Marion Berkley

e is round; only fifteen m

bag for me. Dear me! there goes the button off my

now. Here is your bag; come, we must not stop

re coming, why don't you come? I shan't leave until you bid me good-by, and I k

Now, Frederic, don't get excited; always follow my good example, and keep cool. There now!" she exclaimed, as she gave him a hearty kiss;

y from the inside of the carriag

-by, all;" then to the coachman, as she whisked into t

depot, and Mrs. Berkley had only time for a fond kiss and a "Write often, darling," when the bell rung, and she was forced to leave the car, feeling a little uneasy that her daughter was obliged to take her journey alone. Just as the cars were starting, Marion put

Just hand me your bag, and I'll put it in the rack with my budgets. This seat is empty; suppose we turn it over, and then we sh

came, all on the qui vive, hoping to see some one I knew; but I never dream

I expect Miss Stiefbach will give me one of her annihilators, but I guess I can stand it. I've b

spirit of resistance. What a lovely hat you hav

er, and bound with the velvet off my old brown rep.

can do anything! I couldn't have done it to save my life. I only

ver, Marion tossed her book on to the opposite seat; for they were coming to Lake Cochituate, and nothing could be lovelier than the view which was stretching itself before them. I

in early autumn, and the slight mist of the atmosphere served to soften and harmonize the various colors of the landscape. The lake itself was as clear and smooth as polished glass, and every

he window, completely absorbed in the scene before her, her eye and mind taking in all the beauties of

ontain no thrilling incidents, no hairbreadth escapes, or any of those startling events with which ideas of heroism are gener

and lashes were very dark. Her nose and mouth, though well formed, could not be considered in any way remarkable. When in conversation her face became animated, the expression changed with each

him very much to have them notice her. Marion was by no means a vain girl; yet these attentions from those so much older than herself were rather inclined to turn her head. Fortu

ot into the same scrapes, kept each other's secrets, and were, in short, almost inseparable. Florence had lost her mother when she was very young, and her father's house was ruled over by a well-meaning, but disagreeable maiden-aunt, who, by her constant and oftentimes unnecessary fault-finding, made Florence so unhappy,

less, in excellent spirits. Miss Stiefbach, after a few remarks as to the propriety of being a day before, rather th