But with a firm resolve in her heart to do her best, Marjorie went downstairs, and went out to play in the garden.

Some time later she saw a girl of about her own age coming down the path toward her.  She was a strange-looking child, with a very white face, snapping black eyes, and straight wiry black hair, braided in two little braids, which stood out straight from her head.

“Are you Marjorie?” she said, in a thin, piping voice.  “I’m Molly Moss, and I’ve come to play with you.  I used to know Kitty.”

“Yes,” said Marjorie, pleasantly, “I’m Marjorie, and I’m Kitty’s sister.  I’m glad you came.  Is that your kitten?”

“Yes,” said Molly, as she held up a very small black kitten, which was indeed an insignificant specimen compared to the Persian beauty hanging over Marjorie’s arm.

“It’s a dear kitten,” Molly went on.  “Her name is Blackberry.  Don’t you like her?”

“Yes,” said Marjorie, a little doubtfully; “perhaps she can be company for Puff.  This is my Puff.”  Marjorie held up her cat, but the two animals showed very little interest in one another.

“Let’s put them to sleep somewhere,” said Molly, “and then go and play in the loft.”

The kittens were soon deposited in the warm kitchen, and the two girls ran back to the barn for a good play.  Marjorie had already begun to like Molly, though she seemed rather queer at first, but after they had climbed the ladder to the warm sweet-smelling hay-loft, they grew better acquainted, and were soon chattering away like old friends.

Molly was not at all like Stella Martin.  Far from being timid, she was recklessly daring, and very ingenious in the devising of mischief.

“I’ll tell you what, Mopsy,” she said, having already adopted Marjorie’s nickname, “let’s climb out of the window, that skylight window, I mean, onto the roof of the barn, and slide down.  It’s a lovely long slide.”

“We’ll slide off!” exclaimed Marjorie, aghast at this proposition.

“Oh, no, we won’t; there’s a ledge at the edge of the roof, and your heels catch that, and that stops you.  You can’t go any further.”

“How do you get back?”

“Why, scramble back up the roof, you know.  Come on, it’s lots of fun.”

“I don’t believe Grandma would like it,” said Marjorie, a little doubtfully.

“Oh, pshaw, you’re afraid; there’s no danger.  Come on and try it, anyhow.”

Now Marjorie did not like to be called afraid, for she really had very little fear in her disposition.  So she said:  “Well, I’ll go up the ladder and look out, and if it looks dangerous I won’t do it.”

“Not a bit of danger,” declared Molly.  “I’ll go up first.”  Agile as a sprite, Molly quickly skipped up the ladder, and opened the trap-door in the barn roof.  Sticking her head up through, she soon drew her thin little body up after it and called to Marjorie to follow.  Marjorie was a much heavier child, but she sturdily climbed the ladder, and then with some difficulty clambered out on the roof.