Hunters Marjory

묘
Hunter's Marjory, by Margaret Bruce Clarke

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Title: Hunter's Marjory A Story for Girls
Author: Margaret Bruce Clarke
Release Date: January 3, 2007 [EBook #20258]
Language: English
Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
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[Illustration: "My dear child, what is wrong?"]

Hunter's Marjory
A STORY FOR GIRLS
BY
MARGARET BRUCE CLARKE
Author of "The Little Heiress," etc., etc.
THOMAS NELSON AND SONS London, Edinburgh, Dublin, and New York 1907

CONTENTS.
I. Tears, 9 II. A Friend in Need, 23 III. Uncle and Niece, 38 IV. Tea at Hunters' Brae, 52 V. A Visit to the Low Farm, 66 VI. Confidences, 79 VII. Marjory's Apology, 94 VIII. The Secret Chamber, 108 IX. Peter's Story, 124 X. Marjory's Birthday, 144 XI. The Mysterious Stranger, 160 XII. Marjory keeps a Secret, 175 XIII. The Old Chest, 188 XIV. The Prophecies, 202 XV. Twelfth Night, 218 XVI. Miss Waspe gives Good Advice, 232 XVII. On the Loch, 246 XVIII. The Stranger Returns, 259 XIX. Important Letters, 274 XX. The Doctor's Disappointment, 288 XXI. Hopes Realized, 300

HUNTER'S MARJORY.
CHAPTER I.
TEARS.
"A maid whom there were none to praise, And very few to love."--WORDSWORTH.
Marjory was lying under a tree in the wood beyond her uncle's garden; her head was hidden in the long, soft coat of a black retriever, and she was crying--sobbing bitterly as if her heart would break, and as if nothing could ever comfort her again.
"O Silky," she moaned, "if you only knew, you would be so sorry for me."
The faithful dog knew that something very serious was the matter with his young mistress, but he could only lick her hands and wag his tail as well as he was able with her weight upon his body.
A fresh burst of grief shook the girl; and Silky, puzzled by this unusual behaviour on Marjory's part, began to make little low whines himself. Suddenly the whines were changed to growls, the dog shook himself free from the girl's clasping arms and stood erect, staring into the wood beyond.
Marjory was too much overcome by her grief to notice Silky's doings, and it was not until she heard a voice quite close to her saying, "You poor little thing, what is the matter?" that she realized that she was not alone.
She looked up, startled, wondering who this stranger could be making free of her uncle's woods. She saw a lady, tall and fair, looking kindly at her, and a girl who might have stepped out of a picture, so sweet and fresh and pretty she looked in her white frock and shady hat.
For one minute Marjory gazed at her in admiration, and then, conscious of her tear-stained face and tumbled dress, let her head droop again and sobbed afresh.
The lady spoke again: "My dear child, what is wrong?"
"Nothing," sobbed Marjory--"nothing that I can tell you."
She felt ashamed of being seen in such a plight, and had an instinctive dislike of showing her feelings to a stranger, for Marjory was an extremely shy girl.
"But, my dear," remonstrated the lady, "I cannot leave you like this; besides," with a smile most winning, if only Marjory could have seen it, "I believe you are trespassing upon our newly-acquired property."
Marjory raised her head at this, and said quickly, and perhaps just a little proudly,--
"Oh no, I'm not; this is my uncle's ground."
"Oh dear; then Blanche and I are the trespassers, though quite innocent ones. And you must be Marjory Davidson, I think--Dr. Hunter's niece; and if so, I know a great deal about you, and we are going to be friends, and you must let me begin by helping you now."
So saying, the lady seated herself on the ground beside Marjory, her daughter looking on, at the same time stroking and patting Silky, who seemed much more disposed to be friendly than his mistress.
"Can't you tell me what the trouble is, Marjory? I am Mrs. Forester, and this is my daughter Blanche. We have just come to live at Braeside. Your uncle called on us to-day, and told us about you. Blanche and I have been looking forward to seeing you and making friends.--Haven't we, Blanche?"
"Yes, I've thought of nothing else since I heard about you," said the girl, rather shyly, the colour coming into her face as she spoke.
Marjory stole another glance at her, and she thought she had never seen or imagined any one so sweet and pretty as this girl.
"Blanche," she thought--"that means white; I know it from the names of roses