search of him. 
 Luke remembered now how many times his father
 
 130 Marjories VFay 
 
 had warned him about the dangers of Saluda 
 Swamp. 
 
 " I guess I'd better holler," thought Luke, and as 
 he called the echo sent his voice back in so many 
 different notes that it sounded as if a score of voices 
 were calling " help " from every side of the swamp. 
 
 The echoes died away, and the frightened boy 
 began to remember all the trouble Saluda Swamp had 
 caused. There was the spotted calf of Mr. Savory's 
 which had strayed into the quicksands right near the 
 shore, and had been swallowed up. And a cow be- 
 longing to Mr. Philips had started out to cross the 
 swamp and, right beyond this very bunch of trees, 
 had sunk out of sight before she could be rescued. 
 
 " But I'll bet dad could get me ashore if he only 
 knew where I was," said Luke, and standing up with 
 his arm clasping the dead tree he called again. 
 
 " Pointer" and " Jones " had wandered aimlessly 
 about that afternoon. Luke had apparently not 
 cared for their company when he started off, but 
 the afternoon seemed long and the two dogs de- 
 cided that they would look up their young master. 
 It did not take them long to get on his trail through 
 the woods to the swamp and just as Luke's second 
 call came echoing back to him the boy was cheered
 
 Marjories W^ay 131 
 
 by the answering barks of " Jones " and " Pointer," 
 and could see them standing on the shore. Evidently 
 they were afraid to venture out to him, and Luke was 
 afraid to call them. But after a few minutes' running 
 up and down the shore " Pointer " seemed to realize 
 that Luke was in trouble, and came leaping toward 
 him. From stump to stump the. dog bounded lightly 
 and surely, and landed on the big roots beside 
 Luke. 
 
 " Jones " remained on the shore for a few minutes, 
 and then disappeared in the woods. Luke tried to 
 send "Pointer" back to shore, but the dog would 
 not go. The boy tore a piece from the sleeve of his 
 ragged shirt, and tied it to the leather strap around 
 " Pointer's " neck. 
 
 " Go home, sir," he said, hoping that in some way 
 his father would understand that he was in trouble, 
 and that " Pointer " would bring Mr. Sanders back to 
 the swamp. But " Pointer " would not budge, and 
 Luke began to watch the sky again, and wonder how 
 long before night would come. 
 
 Mr. Sanders had come home for his supper, but 
 neither Luke nor the dogs were at home. So he sat 
 down on the door-step to wait for them. "While he 
 sat there " Jones " came running toward the house,
 
 132 Marjories Way 
 
 and seeing Mr. Sanders on the steps the dog stopped 
 short and settled comfortably down beside him. 
 
 " Looks as if you'd been down to that pesky 
 swamp, ' Jones,' " said Mr. Sanders, noticing the 
 swamp mud on the dog's legs. 
 
 " Where's old ' Pointer ' ? " he continued ; " have 
 you got old Pointer into some scrape and come off 
 and left him ? I b'lieve you have. You act sneak- 
 ing," said Mr. Sanders, rising slowly. "Well, I'm 
 all tired out, but I guess ' Pointer ' is worth looking 
 up. Find him ! " he concluded, and " Jones " reluc- 
 tantly started back toward the woods with Mr. 
 Sanders leisurely following him. He had not gone 
 very far before Luke's call for help came to his ears, 
 and with a word to the dog he began to run toward 
 the swamp. 
 
 "That pesky swamp," he said under his breath; 
 " but Luke knows about it. I suppose old ' Pointer ' 
 has got into the quicksands and the boy can't get 
 him out." 
 
 It did not take Mr. Sanders very long to reach the 
 swamp and to realize Luke's danger. 
 
 " Don't you try to come out here, dad," called 
 Luke. " You just step back to the pasture fence 
 and bring the top rail and I'll tell you what to do."
 
 Marjories IF' ay 133 
 
 Mr. Sanders promptly obeyed, and with great 
 caution got the rail within Luke's reach. It did not 
 take the boy long to fix one end of it firmly on the 
 roots, and the other on a solid stump, and then make 
 his way to shore, followed by " Pointer." 
 
 " Haven't I ever told you to keep clear of that 
 swamp ? " asked Mr. Sanders, as Luke sprang on to 
 solid ground by his father's side. 
 
 " Yes, dad," said Luke, reaching up and clasping his 
 father's arm. 
 
 " Well, you ought not to have gone way out there, 
 even if ' Pointer ' couldn't get ashore," said Mr. 
 Sanders, more mildly. 
 
 " I didn't go out after ' Pointer,' dad ; he came out 
 after me. I went after punk. The stuff Margie 
 wrote about. I got a lot of it." 
 
 " Luke," said Mr. Sanders, and his voice trembled 
 a little, " do you know enough now to keep away 
 from the swamp ? Wa'n't you scared ? " 
 
 " Yes, dad," replied the boy. " I guess I shall keep 
 away after this." 
 
 As the father and son came in sight of home Luke 
 leaned a little heavily against his father and Mr. 
 Sanders put his arm about him.
 
 134 Marjories Way 
 
 " I'll see to supper right away," he said, as Luke sat 
 down on the step. The dogs sat down close to Luke. 
 " Those are first-rate dogs, Luke," said Mr. Sanders. 
 " Yes, dad," said Luke.
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 A PIECE OF PUNK 
 
 WHEN the time came for Betty to start for Colum- 
 bia with her grandma she felt very dull and almost 
 homesick, even at the thought of going so far away. 
 Her mother and father reminded her of how brave 
 Marjorie had been, and Luke presented her with a 
 wooden box which he had made himself, with 
 " BETTY " carved on the lid, but even this proved of 
 small comfort. At last her grandmother asked her if 
 she would not like to have Luke ride in to Columbia 
 with them. 
 
 " He could make the acquaintance of the Clay 
 boys, and would be company for your father on the 
 drive home," she said. 
 
 " Oh, yes," Betty agreed eagerly. So Luke was in- 
 vited to go to Columbia for a day's visit, and on the 
 morning decided upon he presented himself at the 
 Savory plantation all ready to start. He had on the 
 gray suit and cap, his father had purchased him some 
 stout shoes, and Luke looked and felt, as he expressed 
 it, " like folks." 
 
 135
 
 136 Marjories 
 
 It seemed a very wonderful thing to him that he 
 should really be going to Columbia. When they 
 drove by Mr. Sanders' shop Luke looked eagerly for 
 a sight of his father. Mr. Sanders was standing in 
 the door, and waved his hand as the carriage passed, 
 and Luke and Betty waved in return. 
 
 The drive was very pleasant. Most of the way the 
 road was shaded by big trees and from the occasional 
 hilltops they had glimpses of the river ; here and there 
 were fields of cotton, and negroes gathering the fleecy 
 crop. Grandma pointed out different plantations 
 where she had visited as a girl, and Mr. Savory 
 showed Luke where a body of Northern troops had 
 once camped. After a drive of two hours they were 
 nearly in sight of the city, and as they drove by the 
 great cotton mills Luke looked at them in wonder. 
 When they turned into the street leading by the State 
 House Mr. Savory drove slowly that Luke might have 
 a good look at the building. Grandma Savory leaned 
 out and looked at it too. 
 
 " I could wish that the grounds were more neatly 
 kept," she said. But to Luke everything was new and 
 wonderful. Betty had often visited Columbia, and 
 now felt very proud to be able to tell Luke the names 
 of the streets, and of some of the public buildings.
 
 Marjories Way 137 
 
 Luke sat up very straight, and while he looked and 
 admired he was thinking of the dollar and a half 
 which was safe in his pocket and with which he had 
 determined to buy a present for Mrs. Philips. 
 
 " Do you suppose Ashley is anything like this ? " he 
 said, turning to Betty. 
 
 " No, indeed," said Betty. " "Why, Luke, this is a 
 city, the capital of South Carolina, and Ashley is just 
 a little Massachusetts village." 
 
 " Margie thinks Ashley is a right fine place," con- 
 tinued Luke. 
 
 " Well," explained Betty, " that is because her Aunt 
 Maria lives there." 
 
 Luke thought that might be the reason, and turned 
 his admiring eyes toward Grandma Savory's house 
 which Betty pointed out. 
 
 It was of red brick, and was approached by a drive- 
 way of smooth gravel. "When the carriage stopped 
 the big front door opened, and an old negro man stood 
 bowing and smiling. 
 
 " "Well, Washington, here I am home again. And 
 here is Miss Betty, and her father, and Master Luke 
 Sanders come to visit us." 
 
 " 'Deed, ahse right glad yo'se got home, missy," said 
 the old man, bowing and smiling at each of the
 
 138 Marjories 
 
 guests. "Ah'll just take the bosses to tke stable. 
 Aunt Cassy'll be pleased to bave company," be added, 
 and as be spoke Aunt Gassy appeared. Sbe wore a 
 turban, after tbe manner of old Soutbern mammies, 
 and a neat blue gingbam gown witb a big wbite apron. 
 Sbe smiled radiantly upon ber mistress, and patted 
 Betty on tbe sboulder. 
 
 " Bress de Lawd, we'se gwine to have young folks 
 'bout again," she said. " Ain't had no young folks 
 since you lef home, Massa Philip," she added, nodding 
 to Mr. Savory. 
 
 " That's where the Clay boys live," said Betty, 
 pointing across the smooth green lawn to a house very 
 much like Grandma Savory's. " I wonder if grandma 
 won't let us go over. I'll go and see." 
 
 But grandma said that they had better wait until 
 after luncheon ; then she would go over witb them. 
 As it would be an hour before lunch time Mr. Savory 
 said he would take Luke and Betty for a walk. 
 
 " Shall we go near stores ? " asked Luke, as they 
 started out. 
 
 " Why, yes," said Mr. Savory ; " have you an errand 
 to do?" 
 
 " I wanted to buy Mrs. Philips a present," explained 
 Luke. " It's money that boy in Ashley paid me for
 
 Marjories ff^ay 139 
 
 whittling out two dogs, and the dollar the man threw 
 me for Spot and Stripe. It's a dollar and a half. I 
 ought to get something nice for that, hadn't I ? " he 
 asked. 
 
 Mr. Savory looked thoughtful. "What did you 
 want to buy ? " he asked. 
 
 Luke looked a little embarrassed. " I thought I 
 would buy her a white dress," he said. " I heard her 
 say she wished she had a white dress." 
 
 Mr. Savory nodded understandingly, and in a few 
 minutes they entered a large store, where Mr. Savory 
 asked to see white dress materials. After some con- 
 sultation with the clerk as to the number of yards 
 needed, Luke selected a white dimity, and when he 
 had paid for ten yards, which the clerk assured him 
 was an ample pattern, he had twenty-five cents left. 
 He took the neat parcel and carried it very carefully. 
 
 "When they returned from their walk Grandma 
 Savory was sitting on the piazza, and near her stood 
 two boys so exactly alike that Luke knew they must 
 be the twins ; and playing in front of the house were 
 two brown setter dogs. 
 
 " Spot, Spot," called Luke, and instantly one of the 
 dogs ran toward him, while the other followed with 
 yelps of recognition.
 
 140 Marjories 
 
 Grandma had evidently explained the whole affair 
 to the twins, and the three boys soon became friendly. 
 Luke told the Clay boys about his adventure in the 
 swamp after the punk the day before. He had a piece 
 in his pocket, which the boys examined with much in- 
 terest. Mr. Savory looked at it also. 
 
 " Kather bad stuff to leave near a cotton gin," he 
 said, with a little laugh. " Where did you leave yours, 
 Luke?" 
 
 " Oh, mine is all right, sir," responded the boy. " It 
 is smoldering, but I left it all covered up and in a safe 
 place in the shed." 
 
 Mr. Savory knew that Luke was not a careless boy, 
 and gave the matter no further thought. The Clay 
 boys did not seem to notice that Luke wore an old suit 
 of George's. In fact Grandma Savory had spoken to 
 them as if she thought it rather generous of Luke to 
 let them keep the puppies, and the twins thought their 
 new friend was a fine sort of boy. 
 
 When the time came for Mr. Savory and Luke to 
 start for home Betty bade them good-bye quite cheer- 
 fully. " I shall have as much to write about as 
 Margie has," she called after them. 
 
 Luke was very quiet on the drive home. He was 
 thinking about the white dress he had purchased
 
 Marjories Jf^ay 141 
 
 for Mrs. Philips, and wondering if she would like 
 it. 
 
 As they came near the Philips plantation Mr. 
 Savory noticed srnoke rising above the tree-tops. 
 " What's that, Luke ? " he exclaimed in a startled 
 tone, pointing with his whip toward the smoke and 
 urging his horses into a faster pace. 
 
 Luke leaned forward and looked anxiously toward 
 the slow-rising smoke. 
 
 The horses were now set into a run, and in a few 
 moments they were in sight of the blacksmith-shop, 
 and Luke called out in dismay, "Oh, our house is 
 burning up, it's burning up ! " 
 
 He would have sprung from the carriage, but a word 
 from Mr. Savory prevented him. Mr. Savory drove 
 beyond the blacksmith shop, where the horses would 
 not be frightened by the flames, and he and Luke 
 hurried back to the burning cabin. 
 
 Mr. Sanders was rushing in and out of the little 
 house, bringing out now a table and again a chair or 
 ungainly bundle, and Luke ran forward to help him. 
 
 " Keep away, boy," called Mr. Sanders. " Every- 
 thing's out and you'll only get burned. The cabin's 
 got to go ! " Mr. Savory had realized at a glance that 
 the fire had gained too great a headway to save the
 
 142 Marjorie 
 
 house, and he put a restraining hand on the shoulder 
 of the trembling boy. 
 
 In a moment Mr. Sanders, blackened with smoke 
 and with arms and hands that showed how good a 
 fight he had made for his home, came over and sank 
 down on the grass near his son, and Luke slipped to 
 his knees beside him. 
 
 " That punk of yourn, Luke," drawled Mr. Sanders, 
 pulling down a torn shirt sleeve, " is 'bout the best 
 stuff for starting a real good lively fire that you'll find 
 in a month of Sundays." 
 
 "Oh, father, was it the punk? Margie said it 
 would smolder for days." 
 
 " P'raps 'twould, son, if 'twas let alone ; but I took 
 out a little of the stuff to start up the kitchen fire, and 
 then I stepped over to the shop, and I vummy, if, be- 
 fore I could get back, the whole shed wasn't in a blaze." 
 
 " Oh, father, you didn't cover the punk up," said 
 Luke. 
 
 " Maybe I didn't, son," responded Mr. Sanders. 
 
 Tears were streaming down Luke's face, and his 
 father tried to comfort him. 
 
 " Tour clo'es and books and the little wooden im- 
 ages you whittled are all wrapped up in the checked 
 quilt, Luke," he said.
 
 Marjories W^ay 143 
 
 "Kind of hard luck, ain't it?" he continued, turn- 
 ing to Mr. Savory. "It do'os seem as if I couldn't 
 get no kind of a start. Luke and me'll have to camp 
 out for a spell." 
 
 Just then Aunt Cora, followed by Mr. and Mrs. 
 Philips came hurrying down the road, and in a mo- 
 ment a group from the Savory plantation joined them. 
 There were many offers of neighborly hospitality, and 
 Mr. Sanders agreed that he and Luke would go home 
 with Mrs. Philips. Luke had fled to the back of the 
 shop, and was lying flat on his face, regardless of the 
 gray suit, crying bitterly. The only home he had 
 ever known was a smoldering ruin, and he felt that 
 he was to blame. He wished Margie had never writ- 
 ten him about the punk, and above all he wished that 
 he had not gone to Columbia that day. 
 
 While he lay there miserable and unhappy, he felt 
 a hand touch his rough hair and smooth it gently, and 
 he realized that Mrs. Philips was close beside him. 
 He remembered the present he had bought for her, 
 and how happy he had expected to be in her pleasure, 
 and now he knew he could not be happy again. But 
 his sobs ceased, and he waited for his friend to speak. 
 
 " Wasn't it fortunate that the fire did not come in 
 the night, Luke ? " she said. " Now neither you nor
 
 144 Marjories 
 
 your father are hurt, and most of your things are 
 saved; and Mr. Philips has thought of a fine plan 
 for a new home for you and your father. He is 
 telling Mr. Sanders about it now." 
 
 " What is it ? " asked Luke, moving his head so that 
 he could see Mrs. Philips. 
 
 " Well, you know our old carriage-house that stands 
 below the stable ? Mr. Philips says that you and your 
 father can easily make that into a comfortable house, 
 and move your things right in." 
 
 Luke was sitting up by this time and listening 
 eagerly. The carriage-house was a much larger and 
 better building than the little cabin where Luke and 
 his father had lived. 
 
 " We shall be very glad to have you and your father 
 live there," continued Mrs. Philips ; " for we are going 
 to visit Margie and Aunt Maria this fall, and there 
 will be a good deal of work for you and your father 
 to do about the plantation. Now, Luke, we must go 
 and talk to your father." 
 
 Luke got up feeling a little ashamed of his tears, 
 which Mrs. Philips had not seemed to notice. He re- 
 membered the package in Mr. Savory's carriage, and 
 ran to get it, while Mrs. Philips joined the little group 
 near the blacksmith shop. Mr. Sanders was greatly
 
 Marjories W^ay 145 
 
 encouraged by his neighbors' kindness, and when Luke 
 came back with his bundle he found his father talking 
 briskly with Mr. Philips about the changes that would 
 have to be made in the carriage-house. 
 
 The boy stood very close to Mrs. Philips, and when 
 she turned to him with a smile, he smiled back and 
 said, " I bought you a present, Mrs. Philips," and held 
 the package toward her. 
 
 She took it, and said, "Now, what is it, Luke? 
 You must tell me, or I shall have to open it right 
 here." 
 
 Luke smiled again. " It's something you wanted," 
 he said, very low, so that the others would not hear. 
 " It's a white dress."
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 JUST LIKE AUNT MARIA 
 
 FROM a wabbly puppy with long legs Buff had 
 grown into a very well-behaved dog. He had become 
 quite a favorite with Aunt Maria, and often accompan- 
 ied her on her walks about the village. Sometimes 
 he went on excursions to the woods or the river with 
 Ferdinand, and these were the days when he came 
 home wet and muddy ; for Ferdinand would send him 
 into the river after sticks, which Buff thought was 
 great fun. 
 
 One day Margie, Ada, and Adrienne Wilson with 
 her little sister Lucy, had gone for a walk to the river. 
 Buff was with them, and he and little Lucy became 
 friends at once and played together on the river-bank 
 while Ada and Margie and Adrienne gathered ferns 
 and goldenrod. Lucy was only four years old, and 
 she thought the shining water with its reflections of 
 the overhanging trees very pretty and attractive. 
 She would reach out after the branches which seemed 
 to be growing in the water, and laugh delightedly 
 when they seemed to move away from her. The 
 
 older girls meant to take great care of her, and cau- 
 
 146
 
 Marjories Way 147 
 
 tioned her not to go too near the water ; but while 
 Adrienne was arranging a wreath on Margie's head 
 they forgot Lucy for a moment. It was just then 
 that a dancing little branch beckoned Lucy most en- 
 ticingly, and reaching after it she lost her balance and 
 fell into the water ! 
 
 There was a strong current near the shore and in 
 an instant Lucy was carried beyond the reach of the 
 terrified little girls who, hearing her scream of fright, 
 ran down the bank and tried their best to get hold of 
 Lucy's dress. Adrienne waded in after her little 
 sister, greatly to Margie's alarm, who feared both 
 her playmates would be swept away. "Buff, Buff," 
 she screamed, and at her call Buff bounded over the 
 bank into the stream and in a moment had grabbed 
 the little girl by her skirts and was swimming rapidly 
 toward the shore. Adrienne waded back to dry 
 land and she and Margie, the moment Buff landed, 
 grasped the screaming Lucy, and after assuring them- 
 selves that she was really safe, although very wet 
 and frightened they hurried her toward home. 
 Adrienne was nearly in tears when she realized 
 what a narrow escape her little sister had, and 
 Ada and Margie praised Buff and pitied Lucy all 
 the way home.
 
 Marjories Way 
 
 " Mother will want to buy Buff, I know she will," 
 said Adrienne, as they reached the "Wilsons' house. 
 
 " Oh, I couldn't sell him," said Margie. " He was 
 given to me, and I couldn't sell him even if he did 
 save Lucy's life. Could I, Ada ? " 
 
 " Wouldn't you if my mother paid you a lot of 
 money ? " questioned Adrienne, anxiously. " You see 
 if Buff was our dog then we would feel so safe about 
 Lucy," urged Adrienne ; but even this did not impress 
 
 After this Buff became the favorite of the village. 
 People would stop on the street to speak to him, and 
 he was pointed out as the dog that had saved the 
 little "Wilson girl's life. Mr. "Wilson gave him a 
 beautiful collar with " Buff " engraved upon it, and 
 everybody had a good word for the dog. 
 
 That is, everybody except little Lucy "Wilson, who 
 whenever she saw him coming would scream with 
 fright. Some way the little girl connected her fall 
 into the water, the being grabbed and pulled roughly 
 out on shore, with Buff. And although Mrs. "Wilson 
 said that when Lucy was old enough to understand 
 that she would not be afraid but would love Buff 
 dearly, both Margie and Ferdinand felt that it was 
 very ungrateful of Lucy to scream at the sight of
 
 Marjories Jf^ay 149 
 
 her preserver. Margie had asked Ferdinand's advice 
 in regard to selling Buff to the Wilsons. 
 
 " I don't want to sell him because Betty gave him 
 to me," she said, " and because my Aunt Maria really 
 likes him ; but Adrienne says that because he saved 
 Lucy's life they ought to buy him." 
 
 Ferdinand looked very serious for a moment. " I 
 s'pose if I had been there I should have sprung right 
 in and saved Lucy myself, and then do you s'pose my 
 mother would have sold me to the Wilsons ? I guess 
 not!" 
 
 " Of course she wouldn't," agreed Margie eagerly. 
 
 " Well," said Ferdinand, " it's just the same thing." 
 
 "So it is," said Margie. "I think you are awful 
 smart, Ferdinand. I guess you could be an artist when 
 you grow up if you wanted to. Having such a nice 
 name will be a great help to you." 
 
 " It's a good enough name, I s'pose," said Ferdinand, 
 somewhat doubtfully. He secretly scorned his name, 
 and had resolved when he was a man to be called 
 " Webb," as his father was now. 
 
 " What do you want everybody to be artists for ? " 
 he questioned. " I'd rather be a motor-man or an ex- 
 plorer." 
 
 Margie looked at him soberly. " I don't know as
 
 150 Marjories Jf^ay 
 
 I care much about your being an artist," she said ; 
 " and I've about given up Luke being an artist, but 
 it's dreadful hard, when I taught him. to read and ex- 
 pected he would be just like Mr. Arthur Field." 
 
 " Oh, I know Mr. Field ; he walks with a crutch," 
 said Ferdinand. Margie nodded. 
 
 " Luke isn't lame, of course," she said ; " but you 
 don't have to be lame to be an artist." 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Philips were to arrive in Ashley late 
 in October. They wrote of Mr. Field's arrival just 
 after the Sanders' cabin was burned, and said that 
 the artist would come north with them. Marjorie 
 felt that she had a good deal to look forward to, for 
 she was very anxious to see Mr. Field as well as her 
 father and mother. 
 
 She watched Aunt Maria more closely than ever, 
 and Ada frequently encouraged her by telling her 
 that she walked just like her Aunt Maria. "And I 
 think you smile like her, too," she would add hope- 
 fully. 
 
 " Oh, Ada, do you ? Wouldn't it be lovely if when 
 my mother comes she finds me looking 'most exactly 
 like Aunt Maria," exclaimed Margie. 
 
 "Well, of course you couldn't look exactly like 
 her," responded Ada.
 
 Marjories Jf^ay 151 
 
 " Why couldn't I ? I am 'most as tall as she is ; and 
 I have brown eyes, and she has brown eyes ; and my 
 hair is dark brown and so is Aunt Maria's. I don't 
 see why I can't look exactly like her if I try. I guess 
 if I don't 'twill be my own fault, and a dreadful dis- 
 appointment to my mother and father." 
 
 " They prob'ly didn't expect you to look like her so 
 soon," said Ada. " They prob'ly meant when you 
 was older, that it would come more gradually." 
 
 " Then they would be real surprised and pleased if 
 when they come they find I have improved my time 
 and looked like her so much sooner than they ex- 
 pected," urged Margie. " And then they would want 
 me to go right home with them, because that is what 
 they sent me up here for, to grow into a woman just 
 like Aunt Maria." 
 
 " I wouldn't want you to go home," said Ada. 
 
 " Well," responded Margie thoughtfully, " if mother 
 and father would bring Luke and Betty and Aunt 
 Cora, and ' Uncle,' I'd like to stay. Because if I don't 
 see Aunt Maria right along I may forget to be just 
 like her." 
 
 The two little girls were sitting on Miss Wing's front 
 steps. They had their dolls and their work-baskets 
 
 1. / 
 
 and were very busy making new gowns for Rosamund
 
 152 Marjories 
 
 Antoinette, and for Ada's doll, Polly. Near to the 
 little girls sat Sarah Mullins watching them sleep- 
 ily, while Buff lay on the brick walk in the sun- 
 shine. 
 
 The maples were turning red, and the leaves on the 
 elms were yellow, but the neat flower-beds were no 
 longer filled with blossoming plants. The day was 
 warm and bright, and when Margie realized that in 
 just one month more her mother and father would be 
 in Ashley she could hardly keep still long enough to 
 try on Rosamund Antoinette's pink gown. 
 
 Ada had been silent for a moment and then she 
 looked at Margie, and said, " I have thought of two 
 ways, Margie, that you could be ever so much more 
 like your aunt than you are now." 
 
 " Oh, Ada," said Margie eagerly. 
 
 " Yes ; you know your aunt braids her hair in fine 
 braids, and pins it round and round, nice and smooth 
 and flat on the back of her head." 
 
 " Yes, yes, I could do that, couldn't I ? " 
 
 " You haven't any hairpins ! " 
 
 " Well, I can buy some ; that is if they don't cost 
 too much. I have sixty-three cents. Do you suppose 
 hairpins cost more than that, Ada ? " 
 
 " I guess they cost as much as a dollar, because they
 
 Marjories ff^ay 153 
 
 come all done up in little bundles wrapped in red 
 paper," said Ada. 
 
 "What's the other thing you thought of?" ques- 
 tioned Margie anxiously. 
 
 " Your clothes are so different from your aunt's. 
 She most always wears a gray dress or a black dress, 
 you know, and the waist buttons tight, right down 
 the front ; and the skirts are long and seem kind of 
 stiff 'round the bottom, and set out. Then she always 
 has something white round her neck and wrists, and 
 wears that big pink cameo pin with a church on it." 
 
 Marjorie sighed. " I don't suppose Aunt Maria 
 would get me a new gray dress made just like hers." 
 
 Ada giggled. " You'd look awful funny, Margie." 
 
 " No, I shouldn't, Ada. Perhaps some other girl 
 might, but if I was doing it to please my mother and 
 father, not just dressing up for fun, but because they 
 were anxious for me to look just like her ; why, then 
 nobody would think I looked funny ! " 
 
 Ada grew serious instantly. "You find out how 
 much hairpins cost, Margie, and I'll help you do your 
 hair. I know just how Miss "Wing does hers because 
 all my life I've sat in the pew right back of her at 
 church, and her hair is so smooth ! " 
 
 "Let's go right down to Mr. Simpson's store and
 
 1 54 Marjories Way 
 
 ask about hairpins now," said Margie. " We can put 
 Ivosamund and Polly on the front stairs." 
 
 Ada agreed, and the two little girls were soon hur- 
 rying toward the village store with Buff close beside 
 them. Hairpins proved to be cheap. Three cents a 
 bunch for the black wire ones with crinkles in them ! 
 Margie promptly decided to take two bunches. Then 
 back they went to Margie's house, and up-stairs to the 
 little white room, where Ada proceeded to comb and 
 braid Margie's dark hair as smoothly as possible, and 
 to pin it closely about the back of her head. It proved 
 a difficult and somewhat painful undertaking, and 
 Ada's arms were tired and Margie's head sore before 
 any satisfactory results were achieved ; but at last 
 Ada declared that it was "just as much like Miss 
 "Wing's as can be ! " and Margie was allowed to look 
 in the glass. 
 
 " Oh, Ada, it all crinkles about my face, and you 
 know Aunt Maria's is as smooth as smooth can be ! " 
 said Margie reproachfully. 
 
 " It's your hair will curl that way," explained Ada. 
 " It isn't my fault. If you was to get some lard per- 
 haps I could smooth it down more like hers. Are you 
 going to let your aunt see your hair to-night ? " 
 
 " Oh, no," said Margie, beginning to take out the
 
 " Oh, Ada, it all crinkles about my face "
 
 Marjories Way 155 
 
 hairpins. " You see, Ada, I think it would be a nice 
 surprise for Aunt Maria, as well as for my mother and 
 father, if she could see how much I was like her the 
 same time they do. While you were braiding my 
 hair I thought out just how to do it. The day mother 
 and father come Aunt Maria will go to Boston to 
 meet them, and I'll stay home ; then you come over 
 and do my hair, and we'll make it smooth and nice 
 with lard, and I will borrow one of Aunt Maria's 
 dresses and put it on and be all ready before they get 
 here. Then, when they come up the steps I'll open 
 the door!" Margie made an impressive pause for a 
 second, and then said in a lower tone, " And there I 
 will stand before them exactly like my Aunt Maria ! " 
 
 " I guess they will be awful pleased ! " said Ada. 
 
 " Of course they will," agreed Margie. " "Why, that's 
 just what they had me come to Massachusetts for, and 
 they thought it would take two years. I'm real glad 
 you thought about the hair and the dress, Ada ! " 
 
 " Is it to be a truly secret ? " asked Ada. 
 
 c; Oh, yes, till my mother comes ; then, of course, 
 everybody will know it, as I shall do my hair that way 
 and wear long dresses all the time." 
 
 Ada giggled again. "I can't help thinking how 
 funny you'll look," she said apologetically.
 
 156 Marjories 
 
 "I shan't look funny either, Ada; you know my 
 mother expects me to do everything I can to be just 
 like my Aunt Maria ! Anyway, it's a secret ! " 
 
 " Yes, indeed," said Ada.
 
 CHAPTEK XVI 
 MABGIE'S FAIR 
 
 " OH, Ada," exclaimed Margie one morning when 
 the two little girls met on their way to school, " you 
 remember about those little girls we saw in Boston ? " 
 
 Ada nodded. " The ones who went to ride in the 
 swan boat when your Aunt Maria paid for them ? " 
 
 " Yes," said Margie ; " those very ones. And you 
 remember that I told you that their dresses were not 
 clean, and that they were barefooted, and did not wear 
 any hats ? " 
 
 Ada nodded again. 
 
 " "Well, Aunt Maria says there are lots of little girls, 
 and little boys, too, like those, in Boston ; and that 
 when winter comes their hands and feet are cold, and 
 their houses are cold, and that sometimes those little 
 children are hungry." 
 
 "The little girls who went to sail in the swan 
 boat?" 
 
 " Aunt Maria said she shouldn't be s'prised if those 
 very little girls didn't have any warm coats to wear 
 when snow comes ! " 
 
 " "Well," said Ada, " then their fathers will have to
 
 158 Marjories Jf^ay 
 
 buy them some. My father is going to buy me a new 
 coat. I guess it will be a red one." 
 
 " Oh, goody ! " said Margie ; " then you can send 
 your brown one, the one you wore that rainy day, to 
 some poor little girl in the city." 
 
 " Why, Margie Philips, I can't, either. My mother 
 expects me to wear the brown coat all winter to 
 school, and save my new one for Sundays." 
 
 " Oh," said Margie ; " but if I was you I wouldn't 
 have a new one then ; I'd get my father to give me the 
 money and I'd send it to the little girls who can't have 
 even mittens." 
 
 Ada looked at Margie anxiously. "I guess you 
 won't give away your old coat until your aunt buys 
 you another' one," she said. 
 
 " Oh, I haven't any old coat, or any new one, yet ; 
 but Ada, wouldn't it be lovely if we could send some- 
 thing to those little girls ? " 
 
 " I could send my blue sweater, I guess ; it's so small 
 I can't hardly wriggle into it," said Ada thoughtfully. 
 " What could you send ? " 
 
 " Oh, dear ! " said Margie. " I haven't any outgrown 
 things, and my clothes are all summer clothes ; but I 
 know how we could earn some money to buy things 
 with."
 
 Marjories W^ay 159 
 
 " How ? " asked Ada eagerly ; but they were at the 
 schoolhouse door and there was no opportunity for 
 Margie to explain her plan. Ada could not think of 
 anything else until recess time, and as soon as they 
 were out of doors she said : " Oh, Margie, what is the 
 plan?" 
 
 " Well," said Margie, " I didn't think it up all my 
 own self ; Aunt Maria thought of it first. She knows 
 where some children live in Boston in little narrow 
 places, where there's not a yard to play in, or any- 
 thing. And when winter comes " 
 
 " But what is the plan ? " interrupted Ada. 
 
 " Why ! I was just telling you," responded Margie 
 reproachfully. 
 
 " No, you haven't said a word about any plan ; you 
 are just telling where children live without a yard." 
 
 "Why, Ada Streeter " 
 
 But their conversation was interrupted by Adrienne 
 Wilson, who came running up to tell them that her 
 father had bought a yellow puppy, which looked almost 
 exactly like Buff. 
 
 " Were you talking secrets ? " asked Adrienne. 
 
 " No," said Margie, " not exactly secrets, because I 
 was going to tell you about it after school." 
 
 " It's about little girls in Boston," volunteered Ada,
 
 160 Marjories Way 
 
 and just then the bell rang, and they had to go back 
 to the schoolroom, and now Adrienne was as curious 
 as Ada to hear what Margie had to tell, and as soon 
 as school closed they began asking her questions, and 
 this time Margie told her plan. 
 
 " We can have a fair, and make things to sell, pin- 
 cushions and dusters, and pen- wipers, and everybody 
 will come and buy; and we can have an entertain- 
 ment, too, and charge ten cents admission ; and then 
 we'll get money enough to get a lot of shoes and 
 things for those little girls," said Margie. 
 
 " But where can we have the fair and the entertain- 
 ment ? " questioned Ada. 
 
 "We could borrow the schoolhouse," suggested 
 Adrienne, " if we had it Saturday." 
 
 " So we could ! " agreed Margie ; " and we'd have to 
 have it Saturday." 
 
 " What kind of an entertainment would we have ? " 
 asked Ada ; " would we speak pieces ? " 
 
 Margie shook her head. " Tableaux," she said. 
 
 The other little girls looked at each other and then 
 at Margie. 
 
 "Tableaux," said Margie, "are pictures, with real 
 people in them. Aunt Maria told me ; and then peo- 
 ple guess what you are trying to be. Or, sometimes,
 
 Marjories Way 161 
 
 somebody says * This is Queen Elizabeth,' and a cur- 
 tain goes up, and there is Adrienne with a big ruff of 
 paper around her neck and on her head a big crown 
 made of pasteboard covered with gilt paper so as to 
 look exactly like solid gold." 
 
 " Oh ! " said Adrienne, breathlessly. 
 
 " And what would I be ? " asked Ada. 
 
 " Perhaps you would be Queen of the May, with a 
 wreath on your head, and flowers in your hands." 
 
 " And what would you be, Margie ? " 
 
 " I don't know," said Margie ; " but if we have it 
 we must begin right away to make things, and to get 
 all the girls at school to make things, and to ask their 
 mothers for dresses and shoes to send to those other 
 little girls who go cold winters." 
 
 " "We might get the teacher to help," suggested 
 Ada. 
 
 " Couldn't Lucy be in a tableau ? " asked Adrienne. 
 
 " I guess she could," said Margie. " Now let's tell 
 some of the girls, and Aunt Maria said that we could 
 have a meeting at her house to talk it over." 
 
 Miss Pitts, the teacher, was greatly interested by 
 Margie's plan ; and the next day after school ten little 
 girls about Margie's age met at Miss Wing's. Miss 
 Pitts was with them, and it was decided that the fair
 
 162 Marjories tf^ay 
 
 should be held three weeks later, on Saturday after- 
 noon and evening, in the schoolhouse. 
 
 Miss Pitts thought that they could arrange a num- 
 ber of tableaux. She read Jean Ingelow's " Seven 
 Times One are Seven " to the girls, and they all 
 thought it would be a fine idea to give the poem as a 
 series of tableaux, each little girl repeating the verse 
 which would explain her own tableau. 
 
 Each one was to make some special thing for the 
 fair. Margie was to make dusters, Ada was to make 
 holders, Adrienne was to make bags of calico for 
 scrap-bags, and each of the other girls was given 
 special things to make. 
 
 As soon as the mothers heard of the little girls' un- 
 dertaking they became interested, and numerous par- 
 cels of clothing were sent to Miss Wing's house as 
 gifts for the little girls in the city who did not have 
 warm clothing for winter. When Farmer Wyman 
 heard of the plan, he said that he would give a barrel 
 of apples, potatoes, squash and onions ; other farmers 
 became interested, and before the day of the fair ar- 
 rived there was a freight car standing near the station 
 pretty well filled with farm produce which was to go 
 to Boston to the city missionary, who would see that 
 it was delivered to families where there were little
 
 Marjories If^ay 163 
 
 boys and girls who did not always have enough to 
 eat. 
 
 What a busy time it was ! Every day after school 
 the little girls met and worked industriously for the 
 fair. Margie had written Luke and Betty about it, 
 and Luke sent her a tiny dog cut out of wood, and 
 also a tiny branch with two birds perched upon it, 
 which he had skilfully carved. Every one admired 
 these very much, and Margie felt very proud of Luke. 
 Betty wrote to say that she was learning to knit, and 
 that she could not make anything in time for the fair, 
 but she would knit two pairs of mittens for little girls 
 just her size, and send them later. 
 
 When the day of the fair came the schoolroom was 
 trimmed with branches of fragrant fir and pine, with 
 long strands of evergreen, and bunches of bright ber- 
 ries. Ferdinand and several of his boy friends had 
 gone to the woods after the greenery and had ar- 
 ranged it around the windows and over the doors. 
 
 A number of the desks were covered with pretty 
 things made for the fair, and the ten little girls, with 
 white aprons and tiny white caps, were in attendance. 
 The fair began at two o'clock on Saturday afternoon, 
 and by half-past three everything was sold, much to 
 Margie's delight. Miss Pitts counted up the money
 
 164 Marjories 
 
 and found they had taken over twenty dollars. The 
 entertainment was to be at seven o'clock that evening. 
 The tiny platform in the schoolroom was easily ar- 
 ranged for a stage. The boys were delighted to find 
 they could be of use in putting up the curtains. The 
 back of the platform, filled in with the green branches 
 of spruce and hemlock, made a fine background for 
 the little girls in their light dresses, and the tableaux 
 were a great success. 
 
 Monday the car with its boxes of clothing, its bar- 
 rels of apples and potatoes, started for Boston ; and 
 the same day a letter went to the city missionary, 
 containing a check for thirty dollars to be used to buy 
 clothing for children who needed it. Miss Pitts wrote 
 the letter and told all about the fair, and about the 
 little girls who planned it. Margie and Ada waited 
 anxiously for Miss Pitts to receive an answer to this 
 letter, and it soon came, telling of the warm shoes and 
 stockings the money had purchased, of the neat coats 
 and dresses, and of how much comfort and happiness 
 the carload of apples and potatoes had given to many 
 families. 
 
 " Do you s'pose those little girls who rode in the 
 swan boat got any apples or any shoes ? " asked Ada, 
 as she and Margie talked it all over.
 
 Marjories W^ay 165 
 
 " P'raps so. I shouldn't be a bit surprised if they 
 
 had shoes and stockings, and p'raps a hat," said 
 
 Margie hopefully. 
 " Well," said Ada, " I hope one of those little girls 
 
 got my blue sweater and that the other one got my 
 
 brown coat." 
 
 " Oh, did you send the brown coat, Ada ? " 
 " Yes, and I have the loveliest new red coat." 
 " I guess it was lucky Aunt Maria and I saw those 
 
 little girls last summer," said Margie. 
 
 " Well, the fair was considerable work," replied 
 
 Ada, thoughtfully. " But I guess it was worth while, 
 
 don't you ? "
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 
 LUKE MAKES A NEW FEIEND 
 
 WHEN Mr. Field arrived at the Philips plantation 
 Luke and his father were busy making the necessary 
 alterations in the carriage-house, and the artist often 
 went down and watched them about their work. He 
 was a tall man, with light hair, and as Luke watched 
 him he thought that Mr. Field did not look at all as 
 he had expected. " His hair isn't any darker than 
 mine," he said to his father ; " and he isn't so dreadful 
 lame either; he gets about with that crutch as smart 
 as anybody." 
 
 The more Luke saw of Mr. Field the better he un- 
 derstood why Margie thought it such a fine thing to 
 be an artist, so gentle and lovable he was and so full 
 of information about things Luke had always wanted 
 to know. 
 
 " He's the seeingest man, dad," exclaimed Luke. 
 " He makes you think that all the old things around 
 you are fine ; he's showed me pictures all around here, 
 in the woods, and down on the creek, and everywhere. 
 
 It's just how you look at things, he says, that makes 
 
 1 66
 
 Marjories If^ay 167 
 
 you see pictures in them. And what he don't know 
 about dogs " and Luke paused in silent admira- 
 tion. 
 
 The boy looked over the artist's sketches with glow- 
 ing eyes, and after a time timidly brought out his 
 wooden dogs, in which Mr. Field showed much in- 
 terest. He looked closely also at a drawing of the 
 setter pups that Luke was making to send to Mar- 
 gie. 
 
 " I'm sure she'll like it," he said. " She taught you 
 to read, didn't she ? " he added. 
 
 " Yes, sir, just as her Aunt Maria did you," replied 
 Luke. Mr. Field laughed a little, and then began to 
 talk to Luke about Ashley, and about his own boy- 
 hood. Luke listened, and when he went home that 
 day he was full of new plans and ambitions. 
 
 Mr. Field found that whatever Luke attempted, 
 work, lessons, or play, he became greatly interested in 
 and was patient and persevering. The artist liked to 
 have the boy with him, and a warm friendship grew 
 up between them. 
 
 Mr. Sanders and Mrs. Philips had many talks to- 
 gether, and Mr. Sanders often watched Luke with a 
 new interest. One day the boy noticed that his fa- 
 ther seemed unusually dull and solemn.
 
 168 Marjories 
 
 " What's the matter, dad ? " he asked anxiously. 
 " You feeling sick ? " 
 
 Mr. Sanders shook his head, and endeavored to 
 look more cheerful. "Sick!" he exclaimed. "I 
 guess not, living as well as we do, with Aunt Cora 
 fetchin' us in hot bread every mornin', and me earnin' 
 reg'lar wages, you might say, work bein' so steady. 
 I s'pose I looked sort of lonesome, eh ? " 
 
 " Why, yes," responded Luke slowly 
 
 " Well, I expect I was sort of projectin' into the 
 future when you'd be goin' off and I'd hev' to keep 
 house alone." 
 
 Luke laughed. " Why, I guess that time won't ever 
 come, dad," he said. " I'd be looking lonesome my- 
 self if I thought I'd have to leave you." 
 
 Mr. Sanders was silent for a moment. "Well, I 
 don't know, son," he said ; " if you're goin' to have 
 an education the way Mr. Field says, it looks to 
 me as if you'd have to strike out from here some 
 day." 
 
 Luke's face grew sober. " But that won't be 'til 
 I grow up, dad," he said ; " not for a long time." 
 
 " They tell me different," said Mr. Sanders. " They 
 say to get a good education you have to begin 
 young."
 
 Marjories tf^ay 169 
 
 "Then I don't want any education," said Luke, 
 almost fiercely. " I won't go and leave you, dad." 
 
 Mr. Sanders patted his son's arm. " Land, 'twould 
 come dreadful hard to let you go," he said with a sigh. 
 
 Mrs. Philips made up the white dress Luke had 
 given her, and he felt very proud and happy when he 
 saw her wear it. 
 
 " I wish Mr. Field would paint your picture in a 
 white dress," he said, looking at her admiringly; 
 " and paint it just as you look when you smile. Did 
 Mr. Field ever paint Miss Wing's picture ? " 
 
 " Yes, Luke, he painted a beautiful portrait of Miss 
 Wing, and it hangs in his studio in Boston. Perhaps 
 you'll see it there some day." 
 
 " I wish I could," said Luke. 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Philips had decided that the thousand 
 dollars which Miss Wing wished to give her sister 
 should be put in the bank for Marjorie. 
 
 " Perhaps she may want to go to college, and a 
 thousand dollars would be a great help," her father 
 had said. 
 
 " Or she may want to study music, or perhaps be a 
 doctor," Mrs. Philips had responded with a little 
 laugh. " In any event it will be useful to her later 
 on." So she had written to Miss Wing that they
 
 1 70 Marjories Way 
 
 should consider the money Marjorie's, and Miss "Wing 
 had told her little niece. 
 
 " I don't suppose I could buy a nice pony with it ? " 
 Margie had suggested. 
 
 " JSTo indeed," said Miss "Wing ; " that thousand dol- 
 lars is for your education." 
 
 " To make me just like you," Margie had responded 
 laughingly. " Oh, Aunt Maria, it won't take all that 
 money for that, why " then she stopped, remem- 
 bering that in a very short time her aunt would see 
 how well she had improved the time, and then perhaps 
 the thousand dollars could be used to buy a pony. 
 
 Marjorie's words gave her aunt a new thought, and 
 she smiled as she busied herself about her household 
 work. That afternoon she went out to see Mr. "Wy- 
 man and had a long talk with him, and when she 
 came home she stopped at a carpenter's shop and en- 
 gaged him to come and make some repairs on the lit- 
 tle stable which stood back of the house.
 
 CHAPTEK XVIII 
 
 THE SURPRISE 
 
 WHEN Aunt Maria received word that Mr. and Mrs. 
 Philips would reach Boston on a certain day Margie 
 could hardly wait for that day to come. 
 
 " I s'pose that I am the luckiest girl that ever was," 
 she said, as she helped her Aunt Maria about the 
 household work. 
 
 Aunt Maria smiled at the happy face of her little 
 niece, and nodded responsively. 
 
 " I shouldn't wonder," she said, " with your * sur- 
 prise ' for your mother, and her surprise for you." 
 
 Margie felt that these were very exciting days, and 
 she almost wished that she might stay away from 
 school until after her father and mother came. 
 
 Early in the morning of the day on which Mr. and 
 Mrs. Philips were to arrive Margie hurried off to tell 
 Ada, who promised to be on hand in good season to do 
 her hair just like Miss Wing's, and to help her with the 
 preparations for the " surprise." 
 
 Miss Wing started off in good season to meet the 
 
 travelers, and told Margie that if their train reached 
 
 171
 
 172 Marjories tf^ay 
 
 Boston on time they would arrive in Ashley a little 
 after five. Margie thought nothing could be better, 
 as that would give her plenty of time after school to 
 have her hair arranged like her aunt's and to change 
 her dress for one of Miss Wing's. 
 
 It was hard to be attentive to lessons that day, but 
 Margie did her best until the close of the afternoon 
 session ; then she and Ada hurried home as fast as 
 possible. 
 
 Margie had secured a cup of lard from the pantry, 
 and Ada applied it generously to the crinkly brown 
 hair. They were both delighted with the result. 
 Every kink and ripple was smoothed out, and the 
 braids were as smooth as those of Miss Wing herself. 
 Then Margie went to her aunt's room and brought out 
 a neat gray dress. 
 
 " Isn't it lucky she didn't wear the cameo pin ! " 
 exclaimed Margie as she saw it on her aunt's pin- 
 cushion. 
 
 Margie found the dress rather longer than she ex- 
 pected. " I believe Aunt Maria is a lot taller than I 
 am after all," she said regretfully. 
 
 " Well, she is some taller," admitted Ada. 
 
 " And the waist don't button tight on me, same as it 
 does on Aunt Maria," said Margie.
 
 Marjories tf^ay 173 
 
 " I might tuck in things to make the waist fit," sug- 
 gested Ada. 
 
 " Oh, do, Ada," said Margie anxiously ; " because I 
 don't seem to look as much like her as I expected ; " 
 so Ada tucked in several handkerchiefs and a towel to 
 give Margie's waist the desired size. 
 
 "There isn't anything else you can think of, is 
 there ? " Margie asked. 
 
 " No," said Ada. " My ! You look real grown-up, 
 Margie. I guess your mother'll hardly know you." 
 
 This was encouraging, and Margie's hopes revived. 
 Both the little girls began to watch the road to the 
 depot. Ada had advised that not until Miss Wing and 
 Mr. and Mrs. Philips had reached the gate should 
 Margie open the front door and welcome them. 
 
 " I'll run home just as soon as I see them coming," 
 Ada added. " My mother told me not to stay." 
 
 It was just after five when the little girls saw the 
 expected visitors coming up the street. Ada scam- 
 pered for home, while Margie went carefully down the 
 stairs, and stood just inside the door ready to open it 
 when she should hear the sound of steps on the brick 
 walk. 
 
 " "Where is my ( Sweet Marjorie ' ? " her father had 
 asked in a disappointed tone, when they came in sight
 
 174 Marjorie 
 
 of the house and no little girl appeared to welcome 
 them. 
 
 " Oh, she has planned some kind of a surprise for 
 us," explained Miss Wing. 
 
 Mrs. Philips laughed. " Yes, she has been writing 
 me about it for weeks." 
 
 Margie could hardly wait for the sound of the ex- 
 pected steps, and, as soon as she heard Buff's bark of 
 welcome she swung open the door and, forgetting that 
 she intended to smile just like Aunt Maria, rushed to- 
 ward her mother with extended arms. 
 
 Unluckily she also forgot about her long skirts, and 
 in a moment her feet had become entangled in them 
 and over she fell, rolling down the steps to land in a 
 rumpled gray heap at her father's feet. Buff felt that 
 this was another opportunity for him to distinguish 
 himself, and began tugging at the gray dress with so 
 much vigor that the well-worn material could not 
 stand the strain ; and a long, yawning rent down the 
 back of the skirt was the result. 
 
 " Oh, mother ! mother ! " called Margie, who had 
 fallen on her face and was prevented from rising by 
 her skirts and by Buff's unexpected tugs and pulls. 
 
 " For pity's sake ! It is Margie ! " exclaimed Mrs. 
 Philips.
 
 Marjories Jf^ay 175 
 
 " And in my best gray dress," added Miss Wing, as 
 Buff's efforts resulted in a final heart-breaking tear of 
 the skirt. 
 
 Mr. Philips picked up the forlorn little figure, and 
 bent his face over the greasy head. 
 
 " Why, child ! " he exclaimed, " what is the matter 
 with your hair? And how fat you are! Why, 
 mother, just take hold of her." 
 
 " Fat ! " exclaimed Aunt Maria with a laugh, as she 
 looked at the stubby little figure. 
 
 Mrs. Philips was gazing at her little daughter in 
 wonder. Margie had scraped her nose on the brick 
 walk, and altogether presented a very different figure 
 from the neat little girl they had expected to see. 
 
 "I wanted to look just like Aunt Maria," she 
 sobbed. " You said you wanted me to be just such a 
 woman, and I thought you'd be real surprised and 
 pleased to see how much I was like her. Ada helped 
 me!" 
 
 At this Miss Wing sat down on the piazza steps and 
 laughed and laughed, and even Mr. Philips joined, 
 but Margie's mother did not laugh. She put her arm 
 about the forlorn little figure and drew her into the 
 house, and held up the torn skirt as they made their 
 way up the stairs to the little white chamber.
 
 176 Marjories It^ay 
 
 " Mother knows," she whispered. " And you were 
 a dear little daughter to want to please her. But you 
 didn't understand what I meant, did you, dear ? " 
 
 " I guess not," said Margie with a sigh. 
 
 It did not take very long to restore Margie to her 
 every-day self, and send her down-stairs to see her 
 father. But she was a very quiet little girl that even- 
 ing, and seemed to watch Aunt Maria with a new 
 interest. "When she said good-night to her mother 
 she whispered, " I think I know now, mother, what 
 you meant." 
 
 " Yes, dear ? " 
 
 "You meant that you want me to be like Aunt 
 Maria in my ways, and think about doing things for 
 people as she does, like helping Mr. Field, and having 
 Buff and me to live with her." 
 
 " Yes, dear, I hope you will be like her in spirit, and 
 in generous deeds." 
 
 " I did teach Luke, mamma." Mrs. Philips nodded. 
 
 " Aunt Maria never said a word about the lard, or 
 about her best dress being spoiled," continued Margie. 
 " Perhaps I can grow like her. Ada said it ought to 
 come gradually." 
 
 "That is the best way," said her mother kissing 
 her good-night.
 
 CHAPTER XIX 
 MR. FIELD'S NEW PICTURE 
 
 IT was very early when Margie awoke the next 
 morning, and she slid out of bed and dressed as 
 quietly as she could. When she got down-stairs it 
 was not quite six o'clock. She brought in kindlings 
 and started the kitchen fire and filled the teakettle. 
 Then she stepped softly into the dining-room and set 
 the table. She took in the jar of cream which the 
 milkman had left on the step, and when Miss "Wing 
 came down she found that a very good start had been 
 made toward breakfast. 
 
 " You are a real treasure," she said, giving Margie 
 a kiss. " And all this hot water." 
 
 "Oh, Aunt Maria," said Margie, "I have spoiled 
 your pretty gray dress ! " 
 
 Miss Wing laughed, and patted the little girl's 
 shoulder. 
 
 " Do you know, Margie, that no one ever paid me 
 such a compliment as you did. To think that you 
 really wanted to look like me ! " 
 
 177
 
 178 Marjories Way 
 
 This made Margie smile again. " Oh, but I shall 
 be like you ; only it will come gradually," she said. 
 
 " Has your mother told you about her surprise ? It 
 must be something remarkable, for we must all go 
 to Mr. Field's studio with her to-day to see it." 
 
 " Do I go ? " asked Margie. 
 
 " Indeed you do ; it's your surprise first, and then I 
 am to be surprised a little myself." 
 
 " What do you suppose it is, Aunt Maria ? " said 
 Margie eagerly. 
 
 " Well," responded Aunt Maria, " I have been 
 wondering myself, and I have about made up my 
 mind what it is." 
 
 " Oh, Aunt Maria ! " 
 
 Aunt Maria nodded. " I believe it is a picture of 
 your home," she said, "or perhaps a portrait of Betty. 
 Now, run up-stairs with a pitcher of hot water for 
 mamma, and tell her that breakfast will be ready in 
 half an hour and that we must take the eight-thirty 
 train." 
 
 Mr. Field was very busy in his studio that morning. 
 Fortunately he had somebody to help him, for there 
 were many things to do. At one end of the room he
 
 Marjories If^ay 179 
 
 had raised a large gilt frame, carefully fastening and 
 bracing it so that it would stand upright, and he 
 spent a great deal of time in arranging curtains be- 
 fore it and behind. It seemed like a good deal of 
 trouble for just a gilt frame, but Mr. Field worked 
 hard over it and looked very much pleased when he 
 had his work completed to his satisfaction. 
 
 " There," he said at last. " That will do. And now 
 we will see what we can do in the way of sur- 
 prises." 
 
 He took his place at the window to watch for his 
 guests, and when he saw them coming went down to 
 the door, greeted them warmly, and led them directly 
 into the studio. He noticed Margie's eager look 
 around the room, and began at once to talk to her 
 about her southern home, and told her about Betty, 
 whom he had seen in Columbia. Aunt Maria nodded 
 to Margie, and found an opportunity to whisper, " It's 
 a picture, my dear, right behind that big curtain, I'm 
 sure of it." 
 
 But Mr. Field was telling Margie about " Uncle " 
 and Aunt Cora, so she did not care so much about 
 seeing a picture. 
 
 " And you saw Luke, too," Margie said, when Mr. 
 Field did not mention her boy friend.
 
 180 Marjories IF ay 
 
 " Luke ; oh, yes ; the boy who is going to be a car- 
 penter," responded Mr. Field. 
 
 Margie nodded. " Yes," she said. " I wanted him 
 to be an artist like you, but there isn't any way for 
 him to take drawing lessons, and Aunt Maria says 
 artists have to draw." 
 
 " Yes," responded Mr. Field seriously. 
 
 " I s'pose it costs a lot of money to learn to be an 
 artist," continued the little girl. 
 
 "Now, we want to see your picture," exclaimed 
 Aunt Maria ; " for I am sure that is what you have to 
 show us." 
 
 Mr. Field smiled as he answered, "I think you 
 will all say it is a speaking likeness." 
 
 He stepped toward the curtain that covered the big 
 gilt frame and drew it carefully aside. For a moment 
 they were all silent, for there before them in the frame 
 was a picture of a boy, standing very stiff and straight, 
 with one hand resting on a table, and shining eyes 
 that looked right at Margie. 
 
 "Why," she exclaimed in wonder, "that is Luke 
 Sanders ! It's his living image," she added, after a 
 moment. 
 
 Margie's exclamation seemed to have a strange 
 effect on the figure. The mouth began to quiver;
 
 CO
 
 Marjories If^ay 181 
 
 gradually a smile became visible, widening rapidly into 
 a grin. Then a chuckle came out of the gilt frame, 
 and the boy inside it winked, yes, actually winked at 
 Margie. 
 
 " Hello," he said. " How do you like my picture ? " 
 " Why, Luke," cried Margie, " is it really you ? " 
 " Yes, it's my living image," replied the boy gaily. 
 " You said so yourself," and in a moment they were 
 all about him and he was busy explaining the mystery. 
 Margie's happy face and Miss Wing's look of ap- 
 proval made Mr. Field's own face brighten with 
 pleasure. 
 
 " So you wanted Luke to be an artist ? " he said to 
 Margie. " Well, do you know I want him to be an 
 artist, and I think he has decided that he will be one. 
 I think some day Luke will be a sculptor," he went 
 on, smiling at the boy, who watched him with eager 
 eyes. " He will have to work very, very hard, but he 
 has it in him. I am sure of it. So I have persuaded 
 Mr. Sanders to let him stay here with me for a time. 
 He is to help me, and go to school, and learn all he 
 can. I will teach him drawing and modeling myself, 
 and some day well, we will see, won't we, Luke ? " 
 
 The boy nodded his head confidently, and slipped 
 his hand into that of his new friend.
 
 j 82 Marjorie 
 
 " Oh, Mr. Field," said Marjorie, " do you s'pose it 
 would cost more'n a thousand dollars to teach Luke to 
 be an artist so he could paint a picture like that ? " 
 and she pointed toward Miss Wing's portrait, and, be- 
 fore he could answer, she continued almost in a whis- 
 per, " because my mother has put a thousand dollars 
 in a bank for me, and like as not I shall never want it, 
 and if Luke could be an artist for that I'd give it to 
 him." 
 
 Mr. Field looked warmly at the little girl for a mo- 
 ment. Then he said, " I don't know about the picture. 
 Perhaps Luke will be a different kind of artist, and 
 make statues and other beautiful things in marble and 
 bronze. And he may not need the thousand dollars. 
 But he will never forget, I am sure, that you offered 
 it to him, and that you have been his very best friend 
 always. My dear child," he added, "I believe you 
 are just like your Aunt Maria, in spirit, I mean and 
 in wanting to help other people." 
 
 Marjorie's face flushed happily. She wished that 
 her mother had been near enough to hear what Mr. 
 Field had said. 
 
 " I am going to be like her," she responded, " grad- 
 ually."
 
 Marjories If^ay 183 
 
 Mrs. Philips and Luke were standing together look- 
 ing at the portrait of Miss Wing. 
 
 " I shall paint a picture of you, some day, Mrs. 
 Philips," said Luke shyly. 
 
 " So' you shall, my boy," she responded ; " and I 
 will wear a white dress." 
 
 " Yes," said Luke ; " and I will give it to Margie, 
 because if it hadn't been for her I couldn't have even 
 tried to be an artist." 
 
 It was arranged that Luke should go out to Ashley 
 for a few days, greatly to Margie's delight, although 
 she seemed rather sober when, accompanied by Mr. 
 Field, the happy party started for home. 
 
 She was walking between Luke and Mr. Field, and 
 they both noticed how quiet she was, and Luke 
 watched her earnestly. 
 
 " Say, Margie, I'll bet I know what you are think- 
 ing about," he said at last. 
 
 Margie shook her head. " I don't believe you do, 
 Luke," she answered. 
 
 " Betty ! " exclaimed the boy suddenly, leaning to- 
 ward her. 
 
 " Why, how did you know ? " said Margie. " I was 
 thinking about Betty and wishing that she was right 
 here and knew all about your going to be an artist."
 
 184 Marjories 
 
 " She does know," said Luke. " Your mother told 
 her, and she knows all about it. You see it was 
 Betty's Grandma Savory who made the plan about 
 my getting these nice clothes from the Clay boys on 
 account of ' Spot ' and ' Stripe '; " and then Luke told 
 her all about the dogs. 
 
 " Oh, I am so glad," said Margie, happily. " It 
 makes me feel just as if Betty helped you to go to 
 school and everything, doesn't it, Luke ? " 
 
 Luke nodded understandingly. " I want to see 
 1 Buff,' " he said. 
 
 Mr. Field had waited for Miss "Wing, so Luke and 
 Margie were walking by themselves. 
 
 " Let's both write to Betty to-morrow and tell her 
 all about your being in a frame and everything ! " said 
 Margie. 
 
 " All right," agreed Luke, " but you had better 
 write, Margie, because you write so much better than 
 I do." 
 
 When they walked up to Miss Wing's house Mrs. 
 Philips said, 
 
 " You have company, Maria ; there is a pony team 
 standing in front of the house." 
 
 Aunt Maria did not reply, but Margie exclaimed, 
 " Isn't it a pretty pony ! See how shiny it is, and its
 
 Marjories Way 185 
 
 lovely long tail. And Ferdinand Webb is holding its 
 bridle, auntie." 
 
 As they came nearer they saw Ada standing just 
 inside the gate. " Oh, there is Ada," said Margie. 
 
 Ada and Ferdinand were all smiles as Miss Wing 
 came toward them, but they looked at Luke curiously, 
 wondering who this strange boy was. 
 
 They all stopped and admired the neat little cart, 
 and the well-groomed pony. 
 
 " Whose pony is it, Ada ? " asked Margie, wonder- 
 ing if her little friend could possibly have had such a 
 beautiful present as this pony. 
 
 Ada laughed. " I guess Miss Wing knows," she 
 said. 
 
 Then Miss Wing laughed too. " Well, perhaps I 
 do," she said. " I believe it belongs to Miss Marjorie 
 Philips ! Get in the cart, my dear, and let's see how 
 we like it ! " 
 
 " Oh, Aunt Maria ! " exclaimed Marjorie. It did 
 not seem possible that this wonderful pony and shin- 
 ing cart could be for her, so she stood looking first at 
 the pony and then at her aunt until Miss Wing put 
 her arm about the little girl and drew her toward the 
 cart. 
 
 " Jump in, my dear," she said. Then Aunt Maria
 
 i86 Marjories 
 
 stepped in beside her and they drove down the street 
 a little way. When they came back the whole party 
 escorted them to the little stable and watched Ferdi- 
 nand and Luke unharness the little pony, and lead 
 him into his stall. " Buff " had joined the party and 
 kept close to Luke, while Sarah Mullins sat on the 
 back porch and apparently did not notice that any- 
 thing unusual was taking place. 
 
 Ada was persuaded to stay to supper, and it was a 
 gay party that gathered round Miss Wing's supper- 
 table that night. 
 
 "If Betty was only here," Margie whispered to 
 Luke. 
 
 " Yes, and dad," responded the boy. 
 
 It was a long time before Marjorie could get to 
 sleep that night. She thought of the pony in the 
 stable, she thought of Luke, who was really taking 
 drawing lessons at last ; and, most of all, she thought 
 of what Mr. Field had said to her. " I believe you 
 are just like your Aunt Maria in spirit," he had said, 
 and Marjorie sighed happily as she remembered it.
 
 CHAPTER XX 
 
 MARGIE AND LUKE 
 
 THE next morning Luke and Margie both hurried 
 out to the little stable to be sure that " Topsy," as 
 they had named the pony, was really there. Luke 
 led " Topsy " out in the yard and Aunt Maria came 
 out with a lump of sugar, which the pony ate eagerly. 
 
 " "Who do you think is coming to make us a visit to- 
 day ? " said Aunt Maria. Margie could not guess. 
 
 "Mrs. Melchin," said Aunt Maria. "I have just 
 had a message from her, and it is to be a surprise for 
 your dear mother. Mrs. Melchin will come on the 
 eleven o'clock train, and I shall have to borrow your 
 pony and cart, Margie, to go to the station to meet 
 her." 
 
 " Oh," said Margie, " there are so many surprises ! " 
 
 " "Will she bring a parrot with her ? " questioned 
 Luke. 
 
 " No, indeed," said Aunt Maria. 
 
 Luke was eager to see Mrs. Melchin, and when the 
 pony cart came back from the station he was at the. 
 
 gate ready to lead it back to the stable. 
 
 187
 
 i88 Marjories Way 
 
 " She looks like a fairy godmother," the boy thought 
 as the dainty old lady with her silver hair and soft 
 silk gown stepped out of the cart. 
 
 " So this is the boy who can carve dogs and birds," 
 she said, smiling at Luke. " I have heard about you, 
 and you are just the boy I have been looking for. 
 You must come in and see some of my birds. "Why, a 
 regular family party ! " she exclaimed, as the door 
 opened and Margie and her mother came running out. 
 " You people would forget all about me," she con- 
 tinued, looking at Mrs. Philips, " if I would let you." 
 
 Mrs. Melchin asked Luke all about his Southern 
 home, and the boy told her of his father and of the 
 burning of the cabin. She listened to his story of 
 going to the swamp to watch the redbirds. 
 
 " When you come to see me," she said, " I want you 
 to watch my parrots, and if you can carve ' Beauty ' 
 out of wood for me I'll put it in the cabinet with my 
 bronze and ivory birds." 
 
 Mrs. Melchin's visit was a pleasant surprise to them 
 all. She was a good friend of Mr. Field's, and he was 
 greatly pleased by her interest in Luke, and promised 
 to bring the boy to see her very soon. 
 
 The next day they were all invited to spend the day 
 with Farmer "Wyman, and he included Ferdinand and
 
 Marjorie 
 
 Ada in the invitation. Marjorie and Mr. Field were to 
 go in the pony team, while the others were to ride out 
 in Mr. Webb's three-seated wagon. 
 
 It was a cool autumn morning, and as they drove 
 over the pleasant country road there were signs every- 
 where that winter was near at hand. Many of the 
 trees were leafless, and along on the walls and fence 
 rails could be seen traces of frost. 
 
 The pony trotted briskly along. Sometimes the 
 road would be nearly carpeted with leaves, and his lit- 
 tle hoofs made a soft " pad," " pad," " pad " as he went 
 swiftly over them. Mr. Field showed Margie how to 
 hold the reins, told her she must always turn to the 
 right on meeting a team, cautioned her about the 
 pony's tender mouth, and told her many things useful 
 for any one to know who is to drive a pony. 
 
 " This is good weather to go nutting," said Mr. Field, 
 as they came in sight of the Wyman farm. "Last 
 night's frost must have opened the burrs, and I should 
 not be surprised if Farmer "Wyman sent you little 
 people after chestnuts." 
 
 Margie listened eagerly. It was pleasure enough, 
 she thought, to hold the reins over " Topsy," and 
 watch him trot. She wished it had been a longer 
 ride j but still, when Mr. Field spoke of going after
 
 190 Marjorie 
 
 chestnuts she felt more ready to turn in the driveway 
 that led up to the farm. 
 
 The other team was just ahead of them, and Farmer 
 Wyman was standing at the door to welcome them. 
 As they drew near Miss Wing and Mrs. Philips began 
 to laugh, and in a moment they all were laughing, for 
 there, ranged along on the sunny door-step directly 
 back of Mr. Wyman, were seven black cats. 
 
 As Ferdinand and Luke scrambled out of the wagon 
 the kittens scampered away ; only one sedate old cat 
 remained quietly near the door. 
 
 Farmer Wyman admired the pony, and told Margie 
 that he knew all about it ; and that she need never 
 feel afraid that it would run away, or kick up its heels 
 after it was harnessed, or do anything that a good 
 pony should not do. 
 
 "You see 'Topsy' has been well brought up," he 
 explained. " She has always been well treated and is 
 used to kind people. She has never been made nerv- 
 ous and fretful by loud words ; so her head is steady 
 and she understands quickly." 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Philips seemed greatly pleased at 
 what Farmer Wyman had to say ; but Margie had felt 
 sure from the first look at "Topsy" that the pony 
 was perfection.
 
 . Marjorie s W^ay 1 9 1 
 
 There was a big open fire blazing away in the sit- 
 ting-room, but none of them felt like staying indoors, 
 so Farmer Wyman took them all out to the store- 
 house, which opened out of his carriage-house, and 
 showed them great bins of yellow pumpkins, and bins 
 of turnips and squash, bins of beets and onions, until 
 they all exclaimed that they had never seen so many 
 vegetables before. 
 
 Then the farmer selected two round smooth pump- 
 kins and gave one to each of the boys. " I guess you 
 both have pocket-knives," he said ; " now let's see which 
 one of you can make the best Jack-o'-lantern ! " 
 
 While Ferdinand and Luke were busy hollowing 
 out the pumpkins Aunt Maria and the little girls 
 walked down to some beech-trees a little way from 
 the house. They found a good many nuts ready to 
 gather, and when they returned to the house Farmer 
 Wyman said that after luncheon they would all go 
 after chestnuts. 
 
 The grove of chestnut-trees grew on a high ridge 
 some little distance back of Farmer Wyman's house. 
 Luke and Ferdinand ran on ahead to find the best 
 places to gather nuts. The boys thought it would be 
 a good plan to shake the branches of some of the trees,
 
 192 Marjorie 
 
 and so scrambled up and soon sent a shower of nuts 
 down for the rest to pick up. 
 
 This chestnut grove was the pride of Farmer Wy- 
 man's heart, and was nearly as beautiful as Miss 
 Wing's pine grove. When the boys came down from 
 the trees and the baskets they had brought were filled 
 with nuts, they were eager to get back to the house 
 and roast chestnuts before the open fire. 
 
 " It's a pretty good place to roast apples, too," said 
 Farmer Wyman. And as soon as they were gathered 
 about the fire he brought in a basket of red apples, 
 and showed the boys how to fix pointed sticks by 
 which to hold the apples over the blaze. 
 
 They set the nuts in rows in front of the coals and 
 every now and then one would fly open with a loud 
 " snap," which made Ada and Margie jump back with 
 surprise. Three of the black kittens had come into 
 the sitting-room, and whenever a chestnut would fly 
 off the hearth the kittens would run after it, and 
 touch it cautiously with their paws. 
 
 " Now, I tell you what," said Farmer Wyman, look- 
 ing about the happy circle, " I want you to promise 
 me that you will all spend Christmas day with me. 
 I'll have a Christmas tree for you." 
 
 Every one accepted this invitation, and when
 
 Marjories If^ay 193 
 
 Farmer Wyman told Luke that he wanted him to 
 maKe mm a visit when summer came, Luke thought 
 that nothing could be more pleasant. 
 
 It was nearly dusk before any one thought of home. 
 Luke and Ferdinand had finished their Jack-o'-lanterns 
 and put them carefully under the wagon-seat. 
 
 " I think I must make a little sketch of the pony- 
 team for you to send to Betty," said Mr. Field as he 
 and Margie drove home. 
 
 " Oh, that will be lovely," said Margie. " And, Mr. 
 Field, would you make the picture with Luke and me 
 sitting in the cart ? " 
 
 " Why, of course I will," said Mr. Field. 
 
 " I guess that will be Betty's ' surprise,' " said 
 Margie, with a happy laugh ; " and I guess she will 
 want to come to Ashley too, when she knows what 
 nice things happen here." 
 
 " I should think she would ! " agreed Mr. Field. 
 
 "They seem to keep happening right along, ever 
 since I came to live with Aunt Maria," said Margie ; 
 " but I guess there can't anything nicer happen now 
 that mother and father and Luke are here, and I have 
 ' Topsy.' Do you think of anything, Mr. Field, that 
 could be any happier ? "
 
 194 Marjorie 
 
 "Why, no," said Mr. Field thoughtfully, "I don't 
 believe I do." 
 
 The next morning Mr. Field and Luke returned to 
 Boston. When Aunt Maria bade Luke good-bye she 
 said, " Luke, you have really begun to be an artist, and 
 we all expect you to be just like Mr. Field." 
 
 The boy smiled up at her shyly. " And Margie is 
 going to be just like you," he responded. 
 
 Marjorie was near at hand and said to Luke, with a 
 little tone of anxiety in her voice, " It has to be grad- 
 ual, you know, Luke. We can't expect to be like 
 them right off." 
 
 " I know," replied the boy seriously.
 
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