Chapter III: Part 3

"My dear father: I have learned to write upon the typewriter which belongs to my teacher. I hope you are well. I am well and so are the rest of the family. We have very pleasant warm weather at present. I hope you have the same in Berlin. I thought you might be pleased to receive a letter from me, although it is not the first of the year. I go to school now. There are twenty pupils in our room. They are all little girls."

"Oh, dear, dear," exclaimed Miss Dorothy, "is that the way you feel when you are writing? Why, you are talking to your father, remember. Just listen to the way I write to mine." She read from the sheet she held in her hand:

"Dear old daddy: Isn't this gorgeous weather? I wish you and I were off for a real old time tramp this afternoon. How we would talk and turn our hearts inside out to each other. I can see you with your eyes twinkling under that disreputable old hat of yours, and I can feel your polite hand under my independent elbow when there is a stream to jump or a wall to climb, the dear hand that I never need for that sort of help, but which you pretend I do because I am your girl still, if I am big enough to face the world by myself.

"Well, daddy, I have been teaching for more than a week, and haven't had one cry over it. Isn't that courage for you? Not that my pupils are all angels, oh, no, this is not heaven, dear dad, but it is really a very nice place, and there are some dear people here.

"Did you ever happen to meet a Mr. William Hunt and his wife? He is a very good sort, and she is a perfect darling, one of those rare flowers whose fragrance fills the air even on the highway; not one of the hothouse kind that has been forced to bloom out of season, for out of season and in season she is always blooming and shedding forth her sweetness." Miss Dorothy paused.

"Oh, but Miss Dorothy, I could never write like that," exclaimed Marian in an awe-stricken tone.

"Perhaps not just like that, but you can tell him about yourself and about the people you know, Mrs. Hunt, for instance, and your schoolmates, and Tippy and Dippy."

"And you?"

"Yes, and me, if you like."

"Oh, very well, I will try again. I didn't know we ought to write letters like that."

"That is the very kind we should write. I will finish mine while you do yours." So for the next few minutes the tapping of the typewriter drowned the scratching of Miss Dorothy's pen, which flew steadily over her paper.

At last Miss Dorothy looked up. "There," she exclaimed, "I have finished mine. How are you getting on?"

"Oh, much better. I have written ever so much. I am almost at the bottom of the page, and I think you will have to put another sheet in for me, if you will be so good."

"I'll do it with pleasure. May I see what you have written, or would you rather not?"

"Oh, please look. I have told him about school and about you and some of the girls. There is a great deal more I could say, but I will leave out Tippy and Dippy this time."

Miss Dorothy read down the page and at the end she stooped and kissed the child. "You have paid me a lovely compliment, dear," she said. "I am glad you feel that way," for Marian had written: "We have the loveliest teacher in the world. Her name is Miss Dorothy Robbins. She is like Mrs. Hunt, but can understand little girls better, for she is younger and prettier. I love her very much."

At last the letter was finished, folded and addressed, and Miss Dorothy promised to mail it herself. It had been a great undertaking for Marian, who was quite tired out by her afternoon's work, but who was very happy now that it was done, for the very act drew her nearer her father.

She went down that same evening to tell Mrs. Hunt about it. There was neither baking nor pickling going on this time, but she found her friend in her sitting-room, a basket of mending by her side. "You are always busy, aren't you, Auntie Hunt?" said Marian. Mrs. Hunt was called Auntie, by many of her friends.

"Yes, dear, I think most busy people are happy, and I am sure all happy people are busy about something. Well, how goes it up at the brick house?"

"Oh, very well, indeed. What do you think I have been doing to-day?"

"Can't guess. There is one thing I know you have not been doing. I'll wager a sixpence you've not been blackberrying," and Mrs. Hunt laughed.

The color flew into Marian's face. "No, indeed, I haven't been, and I shall not probably ever go again until I'm a grown lady, and can do as I please."

"Do you think all grown-ups do as they please?"

"Why, don't they?"

"Not a bit of it. But there, tell me what is the wonderful thing you have been doing?"

"I have written a letter to papa all by myself, and Miss Dorothy has mailed it. She put the stamp on and took it to the post-office just now with her letters."

"Well, well, well, but won't he be pleased to get it? That's a fine young woman, that Miss Dorothy of yours."

"Isn't she?"

"She is so. She made us a nice visit the other evening. She is a girl after my own heart, none of your vain, self-absorbed young persons, always concerned in her own affairs, but one of the real hearty kind that thinks of others as well as herself, and has her eyes open to what is best in life. I like her."

"And she likes you."

"I'm glad to hear it."

"I wish you could see the kind of letters she writes to her father, but then," Marian added thoughtfully, "he must be the kind of father it is easy to write that way to."

"I'll be bound he is the right kind to have a daughter like that. She has no mother, she tells me. Her aunt keeps house for them, and there is quite a family of children."

"Yes, and Patty is the youngest. She is going to write to me."

"Bless me, how you are blossoming out into a correspondent. Well, don't let it take up so much of your time that you won't be able to drop in as often as usual. There is a little basket of grapes in the pantry; you can take it to your grandma; the pear on top grew for you to eat right now."

Marian needed no second hint, but sought out the fruit and was not long in burying her teeth in the yellow juicy pear, and then because it grew dark early, she hurried away that she might be home "before the dark catches you," said Mrs. Hunt.

_CHAPTER VII_

_Patty's Letter_

One day a few weeks later Marian ran to Miss Dorothy with a letter her grandfather had just brought in, and when her teacher opened it, she saw her smile as she drew a sheet from within the longer letter. "This is for you, Marian," said Miss Dorothy.

"It is from Patty, I know," cried Marian delightedly, and she took the long-wished for letter over to the window while Miss Dorothy turned her attention to her own home news.

Patty's was a nice cordial little note which told about her lessons and her friends, and which said that she hoped Marian and she would soon meet and be very chummy. "I know I shall like you," wrote Patty, "because Dolly says so, and Dolly is nearly always right."

"I think so, too," said Marian aloud. She took much longer to read her letter than Miss Dorothy did to read hers, for she was not very expert in reading written pages. Miss Dorothy had laid down the closely written sheets which she had been holding, and was looking out of the window thoughtfully when Marian at last came to "Your affectionate friend, Patty Robbins."

"It was such a nice letter," she said looking up with a pleased sigh.

"I am very glad you found it so," returned Miss Dorothy with a smile.

"Was yours a nice one?"

"Yes, it is from my father, and he always writes delightful letters. I hope to see him and Patty both on Saturday. Dad has some business in the city, and Patty needs a new coat, so he is going to take her with him. I am to meet them there, for poor dad would never know how to buy a coat. Do you often go to the city, Marian?"

"I never have been but once."

"Really? I was just thinking how nice it would be if you could go with me and meet Patty; then we three could go shopping and have lunch somewhere together."

"Oh, Miss Dorothy!" Such a plan was beyond Marian's wildest dreams. She looked radiant for a moment, then her face fell.

"What is the matter?" asked Miss Dorothy.

"I am afraid grandma will not let me go. I never have been but that once, and then grandma had to go to the dentist; grandpa could not go with her and didn't want her to go alone."

"But what about your clothes and things? Don't you have to go there for them?"

"Grandma never gets me ready-mades. Miss Almira Belt makes everything I wear. Do you suppose she always will do it?"

"I hope not," returned Miss Dorothy gravely, then she laughed as she pictured a grown-up Marian arrayed in frocks of Miss Almira's make. They did very well for a little girl, for they were of good material and neatly made, if old-fashioned in cut.

"Do you think grandma would let me go?" asked Marian, a faint hope dawning within her.

"I shall find out."

"Oh, Miss Dorothy, are you really going to ask her?"

"I certainly am."

"But I am afraid she will say it is too expensive. She doesn't believe in spending money in that way on little girls. She allows me to go to church fairs and such things when they are for a good cause, but she says journeying is not necessary, that it excites me and I am better off at home."

"But you would really like to go," said Miss Dorothy disregarding this last speech.

"It would be the most beautifullest thing that ever happened to me."

"Such a small pleasure," said Miss Dorothy half to herself. "Well, dear, if it is only a question of expense, that shall not stand in the way, I promise you. Fifty cents or so would do it, and that is not a large sum."

Here Marian took alarm. "But, Miss Dorothy, you mustn't pay for me. You must keep your money for Patty and the others. You mustn't spend it on me."

"Mustn't I?" Miss Dorothy looked over at her with a little knowing smile. "Then I won't do it since you are so particular, but I have a scheme of my own and we shall see how it will work out. Are you willing to earn it?"

"Indeed I am; I should like it above all things. I never earned any money for myself, but I have earned some for the heathen."

Miss Dorothy made a little grimace. "Very well, if you are willing to earn your way, you may consider yourself invited to make the journey at your own expense. I guarantee sufficient work to pay for your ticket. I don't suppose you will object to being paid in advance."

Marian looked doubtful. "Well--if----"

"If--if----What an ifer you are. I don't mean all in advance, only a part. Do you agree to that?"

"I don't suppose it would be wrong to agree to that."

"You must have a Puritan conscience," said Miss Dorothy laughing.

"What is that?"

"It is something that is very unhealthy sometimes. I will see that you begin your work to-morrow."

"Do please tell me now what it is."

"No, no, you might back out," Miss Dorothy laughed. "I'll tell you when the time comes. In the meantime your grandma's consent must be had. Perhaps I'd better settle it at once. Will you go with me to ask her?"

Marian hung back. "Oh, if you don't mind," she said, "I'd rather not."

"You're no kind of a soldier. See me walk up to the cannon's mouth." And leaving the room, Miss Dorothy ran lightly down-stairs.

Marian followed slowly, but though she hesitated at the sitting-room door where she heard voices, she did not tarry, but went on down to the lower floor and into the garden where Tippy and Dippy lay asleep in the sunshine. Dippy opened one eye and stretched himself as Marian approached. She picked him up and carried him down to the apple tree.

"I've had a letter from Patty," she told him when she was settled in the crotch of the tree, "and maybe,--it is only maybe,--Dippy, I am going to the city on Saturday. I don't suppose you would care anything about it. I am sure you would much rather stay here and chase grasshoppers, but I want to go so powerfully that I think I shall cry my eyes out if grandma says I can't. I know she wouldn't consent if I asked her, but maybe she will if Miss Dorothy does." She sat still cuddling Dippy who had fallen asleep again. From her point of vantage she could look up and down the street. She had learned not to expect to move the mountain, but the mustard seeds were again in her mind.

Presently she saw Miss Dorothy come out the front door and turn down the street. She crept along the limb on which she sat, leaving Dippy to look out for himself, and gained the wall from which she could look directly down upon the pavement. She must ask Miss Dorothy what success she had had. "Miss Dorothy, Miss Dorothy," she called softly when her teacher came near. Miss Dorothy looked up. "What did she say?" asked Marian.

"She hasn't said yes yet," replied Miss Dorothy. "What are you doing up there?"

"Oh, just nothing but looking around and thinking, about the mustard seed, you know."

"Oh, yes. Very well, I'm about to do the works, so you stay there and exercise the faith, and perhaps between us we'll manage to get this settled to our satisfaction."

"Where are you going?" asked Marian as Miss Dorothy walked on.

"To attend to the works," called back Miss Dorothy mysteriously. "Faith and works, you know."

Marian crawled back again to the crotch of the tree. Dippy had jumped down, not being pleased at having his nap disturbed, so Marian did not go after him but sat looking off at the mountain. "I want to go, oh, Lord, I do want to go," she said wistfully, "and I believe you will let Miss Dorothy manage it, yes, I do." She sat with her eyes fixed upon the mountain for some time, then she gave a long sigh, and changed her position. "I believe I'll go get Patty's letter and read it over again," she said, beginning to climb down the tree.

In a little while she was back again in her old place, letter in hand. She had finished reading it and was looking off down street watching for Miss Dorothy's return when she saw Mrs. Hunt entering the front door; she had come down street this time, instead of up. "She's come to see grandma, I suppose," said Marian. Then a thought flashed across her mind; she wondered if Miss Dorothy's works had anything to do with Mrs. Hunt's coming. To be sure Miss Dorothy was not with her, but neither had she been that other time when Mrs. Hunt had managed so well about the apron. Marian could not resist the temptation of going in to hear what her grandmother and Mrs. Hunt were talking about. She paused at the door of the sitting-room. Mrs. Hunt sat rocking in one of the haircloth rockers, Mrs. Otway in the other.

"Yes," Mrs. Hunt was saying, "Dr. Grimes says she's not likely to be about again soon if she gets over it."

Mrs. Otway looked very grave. "I'm sorry for more reasons than one. Marian needs a new coat, and I had counted on Almira's making it."

It was Miss Belt, then, of whom they were talking. Marian crept softly in and sat down in a corner where she could hear more.

"They think she got it up there at Billing's," Mrs. Hunt went on. "She was sewing there a while ago, and Dr. Grimes says the water on that place isn't fit to drink; they ought to boil it. Like as not that is where she did get it. Typhoid is pretty slow, but she has a good nurse in Hannah, and I don't doubt she'll pull through. Is that you, Marian? Come here, honey."

Marian went to her old friend. "I was telling about Almira Belt's being down with typhoid," said Mrs. Hunt.

"Oh, isn't that too bad?" Marian's sympathies were real. She liked Miss Almira, though she didn't enjoy having her cold scissors snipping around her shoulders, and her bony fingers poking at her when she stood up to be fitted.

"It is too bad," returned Mrs. Hunt, "for her work has to lie by; there's no one else to do it, for her sister Hannah has her hands full."

"I'm truly sorry," said Mrs. Otway shaking her head, "with the winter coming I am afraid it will go hard with them."

"Yes, winter isn't far off," said Mrs. Hunt. "William says he thinks we'll have early snow. We'll all have to keep the Belts in mind, and I guess they'll not suffer. Well, I must be going. I thought you'd want to hear about Almira; you're always so ready to look out for the sick, Maria."

"I certainly shall not let Almira want for anything I can do," returned Mrs. Otway with emphasis. "She has been a good and faithful worker all her days, and I hope her years of usefulness are not ended yet. Thank you for coming to tell us, Salome."

"Well, I knew you'd want to know," repeated Mrs. Hunt. "By the way, Maria, I hear Miss Robbins is going to town on Saturday, and I shouldn't wonder if there'd be something to get for Almira. I don't doubt Miss Robbins would attend to it."

"I am sure she would," returned Mrs. Otway. "She is always very ready to offer her services."

"You like her right well, don't you?" said Mrs. Hunt.

"Very much indeed; we are glad to have her with us."

"That's what I surmised. What was I going to say? Oh, yes, you were remarking that Marian needed a winter coat, and she will need it, cold as it is growing, for I remember you sent her last year's one in the missionary box. Why not let Miss Robbins get one for her in the city? Marian could go along, and she'd be glad of her company. It wouldn't be much trouble if the child were there to fit it on. You could tell her the kind you wanted, and I'll venture to say you'd pay less than for the cloth and making."

"Perhaps that would be a good plan," replied Mrs. Otway, as if it had not been presented before. "I'll see about it when Miss Dorothy comes in."

"Oh, may I go?" Marian breathed softly, but at that moment the door was shut after Mrs. Hunt, and her grandmother did not hear the question, which was just as well, as Marian on second thoughts decided, for if she thought the child wanted to go for a frolic she might withhold her consent. So Marian wisely held her tongue and went out to the garden again.

No more was said upon the subject until the next day and Marian was afraid it was forgotten, but in the afternoon Miss Dorothy called her. "Come in here, young woman, and earn your trip to town."

Marian obeyed with alacrity. Miss Dorothy was seated before her typewriter. "Come here and I will show you what you have to do," she said. "You are to make twenty copies of this little slip. You must make as many as you can upon one sheet of paper, about so far apart. You know now perfectly well how to put in the paper and how to take it out. To-morrow you can make twenty slips more, twenty the day after, making sixty slips in all; you will be paid half a cent for each slip, and eventually you will earn sixty cents, just what a round trip ticket costs. Do you agree?"

"Oh, Miss Dorothy, of course, if you are sure I can do it."

"Of course you can do it, at first slowly, and then, as they are to be all alike, you will be able to do the last with your eyes shut. Now, I'll leave you to go ahead."

"Please----"

"Please what?"

"Wait till I have done one to see if it is all right."

"Very well, that is a small favor to grant."

"And, tell me, am I really to go?"

"The powers that be, have so decreed."

"And I can pay my own way?"

"Yes, that is one of the reasons. Your very wise and astute teacher remarked that it would teach you self-reliance and independence, help to make you resourceful, broaden your experiences. Oh, me! what didn't she argue?"

Marian turned adoring eyes upon her. "And Mrs. Hunt?" she said.

"Did you think she had something to do with it? Well, she did without knowing it, for I was on my way to her house when she came here with the news of Miss Almira's illness, and all unconsciously she did us a good turn by suggesting that you go up to the city with me to get a coat. Wasn't it funny that it should happen that way? I didn't mean about poor Miss Almira; that is anything but funny, but it is strange that Mrs. Hunt should have come around with a piece of news that settled the whole matter. When your grandma told me you were to go, I came near laughing outright, but when I knew the reason I did look concerned, I hope. She said she had been thinking over the matter of your going to the city with me. Would it be too great a task, and would I have time to select a coat for you? No, I said it would be no task at all, for I should be doing the same for my little sister.

"Here I ran against a snag, for your grandmother said that perhaps I could get yours without your being there, for my little sister could be your proxy. 'Oh, but,' I said, 'Patty is short and chubby while Marian is tall and slender. I am afraid I could never select the proper garment unless she were there to try it on.' 'But the expense,' said grandma. 'Sixty cents would do much good in some other direction.' 'Perhaps,' I said, 'I can get a coat for less than the price you have fixed upon, if I get the two together.' She wasn't so sure of that. Then I said, 'I have a little work that I promised a friend of mine to do for her, typewritten slips, which Marian could do perfectly. If I go to the city on Saturday I cannot get them all done as promptly as they should be, but if Marian could help me, I could share the pay and she could then make her own expenses.' At this grandma succumbed, and so, my dear, we are going. Now, I must go, for you will never do twenty slips before dark if I stand talking. That looks very well. Keep on as you have begun and you have nothing to fear."

Left to herself Marian tapped away industriously till just as it was getting too dark to see, she finished her twenty slips and proudly showed them to Miss Dorothy when she came in. The first money she had ever really earned was placed in her hand.

"If you don't get your entire sixty done this week," said Miss Dorothy, "you can hitch some of them on to next week's number, for we agreed to square this matter. So you needn't go to town with the feeling that you haven't earned the trip, whatever happens."

Marian smiled back her reply and ran down to show her precious dime to her grandfather. He actually patted her on the head and called her a good child while her grandmother looked over her spectacles and nodded approval.

The next day the second twenty slips were finished, but the third day only ten were done as Miss Dorothy had to use her typewriter for some school work, yet with only ten remaining of the first sixty, Marian felt that she had no right to feel aggrieved, especially as it had become very easy work. So it was a very happy little girl who went to sleep Friday night to dream of the next day's pleasures.

_CHAPTER VIII_

_A Trip to Town_

The morning dawned bright and fair, a little cool, to be sure, but so much the better, thought Marian, for now grandma will be all the more ready for me to get my coat. The leaves danced in red, yellow and brown array, along the side-walk as Marian and Miss Dorothy stepped out of the house to take the early train. It was such an important occasion that Marian felt as if every one must be wondering where she was going so early, dressed in her best. But no one took any special notice of her except one of the schoolgirls whom she happened to meet, and who said: "Are you going to town, Marian?"

"Yes, Miss Dorothy and I are going shopping," returned Marian with beaming face.

"I thought you must be going; you're so dressed up," returned the child, and Marian smiled up at her companion with an air of conscious delight. Everything was so interesting; the starting of the train, the movements of their fellow passengers, the outlook from the car windows, the masses of red and yellow foliage which meant forests, the brown bare spaces which were fields, the little isolated houses, the small villages stretching away from the stations. There was not one moment of the journey when Marian was not entertained by what she saw along the way.

At last they reached the city and such a noise and confusion as met their ears, made Marian cling to Miss Dorothy. "Is it always like this?" she asked.

"Like this? How?"

"So noisy and crowded and everybody rushing about in such a hurry."

"Yes, I think it is. We notice it more, coming from our quiet little village. This is the car we take. We are to meet Patty at the library. Father has to go there to look up some references, and it seemed the best place to meet. Have you ever been there, Marian?"

"No, I never have."

"Then it will be something for you to see. A good library is a good lesson in many directions."

But Marian's eyes were not taking in rows of books or library appointments when they reached the reading-room. She was searching for a dark-haired, rosy-faced, plump little girl who should answer to the name of Patty. "I believe there she is," she whispered to Miss Dorothy, and nodded toward a corner where sat two whom Marian decided must be those they were looking for.

"Why, so it is," returned Miss Dorothy. "The idea of your seeing them first. How did you know them?"

"From the photographs you showed me, and from what you told me about them."

Patty had been on the lookout, too, and spied them at once. She hurried forward, threw her arms around her sister and gave her a fervent hug, then she turned to Marian. "I am so glad you could come," she said heartily. "I was so afraid maybe you couldn't and I did so want us to be together to-day."

"Dad is so absorbed he hasn't seen us yet," said Miss Dorothy, making her way to the corner where her father sat. "I wonder if I can steal up behind him and take him unawares." She had almost reached him when he caught sight of her. Down went the book, he jumped up and had her in his arms in a minute. "Come, come," he said, "let us get out where we don't have to whisper. I'll come back later," and he hurried them into the corridor where they could speak freely. He was not a very tall man, but was broad-shouldered and a little inclined to be stout. "Now," he said with a pleasant smile at Marian, "I am willing to bet a cookie, that I can tell who this is. You look like your father, my dear. I knew him very well when I was younger, for I will venture to say you are a Miss Somebody Otway."

"Her name is Marian," said Patty, "and we are going to be great friends."

"You are? Isn't it early in the day to make such predictions?" said Mr. Robbins.

"No." Patty shook her head. "I knew the minute I saw her that we were going to be. I like her, don't you, daddy?"

"If she is as nice as she looks, I do," was the reply, and Marian felt much pleased at being made of such consequence. She was not used to being noticed and these friendly people pleased her. She wondered if her father would be as cheery, and as affectionately disposed as Mr. Robbins. She would ask this pleasant man about her father some day when they were better acquainted.

"Now, let me see, what is the programme?" said Mr. Robbins to his elder daughter.

"We three females are going shopping. I am to buy Patty a coat. Is there anything else I am to get for the family?"

"Dear me, yes. I have a long list that your Aunt Barbara gave me; she said you would know. I have it somewhere about me." He felt in his pockets and presently brought out the list which Miss Dorothy looked over.

"Oh, these will not be much trouble," she assured him. "They are all little things. I can easily see to them all."

"That is good; I am glad to have that responsibility removed," said her father. "You will want some money, I suppose."

"Yes, but not very much," Miss Dorothy smiled encouragingly. She knew too well the many demands upon that none-too-well-filled pocketbook, and when her father took out a roll of bills and handed them to her she gave some back to him. "I shall not need all that," she told him. "Patty's coat is the only really expensive thing I shall have to get."

"Very well, then," said her father, "but you must be sure to have enough. Now, where shall we meet for lunch?"

"Oh, are we all to lunch together?" said Miss Dorothy in a pleased voice. "Suppose we go to Griffin's; it is a nice quiet place."

"What time?"

"About one, I think."

"All right, one sharp, then. Sure you've enough money?"

Miss Dorothy nodded. "Quite enough. Dear dad," she said as he moved off, "he is so generous. I don't believe he has a mean bone in his body."

This set Marian to wondering if one had a mean bone which it would be; she thought possibly an elbow; they could be so sharp, but before she had settled the question Patty began to talk to her and they were then so busy getting acquainted that there was no time to think of mean bones or anything else but themselves.

It was a most delightful experience to go around the big shops, and look at the pretty things. Patty had such a pleasant way of making believe which added to the fun. "Now you say what you are going to buy," she began, "and I'll say what I am. I think I'd like that pretty shiny, pinky silk hanging up there."

Marian looked at her in amazement. "Oh, have you enough money to buy that?" she asked in surprise.

Patty laughed. "Not really, I am just pretending I have."

"Oh," Marian's face cleared. "I'd like to pretend, too. Are you going to buy it for yourself?"

"Dear me, no. I am going to get it for Dolly; she would look dear in a frock of it. I shall not get much for myself. It's much more fun to get for other people, for they don't know it and it doesn't make them feel bad if they don't get the things. When I get things for myself, sometimes I am a little wee bit disappointed because I am only make-believing. I think Dick would like one of those neckties, the red one, I think."

Marian felt suddenly very poverty-stricken; there were no Dollies or Dicks for her to buy make-believes for. She sighingly mentioned the fact to Patty.

"Oh, that doesn't make any difference," said Patty cheerfully; "you can buy for some one else. I think I'll get you that Roman sash."

"Oh, lovely, and I'll get you the blue one. Would you like it?"

"I'd love it."

"I might get Miss Dorothy one of those pretty lacey things in the case."

"That would be fine; she'd be so pleased." Patty spoke so exactly as if Marian really intended to buy it, that the latter laughed outright. Patty was really great fun.

"I'll get something for dear Mrs. Hunt," Marian went on.

"Oh, do. I know about her. Dolly wrote us how kind she was to her. She must be awfully nice."

Marian overlooked the "awfully." She was not going to criticise anything about Patty if she could help it. "I think I ought to get something for poor Miss Almira," she went on. "It is because she is so ill and couldn't make my coat that I could come to-day. What do you think would be nice for her, Patty?"

Patty's eyes roved around the big store. "See, those soft-looking wrappers hanging up way over there? I think one of those would be just the thing for a sick person. Let's go look at them and pick one out. We'll tell Dolly we are going. She will be at that counter for some time."

They left Miss Dorothy while they went upon their interesting errand of selecting a proper robe for Miss Almira. They decided upon one of lavender and white, and then they returned to find that Miss Dorothy had finished making her uninteresting purchases of tapes, thread and the like, so they went to another floor to look at coats. Marian's was chosen first and Patty was so pleased with it that she begged to have one like it, "If Marian doesn't mind," she said.

Marian did not in the least mind, in fact she would be delighted to know that she and Patty had coats alike, for then they could think of one another whenever they put them on. So one as near like Marian's as possible was selected for Patty, and then they went to a place Patty had been talking of all morning. This was an exhibition of moving pictures which Patty doted upon and which Miss Dorothy, herself, confessed she dearly liked. To Marian it was like exploring a new country, and she was filled with awe and delight, so they remained till the last minute and had to hurry in order to reach Griffin's by one o'clock.

Mr. Robbins was there, watch in hand. "Ten minutes late," he cried.

"It was that funny man trying to get his hat that kept us," declared Patty. "We had to see the end."

"She means the moving pictures," Miss Dorothy explained. "We were so absorbed we didn't realize how the time was going."

"Oh, well, well, never mind," said Mr. Robbins good-naturedly. "I have ordered lunch and we'll go eat it."

"Good!" exclaimed Patty. "I always like what dad orders much better than what I get myself. What did you get, daddy dear?"

"Beefsteak and French fried potatoes, hot rolls, chocolate for you ladies, coffee for myself. Would you like a salad, Dolly? We can have some ice-cream and cake, or whatever sweet you like, later."

Miss Dorothy declined the salad for them all, and her father led the way to a table near the windows where one could look out upon the street or in upon the room in which they were sitting. It was all very exciting and unusual to Marian who had never enjoyed such a high event in all her life as lunching at a restaurant with grown-ups. Everything was a matter of curiosity and pleasure from the garnished dish of beefsteak to the chocolate with whipped cream on top. The shining mirrors, the dextrous waiters, the music played by an orchestra, seated behind tall palms, made the place appear like fairy-land to the little village girl. "I'd like to do this every day," she confided to Patty.

"So should I," agreed Patty.

"No, you wouldn't," put in Mr. Robbins overhearing them. "You'd grow so tired of it that you would long for plain bread and butter in your own home. Nothing palls upon one so much as having to dine at a restaurant every day. I have tried it and I know."

Marian could scarcely believe this possible, but she supposed that such things appeared very different to men, and she was sure that it would be many, many years before she would grow tired of it. After luncheon there came more shopping, and the time arrived all too soon when they must start for home. At parting Patty slipped a little package into Marian's hand. "It's for you," she whispered. "It isn't the Roman sash, but I hope you will like it. Dolly is going to ask your grandma if she can't bring you to make us a visit some day."

"How I should love to do that," was the fervent answer. Marian felt very badly that she had nothing to give Patty in return for her gift. "If you were a heathen," she said gravely, "I might have something to give you, too. I hope grandma will let me make the visit. I mean to think of the mustard seed very hard and maybe she will let me." Then before she could explain this strange speech to the puzzled Patty, Mr. Robbins said they must hurry to the train, and she had to leave Patty on the platform waiting till her train should be called, and wondering what sort of girl Marian could be to say such very unusual things.

Marian waited till the train was fairly under way before she opened the package Patty had given her. She found it contained a little doll. On a piece of paper was scribbled: "You said you didn't have any little dolls, so I got you this one. It cost only five cents. I hope you will think of me when you play with it." The doll was one which Marian had admired in the Five Cent store, and which she had wished she could buy. "I don't see when she got it," she said to Miss Dorothy, turning the doll around admiringly.

"Don't you remember when you ran to the door to listen to the street band that was playing outside?"

"Oh, yes. Was it then?"

"It was then. Patty was so pleased to get it so secretly."

"I shall call it Patty," said Marian. "I shall love her very much; she is so cunning and little, and I can do all sorts of things with her that I can't do with my big doll." This tiny Patty was company all the way home, and in a measure took the place of her lively namesake. Marian had been obliged to rely upon her own invention and imagination so much in her little life, which had lacked childish comrades, that she could amuse herself very well alone or with slight things.

Miss Dorothy watched her as she murmured to the wee Patty and at last she said: "Have you had a good day, girlie?"

Marian cuddled up to her in the familiar way she had seen Patty do. "Oh, it has been a wonderful day, and I am so thankful for Patty," she said.

"Big Patty or this little one?" Miss Dorothy touched the doll with her gloved finger.

"For both. There is so much that is pleasant in the world, isn't there? Every little while something comes along that you never knew about before and it makes you glad. First you came, then there was school and the girls, and to-day came Patty and your father. He makes me feel very differently about fathers."

"He is a dear dad," said Miss Dorothy lovingly.

"Do you think mine will be like him? I've always thought of him as being like grandpa, not that grandpa isn't very nice," she added quickly, "but he doesn't think much about little girls, and never says funny jokey things to them as your father does. He never seems to notice the things I do, and your father talks to Patty about the little, little things I never knew grown up men were interested in."

"That's because he has to be father and mother, too. Our mother died when Patty was a baby, you know. Yes, daddy is a darling."

"I hope mine will be," said Marian earnestly. "I haven't any mother either, so perhaps he will feel like being father and mother, too. I wonder when I shall see him. I didn't use to think much about it, but since I have written to him, and all that, I think much more about him."

"That is perfectly natural, and I have no doubt but that when he finds out that you want to see him he will want to see you, and he will be crossing the ocean the first thing we know."

"Oh, do you really think so?"

"I shouldn't be at all surprised, only you mustn't count too much on it. We must be getting those photographs ready pretty soon."

"I would like one of Patty and me together, I mean Patty Robbins, this is Patty Otway," and she held out her doll.

"We'll see if that can be arranged."

"How can it when we don't live in the same place?"

"I have a little plan that I cannot tell you yet. If it works out all right I will let you know."

"Oh, Miss Dorothy, you are always making such lovely plans. What did I ever do without you? Has the plan anything to do with my going to visit Patty some time?"

"Maybe it has and maybe it hasn't. But, dear me, we are slowing up for Greenville. We must not be carried on to the next station. Have we all the things? Where is the umbrella? Oh, you have it. All right. I hope Heppy will give us hot cakes for supper, don't you?" So saying she led the way from the train and in a few minutes they were making their way up the familiar street which, strange to say, had not altered in the least since morning, although Marian felt that she had been away so long something must surely have happened meanwhile.

_CHAPTER IX_

_A Visit to Patty_

After all it was not so very long before Marian and Patty met again, for a little cough which developed soon after the trip to town in course of time grew worse, and in course of time the family doctor announced that Marian had whooping-cough. Mrs. Otway was aghast. She had a horror of contagious diseases and kept Marian at a distance. "She must not go to school," she said to Miss Dorothy, "for the other children might take it."

This was a great blow to Marian, for it meant not only staying away from school, but from her schoolmates upon whom she had begun to depend, so it was a very sorrowful face that she wore all that day, and time hung heavily upon her hands. She wandered up-stairs and down, wishing for the hour to come when Miss Dorothy would return. Finally she went out to the garden, for her grandmother had told her to keep in the open air as much as possible, and it was still pleasant in the sunshine. "I don't suppose Dippy and Tippy will get the whooping-cough if I play with them," she remarked to Heppy, feeling that if these playmates failed her she would be desolate indeed.

Heppy laughed. "They're not likely to," she said, "though I have known plenty of cats to have coughs, and I have known of their having pneumony, but I guess you can risk it."

So Marian and the cats spent the morning in the garden and it was there Miss Dorothy found them when she came in to dinner. She had an open letter in her hand which she waved as she walked toward Marian. "What do you think?" she said. "Patty has the whooping-cough, too, though not very badly. Your grandmother was right when she said you probably got it the day we all went shopping."

"Oh, poor Patty! I wish she were here with me."

"And she wishes you were there with her. She is going to have lessons at home for a little while each day, and I think it would be a good thing if you could have them together. In fact, it struck me as such a good plan that I have spoken to your grandmother about it. Your grandfather has taken up some work this winter which will keep him very busy, and he could not give you any time. I would be glad to, but my work grows more and more absorbing and your grandparents will not listen to my teaching you out of school hours, so as it seems a pity for you to lose all these weeks, I proposed that you should go to our house to keep Patty company. You will not have to study so very hard, for the whooping-cough must have plenty of outdoor air, and it would not do for you to be cooped many hours a day. What do you think of it?"

For a moment Marian looked pleased, then her face fell. "I should miss you so," she said.

"You dear child," returned Miss Dorothy, drawing her close. "So should I miss you, but I think I can arrange to come home every week now. It will mean very early rising on Monday morning in order to get here in time for school, but I can manage it, and I shall be able to reach home by six on Friday afternoon, so you see----"

"Oh, I do see, and I think that would be fine."

"My little Patty misses me, too, and so does Father. Aunt Barbara is an excellent housekeeper and a good nurse when any one is ill, but she is not much of a companion for daddy nor for Patty. Then, too, I hate to be out of it all. I long to keep up with the college news and the home doings, so I shall try going home at the end of the week, for awhile, anyhow."

"And did grandma say I could go?"

"She actually did. I think she is a little afraid of taking whooping-cough herself, for she asked me yesterday if I had ever known of any grown person having it, and I do know of several cases. I had it myself when I was three years old, but your grandma cannot remember that she ever had."

"I'm glad she can't remember," returned Marian with a laugh. "Who is going to hear our lessons, Miss Dorothy?"

"My sister Emily. She is two years younger than I, and is still studying. She is taking special courses at college, but thinks she can spare an hour or so a day to you chicks, especially as she expects to teach after a while, and she will begin to practise on you."

"I will take little Patty with me," declared Marian, picking up that person from where she was seated on a large grape leaf under a dahlia bush.

"So I would. I am sure she will like to visit Patty's dolls."

"Oh, Miss Dorothy, you are so nice," exclaimed Marian giving her a little squeeze. "Grandma never says such things. She doesn't ever like to make believe. She says the facts of life are so hard that there is no time to waste in pretending." Marian's manner as she said this was so like her grandmother's that Miss Dorothy could but smile. "I am glad you took some of the photographs for papa before I got the whoops," Marian went on; "the one at school and the one at Mrs. Hunt's. Oh, dear Mrs. Hunt will be sorry to have me go."

"She will, I know. She told me this morning that she was going to ask you to stay with her a while during the time you must be away from school. Should you like that better than going to Revell?"

"I'd like both," answered Marian truthfully.

"That is often the way in this world," returned Miss Dorothy. "It is frequently hard to choose between two equally good things. I will bring you all the home news every week, and can tell you whether Ruth knew her lessons, whether Marjorie was late, how Mrs. Hunt's fall chickens are thriving, and what Tippy and Dippy do in your absence. I shall be quite a newsmonger."

"What is a monger?"

"One who deals or sells. You can look it up in the dictionary when you go back to the house."

The preparations for her departure went forward quickly, and by Friday morning, Marian's trunk was packed, and all was in readiness. Her grandfather actually kissed her good-bye and gave her five cents. As her grandmother did not happen to be on hand at that moment to require that Marian should deposit the nickel in her missionary box, the child pocketed it in glee, and, at Miss Dorothy's suggestion, bought a picture postal card to send her father, giving her new address. Miss Dorothy wrote it for her, addressed and mailed the card, so Marian was satisfied that her father would know where she was. "I don't like to have him not know," she told Miss Dorothy. Mrs. Otway gave her granddaughter many charges to be a good girl and give no trouble, to take care of her clothes properly and not to forget to be obedient.

"As if I could forget," thought Marian.

Heppy had no remarks to make, but only grunted when Marian went to say good-bye to her. However as the child left the kitchen Heppy snapped out: "You'd better take along what belongs to you as long as you're bound to go."

"Take what?" asked Marian wonderingly, not knowing that she had left anything behind.

Heppy jerked her head in the direction of the table on which a package was lying.

"What is it?" asked Marian curiously.

"Something that belongs to you," said Heppy turning her back and taking her dish-towels out to hang in the sun.

Marian carried the package with her and later on found it contained some of Heppy's most toothsome little cakes. "It is just like her," Marian told Miss Dorothy. "She acts so cross outside and all the time she is feeling real kind inside."

Miss Dorothy laughed. "I am beginning to find that out, but I shall never forget how grim she seemed to me when I first came."

Mr. Robbins' house was very near the college, and Marian thought it the prettiest place she had ever seen. As they walked up the elm-bordered street, the college grounds stretched away beyond them. The gray buildings were draped in vines bright with autumn tints, and the many trees showed the same brilliant colors. In front of the Robbins' door was a pretty garden where chrysanthemums were all a-bloom, and one or two late roses had ventured to put forth. A wide porch ran along the front and one side the house, and on this Patty stood watching for them. She was not long in spying them and hurried down to meet them. "I am so glad you have whooping-cough," she called out before they came up. Then as they met and embraced she went on: "Isn't it fine, Marian, that we both have whooping-cough and winter coats alike? We're most like twins, aren't we? Come right in. There is a fire in the library, Dolly, and Emily has tea there for you."

"Good!" cried her sister, "that will go to the spot this chilly evening. Where are Aunt Barbara and dad?"

"Oh, puttering around somewhere."

"And the boys?"

"They went to practice for the game, but they ought to be home by now."