The stiff blue muslin was rather crumpled by this time, and in place of the linen collar and old-fashioned pin her mother had tied a narrow scarf of white lace about her throat; her hair was brushed back and braided in two heavy braids and her forehead was bandaged in white.

“Well, Marjorie, you are a picture, I must say,” he cried, bounding in.  “Why don’t you jump up and take another climb?”

“I want to.  I want to see the swallow’s nest again; I meant to have fed the swallows last night”

“Where are they?”

“Oh, up in the eaves.  Linnet and I have climbed up and fed them.”

As he dropped on his knees on the carpet beside the sofa she fell back on her pillow.

“Father is waiting for me to go to town with him and I can’t stay.  You will soon be climbing up to see the swallows again and hunting eggs and everything as usual.”

“Oh, yes, indeed,” said Marjorie, hopefully.

Watching her face he laid the parcel in her hand.  “Don’t open it till I’m gone.  I had something of a time to get it.  The old fellow was as obstinate as a mule when he saw that my heart was set on it.  Mother hadn’t a thing old enough—­I ransacked everywhere—­if I’d had time to go to grandmother’s I might have done better.  She’s ninety-three, you know, and has some of her grandmother’s things.  This thing isn’t a beauty to look at, but it’s old, and that’s the chief consideration.  Extreme old age will compensate for its ugliness; which is an extenuation that I haven’t for mine.  I’m going to-morrow.”

“Oh, I want to see it,” she exclaimed, not regarding his last remark.

“That’s all you care,” he said, disappointedly.  “I thought you would be sorry that I’m going.”

“You know I am,” she returned penitently, picking at the yellow cord.

“Perhaps when I am two hundred years old you’ll be as anxious to look at me as you are to look at that!”

“Oh, Hollis, I do thank you so.”

“But you must promise me two things or you can’t have it!”

“I’ll promise twenty.”

“Two will do until next time.  First, will you go and see my mother as soon as you get well, and go often?”

“That’s too easy; I want to do something hard for you,” she answered earnestly.

“Perhaps you will some day, who knows?  There are hard enough things to do for people, I’m finding out.  But, have you promised?”

“Yes, I have promised.”

“And I know you keep your promises.  I’m sure you won’t forget.  Poor mother isn’t happy; she’s troubled.”

“About you?”

“No, about herself, because she isn’t a Christian.”

“That’s enough to trouble anybody,” said Marjorie, wisely.

“Now, one more promise in payment.  Will you write to me every two weeks?”

“Oh, I couldn’t,” pleaded Marjorie.

“Now you’ve found something too hard to do for me,” he said, reproachfully.