"You see he is proud of his work," said Marjorie, "he will not give any school the credit of me."
"I will give you into Miss Prudence's keeping for a term of years, to round you off, to make you more of a woman and less of a student—like herself."
Marjorie's eyes kindled, "I wish Morris might hear that! He has been scolding me,—but that would satisfy him."
After several moments of light talk, if the master ever could be said to encourage light talk, he touched Miss Prudence, detaining her with him, and Marjorie and Hollis walked on together.
Marjorie and Hollis were not silent, nor altogether grave, for now and then her laugh would ripple forth and he would join, with a ringing, boyish laugh that made her forget that he had grown up since that day he brought her the plate.
But the two behind them were altogether grave; Miss Prudence was speaking, for Mr. Holmes had asked her what kind of a day she had had.
"To-morrow is to be one of our anniversaries, you know," she replied; "twenty-four years ago—to-morrow—was to have been to me what to-day is to Linnet. I wonder if I were as light hearted as Linnet."
"You were as blithe a maiden as ever trod on air," he returned smiling sadly. "Don't I remember how you used to chase me around that old garden. When we go back let us try another chase, shall we?"
"We will let Marjorie run and imagine it is I."
"Prudence, if I regain my strength out there, I am coming home to tell you something, may I?"