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

“Yes, it’s a secret,” said Miss Prudence, stepping behind Marjorie to fasten her veil.

“Does Marjorie know?” asked Prue anxiously.

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

“Marjorie, dear, I shall miss you,” said Miss Prudence.

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

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

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

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

“She always will,” Miss Prudence replied; “she has the gift of living in the sunshine.”

Miss Prudence looked at the long mirror after Marjorie had gone down the street, and wished that it might always keep that last reflection of Marjorie.  The very spirit of pure and lovely girlhood!  But the same mirror had not kept her own self there, and the self reflected now was the woman grown out of the girlhood; would she keep Marjorie from womanhood?

Miss Prudence thought in these days that her own youth was being restored to her; but it had never been lost, for God cannot grow old, neither can any of himself grow old in the human heart which is his temple.

Marjorie’s quick feet hurried along the street.  She found herself at the depot with not one moment to lose.  She had brought her “English Literature” that she might read Tuesday’s lesson in the train.  She opened it as the train started, and was soon so absorbed that she was startled at a voice inquiring, “Is this seat engaged?”

“No,” she replied, without raising her eyes.  But there was something familiar in the voice; or was she thinking of somebody?  She moved slightly as a gentleman seated himself beside her.  Her veil was shading her face; she pushed it back to give a quick glance at him.  The voice had been familiar; there was still something more familiar in the hair, the contour of the cheek, and the blonde moustache.

“Hollis!” she exclaimed, as his eyes looked into hers.  She caught her breath a little, hardly knowing whether she were glad or sorry.

“Why, Marjorie!” he returned, surprise and embarrassment mingled in his voice.  He did not seem sure, either, whether to be glad or sorry.