Hunters Marjory | Page 5

a most charming woman, Forester
himself a thoroughly good fellow, and their little girl Blanche one of
the sweetest children I have ever seen. She will make a good
companion for your niece, poor little thing."
This letter had set the doctor thinking. First, he was nettled by his
friend's use of the words "poor little thing." Why should Marjory be
pitied as a poor little thing? Had he not done everything he possibly
could for her? Then came one of those painful stabs of conscience
which insisted now and then on being felt. What about her father? Have
you done right in that matter?

He salved his conscience for the time being by making up his mind to
go and see the Foresters, and if they were indeed all that his friend had
said, there could be no reason why he should not encourage a
friendship between the two girls. Marjory certainly had been very quiet
and inclined to mope of late, and it would be a good thing for her to be
roused by this new interest. The child was seldom out of his thoughts
for long together; he loved her as his own; and yet Marjory was not
happy--she was lonely, she did not understand her uncle and misjudged
him, and he found her cold and unresponsive. There was something
wanting between them; both were conscious of this want, yet neither
knew how to supply it and so mend matters.
CHAPTER II.
A FRIEND IN NEED.
"Have hope, though clouds environ now, And gladness hides her face
in scorn; Put thou the shadow from thy brow-- No night but has its
morn."--SCHILLER.
Things had come to a climax that afternoon. Marjory had driven by
herself to the village to get some things that Lisbeth wanted, and also to
buy some stamps for her uncle. Peter usually accompanied her on these
expeditions, but to-day he was busy in the vine-house, and excused
himself from attending upon his little mistress. She was quite
accustomed to driving, however, and Brownie, the pony, was a very
steady, well-behaved little animal, and a great pet of Marjory's; so she
started off in good spirits, Silky running beside the cart as usual. She
did her errands in the village, finishing up at the post office, which was
also the bakery and the most important building in the place. Mrs.
Smylie, the baker's wife and postmistress, served her with the stamps,
and Marjory was about to say good-afternoon and leave the shop, when
Mrs. Smylie opened a door and called out,--
"Mary Ann, here's Hunter's Marjory; maybe ye'd like to see her." And
turning to Marjory, she explained, "Mary Ann's just hame frae the
schule for a wee bit."

The Smylies were the most important people in the village of
Heathermuir. Their mills supplied the countryside with flour, and their
bakery was the only one of any size in the district. They had built their
own house; it had a garden attached to it and a greenhouse; and, to
crown all, their only child Mary Ann was to be brought up as a lady.
With this object in view, the ambitious parents had sent the girl to a
"Seminary for Young Ladies" at Morristown, some twenty miles away,
and were greatly pleased with the result, feeling that Mary Ann was
really quite a lady. That young person was delighted to come home and
be worshipped by her admiring parents; and their idea that a real lady
should never soil her fingers by household work, or indeed by work of
any kind, suited her very well.
Mrs. Smylie, bursting with pride as her daughter appeared, watched the
meeting between the two girls. Mary Ann's dress was very much
overtrimmed, her hair was frizzed into a spiky bush across her forehead,
and her somewhat freckled face was composed into an expression of
serene self-complacency. She was the only girl in the village who was
at a boarding-school; not even Hunter's Marjory, with all her airs, could
boast this advantage, she thought; and Mary Ann felt her superiority,
and gloried in it.
Mrs. Smylie noted with great pride that the hand her daughter held out
to Marjory was white and delicate--in great contrast to Marjory's brown
one. "But then," she reflected, "the puir bairn hasna got her mither to
watch her like oor Mary Ann has. Bless me! how the lassie glowers!
Mary Ann has the biggest share o' manners onyways."
It must be confessed that Marjory was "glowering." She regarded the
overdressed girl with aversion, answered her mincingly-spoken "How
do you do, Marjory?" very curtly, and continued to "glower," as Mrs.
Smylie described it, without saying another word.
"Won't you come into the house?" asked Mary Ann, and Marjory went.
She did not care about these people; she