"He will come to New York; he said he would not mind coming here, even in winter; he loves the country," cried Margery eagerly. Then stopped at a groan from Happie. "He asked if he might write to me—sometimes, you know, mother," Margery said slowly.
"Certainly, dear, if I may know how and what he writes you. I shall have to satisfy myself as to any new friend, that he is trustworthy, and appreciates my little Margery," said her mother.
"Oh, he is trustworthy, mother, and he does appreciate me!" cried Margery, so eagerly that the mother's sigh turned into a half laugh.
"Ah, well, dear, you shall not lose a friend, and you shall have the benefit of this wise and discerning Baltimore boy's letters, if they are not too frequent, and maintain his reputation for wisdom," the mother said rising. "But remember that you are a young girl still, little Margery, and that I was never willing that my children should play with other children until I knew them for the sort that I would choose for their associates. I am not less careful now, so I must wait before I fully endorse this new acquaintance."
Margery sprang to her feet and ran after her mother to kiss her good-night. It was with a special tenderness that Mrs. Scollard folded her in her arms.
"He is good, mother, and brave, and handsome and clever," whispered Margery.
"Yes, dear, yes. Good-night, my Margery, my little daughter. Sleep well, and remember that there is no friend like your mother, and that she is glad to get you back, and to keep you close," said Mrs. Scollard, whispering lest her voice might prove unsteady.
She found Miss Bradbury waiting her in her own room as she came in and closed the door. "Oh, Miss Keren, Miss Keren, our dove has flown back to the Ark, but she has brought with her the green branch to show that spring-time and blossom-time are at hand," she said, trying to smile through the tears on her cheeks.
"Well, my dear Charlotte, you would not have her flight over barren waters, would you? The spring-time is part of every year, little mother," said that wise woman.
Across the narrow entry Happie crept to bed at her sister's side, drawing up the sheet over her head to stifle her moan as she returned Margery's good-night kiss. "Oh, dear, oh, dear," she murmured burying her head in the pillow. "It's growing up—and worse! Oh, dear, oh, dear!"