"I couldn't either, now that I have seen the nest," said Blanche. "Somehow you don't think of all the trouble the birds have when you just see the eggs in boxes in a shop window."
Time slipped away, the weeks bringing their share of lessons in term time; of riding, boating, and pleasures of all sorts in the holidays. Marjory's fourteenth birthday came and went, Christmas Day passed, and another year began. This time the Twelfth Night party was a great success, and both Marjory and her uncle went to it.
In spite of her happy life, Marjory never lost her longing for her father. She dreamed of him, planned a future for herself in which he was always the prominent figure, and determined that if she ever were her own mistress she would travel from country to country in search of him, for since the day when Mrs. Forester had quoted her old friend's words, "A fine fellow Hugh Davidson was. I always feel that he may turn up again some day," she had never quite lost hope.
Easter fell early that year; the season was very mild, and there were lovely sunny days for being out of doors when the holidays began.
Maud Forester and her mother were at Braeside again, and the Morison boys were at home, so the party was a merry one. Herbert's admiration for Maud still flourished, and he joined the girls in all their doings.
All went well until one day when Alan was taken by his mother to Morristown to be measured for some new clothes, much to his disgust, for he would have preferred to sacrifice the clothes rather than one of his precious holidays. Dr. Hunter had gone there too on business. Before leaving in the morning he had charged Marjory not to go on the loch during his absence—not that he expected bad weather, but he never felt quite comfortable about her going out when he was away, although she was quite capable of managing the boat. Many a time they had sailed from one end of the loch to the other, and she had done everything from start to finish as well as he could have done it himself.
Marjory readily promised; she had quite expected this, for her uncle never left Heathermuir for a whole day without giving her this injunction. She was to spend the day at Braeside, and she went down there after driving her uncle to the station.
When she entered the morning-room she found Mrs. Hilary finishing a late breakfast, with Mrs. Forester, Blanche, and Maud in attendance. Mrs. Hilary was saying, "Yes, he's really coming home at last, after being away more than a year, on the Campania, he says—the White Star Line, you know, or is it the Cunard? I really never remember. One lot always end in 'ic,' and the other in 'ia,' and it is so confusing. It would be so much better if they didn't give them these long classical names, wouldn't it? I never was good at the classics, you know. Ah, here's Marjory. Good-morning, child; how rosy and healthy you look, quite a picture, and your dark hair makes a nice contrast with the other girls."
Marjory became rosier still, and sat down as much out of sight as possible.
"Yes, as I was saying," continued Mrs. Forester, thoughtfully gazing at a piece of toast, "he's been to Brazil, and Morocco, and Mexico, and Alaska, and all the well-known places that it's proper to go to, and all through the United States too. He must be a regular walking geography by this time, if he doesn't forget it all on that dreadful voyage. One gets so confused with those foreign places—at least I do; and really, by the time I've crossed from Calais to Dover, I've gone through such terrors of mind and body that I'm quite upset, and I can hardly remember what I've seen or where I've been. That's where I think a guide-book such a comfort. One can put a mark against each place one goes to, and that makes it quite certain, you know. I wonder if Hilary has a guide-book. But men are different, I suppose," she said, with a sigh of resignation at the superiority of the sterner sex.