Marion passed a great deal of her time in dreams of this kind, in which she always enacted the heroine, performing incredible and often impossible feats of self-sacrifice, courage, and benevolence, running the most frightful risks and going through the most desperate adventures, but always coming out at last in a blaze of honour, riches, and high station.
She enacted every heroine of every story she read, but her favourite character was entirely one of her own creation, namely, "the heiress of the McGregors." This young lady was a damsel of the most varying fortunes. When all went well with Marion in school or at home, the heiress of the McGregors had very nice times. But when things went wrong—when Miss Oliver found fault with her for not having her lessons, for blotting her exercise-book, or inking her fingers, when Aunt Baby insisted on her sweeping her room and mending her stockings, or declined to take her advice about the arrangement of household matters—then the fortunes of the heiress were overcast, then did her wicked uncle strive to make her marry the objectionable cousin who wanted her property, then did he shut her up in the gloomy chamber with barred windows and set the wicked old woman to spy upon her motions and insult her in all possible ways. The heiress of the McGregors it was who had occasioned Marion's being kept after school, and in general it must be said that this much persecuted young lady was responsible for most of her forgetfulness of present duty.
But Marion had taken a book from the library that day which was destined to open a new life to the heiress of the McGregors. She opened it at first without any great expectation of interest or amusement, but soon became so absorbed in its pages as to take no heed of anything else. She read through it the first time at express speed, and then, turning back, she read it more leisurely—a very good plan, be it observed, when a book is worth reading at all. She was so absorbed in the volume that she forgot her intention of learning all about Rachel and the school from her aunt; and though Doctor and Mrs. Campbell were talking about the mission all the evening, she never heard nor heeded till her grandfather said:
"What do you think of that, Marion? That would be worse than the soap-making that you complain of."
"Think of what? Oh, it would be very nice," said Marion, looking up absently. "I should like it very much;" and then, pettishly, as every one laughed, "I don't know what you are talking about."
"So it seems," said Aunt Christian. "I think you would hardly say you liked the work your uncle has been describing."
"Marion was reading her Sunday school book," said Aunt Baby, always ready to excuse and shield her darling. "What is it about, Marie?"
"I don't think you would be interested in it, Aunt Baby," said Marion, rather superciliously; "but you can read it if you like."
"Let me see," said Uncle Alick, stretching out his hand for the book, which Marion rather unwillingly parted with.
"Who buys your books?" asked Doctor Campbell.