The suggestion brought Marjorie a ray of hope. She dried her eyes, and squeezed Lily's hand gratefully.
"I certainly will do that!" she exclaimed. "Thank you for suggesting it."
The following day, Sunday, was mild and beautiful; Marjorie was so glad to see that the rain was gone, and so hopeful about her new project, that she felt quite cheerful again. She selected one of her prettiest dresses—a pale pink voile—and also wore her pink silk sweater which matched it so perfectly.
"I won't bother with a hat," she thought. "It's so warm, and it will seem more informal without one."
It was only a few minutes' walk to Mrs. Johnson's house, and she reached it in no time. With trembling fingers, she rang the doorbell. The woman herself answered the summons.
"How do you do, Mrs. Johnson?" she said pleasantly. And then, just as if she were paying an ordinary call on one of her own friends, "Is Frieda in?"
Mrs. Johnson smiled. "Yes. Do come in, and sit down—Marjorie—isn't that your name? Let's talk a little first, and then I'll call her."
Marjorie sat down upon the edge of the sofa, and leaned forward eagerly. She was curious for news of this strange girl, who so baffled everybody, even Miss Phillips and kind Mrs. Johnson.
"She isn't civilized, Marjorie," said the older woman. "That's exactly what it is; she has lived with people all of her life who have no conception of morals, or manners, or training, and she simply acts like a sort of mental savage."