“Good-by,” said Marjorie, as the three parted at the gate; “be sure to come over to-morrow morning; and, Stella, if you’ll bring your paintbox, it will be lovely for you to paint those paper dolls.”

The three girls had become almost inseparable companions, and though Midge and Molly were more congenial spirits, Stella acted as a balance wheel to keep them from going too far.  She really had a good influence over them, though exerted quite unconsciously; and Midge and Molly inspired Stella with a little more self-confidence and helped her to conquer her timidity.

“Good-by,” returned Stella, “and be sure to have a letter in the post office by four o’clock, when James goes for the milk.”

The post office in the old maple tree had become quite an institution, and the girls put letters there for each other nearly every day, and sent for them by any one who might happen to be going that way.

Quiet little Stella was especially fond of getting letters and would have liked to receive them three times a day.

The elder members of the three families often sent letters or gifts to the children, and it was not at all unusual to find picture postcards or little boxes of candy, which unmistakably came from the generous hand of Uncle Steve.

One delightful afternoon Marjorie sat in her cosy little porch with a table full of delightful paraphernalia and a heart full of expectation.

She was waiting for Uncle Steve, who was going to devote that afternoon to helping her arrange her Memory Book.  Marjorie had collected a quantity of souvenirs for the purpose, and Uncle Steve had bought for her an enormous scrapbook.  When she had exclaimed at its great size, he had advised her to wait until it had begun to fill up before she criticised it; and when she looked at her pile of treasures already accumulated, she wondered herself how they would all get in the book.

At last Uncle Steve came, and sitting down opposite Marjorie at her little table, announced himself as ready to begin operations.

“We’ll plan it out a little first, Mopsy, and then fasten the things in afterward.”

Marjorie was quite content to sit and look on, at least until she found out how such things were done.

“You see,” said her uncle, “we’ll take a page for each occasion—­ more or less.  For instance, as this book is to represent just this summer it ought to begin with your trip up here.  Have you anything that reminds you of that day?”

“Yes,” said Marjorie, looking over her heap of treasures, “here’s a little kind of a badge that father bought for me at the station as we were going to the train.”

“Just the thing; now, you see, as this is on a pin itself we’ll just stick it in this first page.  Anything else?”

“Well, here’s a pretty picture I cut out of a magazine on the train coming up; oh, and here are two postcards that I bought of a boy who brought them through the train.”