Marion reached home just in time for supper; the table appointments at that home were not improving; indeed, there were those who said, that the bread grew sourer every week; this week, it had added to its sourness, stickiness, that was horrible to one's fingers and throat. The dried fruit that had been half stewed, was sweetened with brown sugar, and the looking over process, so necessary to dried fruit, had been wholly neglected.
But Marion ate her supper, almost entirely unconscious of these little defects; that is, she accepted them as a matter of course and looked serene over it. Things were not as they had been on that rainy evening, when it had seemed to her that she could never, no never eat another supper in that house; then, it seemed probable that in that house, or one like unto it, she would have to eat all the suppers that this dreary life had in store for her; but now, the days were growing fewer in which this house would be called her home.
No one knew it; at least, no one but herself and two others. She looked around on her fellow boarders with a pitying smile; that little sewing-girl at her left, how many such suppers would she have to eat!
"She shall have a nice one every now and then, see if she doesn't," was Marion's mental conclusion, with a nod of her glad head; there were so many nice things to be done! Life was so bright.
Hadn't Gracie Dennis whispered to her this very afternoon:
"Miss Wilbur, one of these days I shall hate to come to school, I shall want to stay at home."
And she answered softly, surreptitiously kissing the glowing cheek meanwhile:
"The teacher who reigns here shall be your special friend. And you are to bring her home with you to lovely little teas that shall be waiting for you."
This matter of "teas" had gotten a strong hold on Marion. Perhaps, because in no other way had a sense of unhomelike loneliness pressed upon her, as at that time when families generally gathered together in pretty homes.
She went up, presently, to her dingy room. Just every whit as dingy now, as it had been on that rainy evening, but she gave no thought at all to it. She lighted her fire, and sat down to her writing; not reports to-night. She must write a letter to Aunt Hannah; a brief letter it was, but containing a great deal. This was it: