Hunter\'s Marjory

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When they reached the gate at Braeside, Dr. Hunter said, "Well, Marjory,
you'll be all right now. Good-bye." And he stooped to kiss her.

Dismayed at the thought of going into the house and into that dreaded
schoolroom alone, she caught her uncle's hand and said pleadingly,
"Won't you come with me, Uncle George?"

Then for the first time the doctor noticed her pale face and
quick-coming breath, and he was touched by her confidence in him.

"Of course I will," he said heartily. "I'll go with you right into the
lion's den, or rather, in this case, it's the Waspe's nest, eh?"

Marjory laughed a little, which was just what the doctor wanted; and as
they walked across the park to the house he chatted and joked with her
until she felt much better.

Mrs. Forester and Blanche were at the door to meet them. Blanche, in
high spirits, skipped down the steps, calling out, "Many happy returns
of the day, without lessons. Come on upstairs to the schoolroom," she
cried, giving Marjory a hug, "and see what's there. I shall simply burst
if you don't come quickly."

"May I come too?" asked Dr. Hunter.

"Yes," said Blanche. "Father and mother are coming too."

The little party went upstairs to the schoolroom. Blanche threw open the
door with a flourish of triumph, and what Marjory saw caused her heart
to beat faster than ever. The doctor rubbed his eyes and asked
comically, "Am I dreaming? Is this a real schoolroom and a real
governess?"

It was indeed a pretty picture that the door had opened upon. There were
flowers in every available place in the room; and as Miss Waspe came
forward, smiling a welcome, the sun just caught her fair hair, turning
it to gold, and making her look like a spirit in a fairy bower. On the
table there were roses, and where the books ought to have been was
something which made Marjory's eyes grow big with wonder. It was nothing
less than a new saddle--a small side-saddle; and Marjory, fascinated,
watched Mr. Forester walk to the table and take it up; and then--oh!
what could it mean?--he came towards her, saying, "This is something for
you, Marjory, from Mrs. Forester and me. I hope you like it. Brownie
seems to approve of it."

Marjory felt as if she were dreaming. How often had she wished she might
learn to ride--more often than ever since Blanche's coming! She could
hardly find words to stammer out her thanks, but her kind friends could
see that she was surprised and delighted beyond measure.

Then Blanche came to her, holding out a dainty silver-topped
riding-whip.

"Here," she said; "this is my present. Only I don't believe you will
ever use it; it will only be for show. Won't it be lovely going for
rides together? Oh dear, _how_ thankful I am to-day has come at last!
This has been the very hardest secret I ever had to keep; and it's been
such a business, first getting Brownie measured and then breaking him in
to the saddle, all without you knowing. It was generally done while we
were bathing, and I used to be very slow dressing on purpose." And,
laughing merrily, she gave Marjory another hug.

"Let me too wish you many happy returns of the day," said Miss Waspe
kindly, "and many happy days in this room, which Dr. Hunter thinks is
not a real schoolroom," laughing. "It may not always look so festive as
it does to-day, but then this is a birthday, you see."

The dreaded moment was over, Marjory had entered the new world, and
never again would she regret the old one. She felt no fear when Blanche
and she were left alone with their governess, for something had told her
when she looked into Miss Waspe's eyes that she had no cause to be
afraid. Nor had she. Miss Waspe understood girls and their ways; she
loved them, and she had unlimited patience. Moreover, she was all
eagerness herself to begin to teach her new pupil, and she promised
herself many an interesting hour. She found that what Marjory had
learned she knew thoroughly. She could read fluently and with
intelligence, at figures she was quick and accurate, and she wrote a
good hand. A little judicious praise was a great encouragement to
Marjory, and the lessons begun that day were a source of delight to
governess and pupil alike. Nothing seemed to come amiss to Marjory, and
she progressed by leaps and bounds until Miss Waspe began to fear that
the busy brain might wear out the body, sturdy though it was. But the
girls had plenty of time for play and for exercise, and Marjory's
health, so far from being any the worse for her studies, seemed rather
the better.

Blanche had already learned to ride, and Marjory had little difficulty
after a few lessons from Mr. Forester's groom, so the girls had many a
lively gallop across the moor or along the country roads.

The weeks flew by, and very soon, as it seemed to Marjory, the Christmas
holidays began. None too soon for Blanche did they come, for she was by
no means so devoted to her studies as Marjory was, and, fond as she was
of her governess, she could watch her drive away to the station without
compunction, knowing that three short weeks would see her back again,
and lessons with her.

The friendship between the two girls had grown stronger every day. They
shared everything--hopes and fears, pleasures and pains--and they were
inseparable companions. Marjory's was the leading spirit. It was she
who planned their expeditions and proposed each day's doings. Blanche
looked up to her friend as being much stronger in every way than
herself, and admired her accordingly, while Marjory would have gone
through fire and water, as the saying is, for Blanche.

One day, soon after the holidays began, the girls went for a walk to a
pond about a mile out of Heathermuir, to see if it would bear for
skating. There had been continuous frost for some days, and as the pond
was a shallow one, Dr. Hunter thought it was quite safe for them to go.
Mrs. Forester could trust Marjory to take Blanche anywhere, but as she
had not yet learned to skate, the girls had promised that they would
only go to see in what condition the ice was. If it would bear, they
were to come back to Braeside for lunch, and afterwards Mr. Forester
would go with them and give Blanche her first lesson.

As they were walking along, a collie came bounding up to Silky, and then
to Marjory, wagging his tail, as if delighted to see her.

"That's the Morisons' dog," she said; "the boys must be home. Perhaps
they're coming to the pond too."

"Oh, bother," said Blanche; "it won't be a bit nice having strange boys
there while I'm learning. I don't like boys much, they are so rough and
rude. I do hope they won't stay all day on the pond."

Marjory stole a glance behind. Sure enough there was a boy, but only
one, coming along the road.

"It's Alan Morison, the youngest one, all by himself, and he's got
skates," she said, making a grimace at Blanche as she imparted the
information.

"Well, of course he has as much right on the pond as we have, and it's
horrid of me not to want him, but I don't. What is he like?"

"I haven't spoken to him much. He doesn't care for girls, and neither
does his brother; they both said so. They generally call out rude
remarks after me. They think all girls are silly."

"Well, we don't want them to like us, I'm sure," replied Blanche; "we
can do quite well without them; and these ones sound horrid from your
description."

Marjory, afraid she had said too much in disparagement of the boys,
hastened to say, "Oh, I don't suppose they would be rude to you; but
they've known me ever since I was a baby, you see."

Footsteps could be heard behind them now, and very soon a mocking voice
called, "Carrots, Car-rots." At first the girls took no notice, walking
along in their most dignified manner; but when the boy came quite close
and deliberately shouted "Carrots" into Blanche's ear, Marjory turned
upon him like a fury, crying, "Don't you dare to say that again, or I'll
knock you down."

The boy burst out laughing, and straightway repeated the objectionable
word. Marjory wheeled round in a moment. "Take that!" she said,
delivering a blow with her fist which sent Master Alan Morison flying.
He lost his balance and fell to the ground. He was up again in a moment,
blood flowing from a slight cut in his forehead. Marjory, aghast at what
she had done, stood rooted to the spot, expecting him to return the
attack; but, to her surprise, he looked at her admiringly and said, "I
say, you know, that was jolly good. I never thought a girl could hit
like that. I couldn't have done it better myself, and you're only
thirteen. I was fourteen last birthday."

Marjory began, "I'm so sorry," but Alan stopped her. "I tell you it was
jolly good. I'm glad you can hit; you don't seem so much like a girl.--I
say," turning to Blanche and blushing crimson under his freckles, "it
was beastly of me to call names after you." The boy shifted uneasily
from one foot to the other as he made his apology.

"Yes, it was rather," replied Blanche, "but it isn't the first time boys
have done it. I suppose my hair is carroty," ruefully, "but I think it
is rather mean to tease me about a thing I can't help."

"I say, I'm awfully sorry," said Alan, more shamefaced than ever.

"Never mind," said Blanche graciously; "I'll forgive you this once. Come
along; it's cold standing here apologizing and forgiving." And with a
merry laugh she started on.

Marjory, ashamed of her part in the quarrel, asked Alan if his forehead
hurt.

"No, it's nothing but a scratch, but I tell you," enthusiastically, "it
was a splendid hit. Any fellow would have done the same if another chap
had ragged his friend. I say," he continued bashfully, "would you two
chum up with me? It's beastly dull for me at home now."

"Where's Herbert?" asked Marjory.

"Oh, he's at home, but he's no good to me now," kicking a stone with his
foot, to the great satisfaction of the dogs; and then he continued,
"Since he went into the sixth, he thinks of nothing but the cut of his
coats and the shape of his collars, and whether girls think he's
better-looking than the other fellows. It's positively sickening. And
now we're at home he hangs about father, and won't do anything with me.
He called me a 'kid' this morning, young silly ass that he is." Another
stone went flying. "But look here," in a different tone and turning to
Marjory; "you're not a bit like a girl if you can hit like that, and I
should be awfully obliged to you if you would chum up with me. We could
have jolly fun if you would."

"All right," said Marjory, sorry for any one who was lonely; "we'll be
friends--that is, if Blanche wants to too; we always do everything
together." And she looked at her friend.

Blanche was too sweet-natured to be selfish over this proposal; besides,
she rather liked the look of this boy with his freckled face and honest
eyes, so she said, "Yes, let's have a Triple Alliance, like we've been
learning about in history, only much nicer," with a grimace; "it will be
awful fun." And thus the friendship was begun.

When they reached the pond it appeared to be quite fit for skating, and
Alan soon fastened on his skates and started off. They were pleased to
find that there was no one else skating; in fact, they had it all to
themselves. It was amusing to see the three dogs trying to follow Alan,
especially fat little Curly, who rolled over several times in his
frantic efforts to keep up with the grown-up dogs.

The girls watched Alan's movements with interest. He was a very good
skater, and could do all sorts of figures on the ice, seeming quite at
home upon it. He was shouting that he would teach them both all he knew,
when suddenly there was an ominous crackling on the other side of the
pond, and the dogs, who had gone over there unnoticed, began to bark and
whine excitedly.

"Where's Curly? I believe he's fallen in," screamed Blanche, and she
started to run across the ice.

"Go back!" shouted Alan. "Go round by the bank!" And in a moment he was
off at full speed across the pond.

Curly was nowhere to be seen, and Silky and Neil, the collie, were
barking furiously, leaping and splashing in and out of the water. Some
one evidently had been trying the ice, and it had broken away from the
edge, gradually cracking farther in. The big dogs had been able to
scramble to the shore, but the little one, frightened, no doubt, by his
unusual adventure, had been sucked in under the ice. The other dogs were
making frantic efforts to reach him, but the pieces of broken ice
prevented them, and poor little Curly was some distance in; and as the
pond was shallow, it would have been difficult for them to swim, even if
they could have got under the ice.

Alan saw at once what had happened, and judging by the dogs' efforts the
probable whereabouts of Curly, with a reassuring shout to the girls, he
began stamping in the ice, plunging knee-deep into the water each time.
In a few moments he pulled out poor little Curly--a helpless dripping
object, with no signs of life in him. Alan scrambled to the bank and
laid the dog on the grass. He tenderly wiped him as dry as he could with
his pocket handkerchief--a regular schoolboy's one of generous
proportions--and by the time the girls arrived, breathless after their
run, he was wrapping Curly in his coat.

"Is he dead?" cried Blanche, the tears streaming down her cheeks.--"Oh,
my darling little Curly, why did I let you out of my sight?"

"I dare say he won't die," said Alan, feigning a cheerfulness he did not
feel. "The first thing to do is to get him warm. Where's the nearest
house?"

"The Low Farm is the _nearest_," said Marjory doubtfully, "if Mrs.
Shaw--"

"Will let us in to make a mess of her kitchen," finished Alan. "She is a
bit of a cross-patch, but we'll _make_ her let us in. What's the good of
a Triple Alliance if we can't fight? Come on, girls. United we stand!"

They ran off as fast as they could towards the Low Farm, Alan carrying
Curly very close to him, so that the warmth from his own body might
revive the little dog. Blanche kept asking if he seemed better, but the
answer was always the same--he had not moved or shown any signs of life.

Once Marjory said, "I say, it was very good of you, Alan, and you're
soaking wet, and you must be cold without your coat."

"Rot!" replied Alan, and Marjory said no more.

CHAPTER XI.

THE MYSTERIOUS STRANGER.

"And thus the heart will break,
Yet brokenly live on."--BYRON.

Mrs. Shaw saw the children coming, and wondered what could be the reason
of this unusual visit. She went to the garden gate to meet them, and saw
at once by Blanche's tear-stained face that something was wrong. They
told her what they wanted, and she invited them in without hesitation,
taking them straight to the kitchen, where a bright fire was blazing.

Alan unwrapped poor Curly, and Mrs. Shaw fetched a piece of blanket for
him to lie on, and gave him a spoonful of brandy, Blanche holding his
mouth open. They all watched him anxiously. He soon began to move a
little, and in a few minutes he got up, stretched and shook himself, and
then went to his mistress to be caressed.

Blanche hugged and kissed him with every expression of delight. She had
hardly realized how precious her little pet had become until she so
nearly lost him. But Curly had been in Mrs. Shaw's kitchen before, and
when he considered that he had received enough petting, he calmly
trotted off to a corner of the room where he had once had a very good
dinner, and began sniffing and nosing about. No dish was there this
time, and so he trotted back again and sat down, looking expectantly at
the group of amused watchers. Mrs. Shaw went and got some bread and milk
for him, and he was soon very busy with it, seeming none the worse for
his adventure.

"Well, I must be going," remarked Alan.

"Oh no," protested Blanche; "it's too late for you to go home to dinner
now. You must come to us. Marjory's coming."

"I meant to skate all day, and mother gave me some sandwiches."

"Sandwiches are but poor comfort on a cold day, Master Morison," said
Mrs. Shaw. "I should be proud if the young ladies and you would have
your dinner here--that is," she added, "if you don't mind having it in
the kitchen. The parlour fire isn't lighted yet. I can send a message
down to Braeside if you will stay." And she looked at the girls.

"It is very kind of you," said Blanche. "We should like to stay, if it
isn't too much bother for you.--Shouldn't we, Marj?"

"Yes," replied Marjory, much surprised by this unwonted friendliness on
Mrs. Shaw's part. "And don't you think Alan's clothes ought to be
dried?"

"Rot!" said Alan again.

But Mrs. Shaw was a managing person. She felt Alan's legs.

"My goodness!" she exclaimed, "he's wet through. Come with me at once,"
and she dragged the unwilling boy into another room. In a short time
they returned, Alan looking a comical figure, dressed in a pair of
knickerbockers many sizes too large for him, and a man's flannel shirt
and coat. Marjory at once decided that these garments must have belonged
to the mysterious husband in foreign parts.

Alan looked red and uncomfortable after Mrs. Shaw's ministrations, but
Marjory said, "That's better. Now come and sit by the fire," pretending
not to notice anything peculiar in his appearance. To tell the truth, he
was nothing loath to sit by the cheerful blaze, for he had begun to feel
cold and miserable as soon as Curly was all right, but he would have
done anything rather than say so.

Mrs. Shaw's kitchen was cleaner than some people's dining-rooms. There
was not a speck of dust anywhere, and not a thing out of its place. Her
guests were amused to see their dinner come straight from the various
pots and pans on the fire; but never was a meal eaten with a better
appetite, and after the first shyness wore off, the party was a very
merry one.

Marjory noticed that Mrs. Shaw looked often at Blanche, and with an
expression of tenderness which her face never wore for other people.
Half sad, half tender, the look was, and Marjory wondered what it could
mean.

After dinner was over, Blanche asked if they might go to the parlour and
see the curiosities.

"I wonder if you'll get anything this Christmas," she remarked.

"Maybe," was the short reply.

Nearly every part of the world was represented in this little farm
parlour. Here were corals and shells from the South Sea Islands;
wonderfully carved ivory from India and China; a tiny nugget of gold
from California; Indian arrow-heads, beads, and baskets. In fact, had
she known it, Mrs. Shaw really possessed a good and valuable collection.
Alan was handling what appeared to be a square block made of
beautifully-polished wood, and he asked what it was.

"It's only a specimen block of various Australian woods," was the reply.

"But see, they're not glued together in any way. Perhaps it's a puzzle,
and they all come apart." And he turned it over and over with boyish
curiosity and interest.

"No, it's nothing but samples of woods. I've got a list of their names
somewhere." And Mrs. Shaw went to a box to search for the paper.

Meanwhile Alan pulled and thumped, and at last one of the pieces
composing the box moved. The rest was easily done; one piece after
another came away, and there, right in the middle of the block, was a
small velvet case.

"Look! look!" he cried excitedly. "Come and see, Mrs. Shaw."

They all crowded round while Mrs. Shaw opened the case. Inside it was a
beautifully-painted head of a little girl.

"Why, it's Blanche when she was small!" exclaimed Marjory.

Mrs. Shaw stood as if turned to stone for a minute. Then she covered her
face with her hands and wept aloud. The children stood silent,
frightened by this outburst of grief, and not knowing what to do or say.

At last Blanche took courage, and gently touching the weeping woman's
arm, she said,--

"Please, don't cry. What is the matter? We are so sorry."

"Oh, my dear! my dear! that is the picture of my own little girl who
died long ago. I took to you from the first because of the likeness.
I've never seen her father since she died. It all happened long ago,
before I came here. She was a delicate little thing, and one day, while
her father was at home, I went away for the day to see my sister. The
child had a little cold, and I said to her father that she had better
not go out. But she begged so hard to go that he couldn't refuse her,
and they went out. They went into a shop for her father to buy some
tobacco. The child began playing with a kitten. She was very fond of
animals, and while her father's back was turned, she ran out into the
street after the kitten. She was knocked down and run over by a van, and
she only lived a few hours. Oh, my darling! my darling!" the poor woman
continued, unconscious of her listeners, "the light of my life went out
when you were taken, and I am only just beginning to learn the lesson of
my grief." Then returning to her story: "I blamed her poor father for
her death, and I sent him away. That was seven years ago. He has written
to me, and every year he sends me a parcel of things. He buys me
something at every port he touches--he's a sailor, you know, a captain
now--and I've never sent him a word of thanks, not one single word; and
now this! This little box came last year, and I never even troubled to
read this paper about it. Think how he planned it as a surprise for me,
and what he must have paid to have it done. God forgive me! for I've
been a wicked woman." And she wept afresh, rocking herself to and fro.

The children were awestruck by this recital. Alan took the paper from
Mrs. Shaw. On the front page was a list of the various woods, as she had
said, but inside were instructions for the opening of the puzzle box.

"What was your little girl's name?" Blanche ventured to ask.

"Rose," sobbed the woman; "and she was just as sweet as her name; but I
made an idol of my child, and that is why God took her away."

"Mother says," said Blanche shyly, "that when God takes little children
He makes them very, very happy--happier than their own fathers and
mothers could make them."

"Bless you, my dear, for your comforting words! Yes, I feel sure she is
happy, and I know she would wish me to forgive her father, but I never
could bring myself to do it till now. I'll write to him this very night,
and ask him to come home when he can. To think of him planning this box,
with her blessed picture inside it, all for me that's been so unkind and
cruel!" And Mrs. Shaw sobbed again.

"Please, Mrs. Shaw, don't cry any more," begged Marjory. "It will be
lovely when he comes home, and everything will be all right."

Mrs. Shaw pulled herself together, wiped her eyes, and stood up, saying,
"I am a foolish woman to worry you young folks with my troubles. Come
and look round the farm."

All thought of skating was given up for that day. Alan put on his own
clothes, which were dry again, and the party went out to explore the
farmyard. Silky and Neil were patiently waiting outside, and made a
great fuss when the children appeared, Blanche with Curly in her arms.
After thoroughly examining every hole and corner about the farm, the
members of the Triple Alliance said good-bye to Mrs. Shaw, thanking her
profusely for all her kindness, and then started homewards, going
together to the Braeside gate. Before they parted Alan said,--

"I say, look here, you two; should you mind if I asked you not to tell
about this morning? It was a jolly good hit, and all that, but I
shouldn't like Herbert to know about it. He'd chaff me so, and tell the
fellows." And his face flushed crimson at the thought.

"More secrets," said Blanche. "I'll promise not to tell any one but
mother. I simply can't keep a secret unless I tell her."

"Irishman!" cried Alan promptly. "Well, tell your mother if you like;
and Marjory can tell her uncle, and nobody else. Do you agree?"

"I don't know that I shall want to tell," remarked Marjory, flushing in
her turn. "It wasn't such a very nice thing for me to do."

"Well, I'm jiggered," said Alan inelegantly; "I thought the first thing
a girl would want to do would be to go and blab about it all over the
place." And he regarded Marjory as if she were a natural curiosity.

"And yet," she continued, "I suppose I ought to tell, because I think
you behaved so well about it, making friends after it. And then think
what you did for Curly."

"Ra--ats! Good-bye, and long live the T. A.!" cried Alan, running off
towards home.

It was nearly four o'clock when they said good-bye at the Braeside gate,
and it was rapidly getting dark. Marjory went quickly up the hill,
fearing a reprimand from her uncle for being out so late. The day had
been an eventful one, but its excitements were not yet over. As she
hurried through the wood, she heard a sudden crackling and rustling
amongst the fallen leaves and twigs, and a man came from behind a tree
and stood facing her.

"Don't be frightened, miss," he said in a low voice. "I'm a stranger
here, and I want to ask if you can tell me where Dr. Hunter lives."

"He lives in that house up there," replied Marjory, pointing towards
Hunters' Brae; "and this is his ground," she added, as much as to say,
"What are you doing here?" Then she continued, "Do you wish to see Dr.
Hunter?"

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