Lucy sighed and went on to the next line: "'The slaves were wounded with spears and arrows.' I guess it wasn't a pacifist who wrote this book."
"Letter, please," said a timid voice at the door, and the new maid handed an envelope to Marian, whose "Thank you" sounded so pleased that Lucy decided the letter was from her father.
Lucy's eyes left her book again to follow the little maid out of the room with a friendly interest. She was a Belgian girl, whom Mrs. Gordon had engaged in New York, where she had just landed from England. She had spent the last two years in London and learned there to speak English pretty well, but before leaving her own country she had undergone danger and privations which still lingered vividly in her memory. Margaret had already confided to Lucy that she had spent most of the evening before in listening to Marie's story. "It's enough to give you bad dreams to hear her,
"LETTER, PLEASE", SAID A TIMID VOICE
"Miss Lucy," she said feelingly. "Sorry as I am for the poor girl."
No trace of Marie's memory of the war showed in her face, but a certain quiet gentleness in her manner made her seem older than her years. She was a quick, neat-handed little thing who could sweep and dust to Mrs. Gordon's liking, and had already won William's respect by the number of games she knew how to play, most of them involving as much running and skipping as he liked. Lucy was forgetting her Latin to wonder how it would feel to be driven brutally from her own country, leaving it invaded and ruined, and if she could have faced it with little Marie's quiet courage. A sudden joyful exclamation from Marian interrupted her.
"Lucy, what do you think? Father is going to Montreal, and will come here right afterward. He leaves for Canada next week, so he will probably be home before the first of January. A month isn't so awfully long, is it? And it may be less." Marian was sincerely devoted to her father, and the joy in her face was pleasant to see.