"Yes, I have got a house. I have had one for a few weeks now."
"Is there a garden?"
"A very nice garden; and the house is—well, rather a nice house, I think. It only wants one thing. Marjorie dear, can you not guess what that one thing is?"
She was bending over Laddie, so that he could not see her face.
"Can you guess, Marjorie?"
She shook her head.
"You can't guess?" he whispered, as he took hold of the hand which was stroking Laddie's head. "Then I shall be obliged to tell you; Marjorie darling, it wants you!"
[CHAPTER XXIX]
THE MISSING WORD FOUND
IT was a lovely morning in June, and the little village of Rosthwaite was all astir, and filled with pleasurable excitement. Some were standing at their doors; others were looking out of their windows; from many a farm on the hillside, from many a lonely cottage, people were coming in little groups towards the church; the whole place, so quiet at other times, was filled with life and movement. Work was laid aside, every one was in holiday attire, for it was Marjorie Douglas's wedding-day.