The heiress of McGregor

by Lucy Ellen Guernsey

Then a bright thought occurred to Marion.

Why should not Auntie Baby keep house for Asahel? Asahel was unwilling to break up the house in which poor Gerty had taken such pride, so long as his business required him to stay in Rock Bottom. He had tried one housekeeper after another, but every arrangement had fallen through so far. Aunt Baby was a capital housekeeper, and a pleasant companion into the bargain. Why should not she make a home for Asahel and Asahel for her?

Marion mentioned the matter first to her mother, and then, with her entire approbation, to Asahel. Asahel caught at the notion. It would be delightful—the next thing to having mother herself. So the matter was arranged, and Auntie Baby took up her abode in Rock Bottom, finding great delight in her numerous family of nephews and nieces, who all adopted her at once, and making herself as much loved in the little community as poor Gerty had been disliked and dreaded. She was sometimes a little disturbed by what she deemed her nephew's lavish expenditure, and Asahel now and then remonstrated mildly at Aunt Baby's little economies, but in general they jogged on together very nicely.

Other changes had taken place. Henry's theological course was nearly finished. He had received a call to a new church and parish in Colorado, and Stanley's wedding outfit was already in hand. The middle boys were both away from home. Bram was studying medicine with Doctor Fenn in Ivanhoe and attending lectures in New York. Frank, to his own intense delight, had obtained an appointment as clerk and junior botanist to some one of those exploring expeditions which are continually being sent out by government, and was having all sorts of delightful adventures and risks in the far North-west. The Scotchmen, as they were still called, went over to Ivanhoe to school every day. Betsy had developed into a charming young lady, with just enough of her girlish oddities left to make her original and brilliant. She was quite a model elder daughter when at home, but she was now at school in New York, working hard at her music, which was still her favourite pursuit. The Overbeck little ones were growing up, and a new little boy, as Eileen called him, had dethroned Dotty from his proud position of King Baby.

Marion had been gaining in all these years. She was now a somewhat tall, well-developed girl, strikingly pretty and very elegant and attractive. She had been at Round Spring for a year and a half, where she had won golden opinions from teachers and schoolmates, and she had been at Holford to help Auntie Baby break up. She had followed up her water-colour painting with great success, and had sold two or three pictures very well. She might have had an excellent position and a large salary as teacher of painting, but she felt that she must stay at home for the present.

It has been said once in this story that tanning runs in families, and the same might be said of missionary work. The children of missionaries almost always become missionaries themselves. Living as she did with Doctor and Mrs. Campbell, hearing constantly all the particulars of their work, reading letters from their pupils and from friends on the field, moreover, living an earnest Christian life and desirous of doing some special Christian work,—it was not strange that Marion's heart should have turned toward the mission field. She had not talked much about the matter, but it had never been out of her mind all through her school and home life for two years past.

No doubt she worked all the better for having set this definite aim before herself. She learned all her lessons with a view to teaching them to others, and so she went to the bottom of every one and left no unexplored ground behind her. She omitted no opportunity of practicing teaching and succeeded very well, and she was skilful in all sorts of household work. Auntie Baby was wont to boast that her darling could do everything needful to make a stocking from the time the wool came off the sheep to the final "toeing off;" and that is what few lasses can say nowadays. She could make her own dresses and her father's shirts, and "run" all sorts of sewing-machines. Butter and cheese-making she had learned on the old farm under Auntie Baby's skilful teaching, and she was a very excellent cook. All these accomplishments would be so many helps to Marion's usefulness in the mission field.

But there was one great hindrance—a hindrance of which she was herself dimly aware, though she resolutely turned her eyes away and forgot it as far as she could. That hindrance was the state of her health. She was not very strong. Ever since her fall into the old hemlock, her back had been somewhat weak, and she was subject to severe pain in back and head if she walked or rode too much. It was a subject to which she did not like to allude. She never complained, and the question, "Does your back ache?" always annoyed her. By dint of constant care, she got on in school and at home very comfortably, and was not often laid by more than a day at a time. Perhaps there was something of Marion's old self-will in the way she resolutely shut her eyes to this hindrance. She could not bear to see it, and so she would not see it.

But the time came when the matter must be decided. A teacher was wanted for one of the Persian schools, and the place was offered to Marion. She might have a month in which to decide, and would not be obliged to go under six months, which would give her ample time to make all her preparations and learn something of the language.

Of course the matter was talked over in the family in all its bearings. It came very hard upon Eileen and Auntie Baby to think of parting with their only girl, but they both felt that Marion must decide the matter for herself. Amity was sure that Marion would never be well enough to endure the journey, but she said very little. Doctor and Mrs. Campbell both thought Marion remarkably well qualified for the place if—there it was again—if she were only strong enough.