and rescued Marjorie's father and mother and Jack and the servants, the dear mother had not long survived the shock and the exposure: and Hetty, the waitress, who now attended to the housekeeping and looked after Marjorie, did things very differently from her.

All these circumstances combined to make great changes in Marjorie's life. She went to another school now, near by; but she did not make friends easily with the pupils there, and so she spent most of her afternoons at home with Hetty instead of associating with girls of her own age. And very lonely she was much of the time.

Hetty was a good waitress, who had been with the family for several years, and she knew just what Mr. Mason liked, and how he liked to have things done about the house; but she was an ignorant silly girl, and not at all a good companion for Marjorie.

Jack was two years older than his sister. He was sixteen, and preparing for college, and his father thought best that he should not change schools. So he had to make an early start every day, and very rarely came back until dinner-time, and then had to study hard all the evening.

Now and then, when he did come home early on a rainy day, Marjorie and he would have great fun, like the old times; so at last she came to wish for bad weather with as much eagerness as she had used to look for sunshine.

Since her mother's death her father had seemed very much preoccupied and indifferent to what she and Jack did. And, as time went on, he was more and more away from home. He changed the dinner hour from six until seven, and was often late at that. Then right afterward he would generally go out, and not come back until after Jack and Marjorie were in bed.

Marjorie especially missed her father's presence and companionship; and one "dull, sunshiny afternoon," as Marjorie called it, in default of any other sympathizer, she confided her grief to Hetty, who seemed in a pleasanter mood than usual.

"I wonder what it is that takes so much of father's time?" she said.

"Oh, it's coortin' he is, av coorse, ye may belave," replied Hetty.

"Oh no, you don't mean—that, do you?" exclaimed Marjorie.

"Sure 'n' why not?" said Hetty, with a smirk. "Widowers generally does. But I can tell you that I for wan will not shtay wan minute, no, nor wan sicond, av he brings a new mistress into this house!"

III.

Marjorie was very much worried at what Hetty had said. It hardly seemed possible to her that the girl could be right, and that her father could be contemplating such a step as she suggested. Yet there was no doubt that he seemed very much changed since his wife's death, and Marjorie sought in vain for any satisfactory explanation of his frequent absences from home.

She lay awake a long time that night—thinking. And the less able she was to find a reason that would account for the difference in her father's manner and habits, the more readily she brought herself to believe that Hetty was right in her supposition.

"It's my fault, it's my fault," she sobbed to herself, as she buried her head in the pillow. "I haven't tried to take dear mother's place, and to look after the house, and to do the things she used to do for father's comfort. I've just acted like a silly, helpless little girl, and shirked my responsibilities, and left everything to Hetty, and I think she's—she's just hateful."

Then, when Marjorie realized how short a time had passed since the fire, and the funeral, and the moving, it seemed to her that perhaps it was not too late now for her to begin to take the place in the household that she had mapped out for herself. This thought gave her new comfort, and with an earnest prayer that she might be given strength to carry out her plans she fell asleep.

Next morning, when Hetty brought in the breakfast, she found that Marjorie had changed her seat at the table to the place opposite her father, that had been vacant ever since they moved into the new house, and was pouring out the coffee for him and Jack, as her mother used to do.

Marjorie watched her father closely to see if he noticed the change. At first he appeared oblivious to any difference in the usual arrangement, and, turning to Hetty, after tasting his coffee, he said,

"Hetty, haven't you forgotten the sugar?"

Marjorie's face grew crimson with mortification, and, as she caught Jack's wink, and marked the appreciating smack of his lips, she realized that in her excitement she had put her father's sugar in Jack's cup.

"Sure 'n' Miss Marjorie's pouring the coffee this morning; I dunno," replied Hetty.

Mr. Mason looked up, with a smile, and said, "Well, take this cup to her, and see if she isn't putting sugar in, too."

Hetty did his bidding with a self-satisfied air, and Marjorie meekly dropped in the missing lumps.

"Very nice indeed," was Mr. Mason's comment, as he tasted his coffee again, "even if it was prepared on the instalment plan."

And Marjorie felt that her first effort had not been altogether a failure after all.

That evening when he came home and went to his room he found his frock-coat neatly brushed and laid on the bed. In an absent-minded manner he hung it up in the closet, and went down to dinner in his business suit. Marjorie sat opposite him and served the soup. Presently Mr. Mason took an evening paper out of his pocket and began reading.

Marjorie addressed one or two questions to her father; but though he looked up brightly for a moment and answered her, he soon turned again to his paper, and appeared to be absorbed in its contents.

"What are you reading about, father?" she finally ventured to ask.

But his reply was not conducive to further conversation, "Silver."

"Silence is golden," said Jack to his sister, in an undertone.

Next evening when Mr. Mason came home Marjorie asked him if he would let her see the evening paper. Her father seemed a little surprised, and handed it to her. Then he went up stairs before dinner and saw his coat laid out again, and smiled, and put it on. They had scarcely sat down when Jack produced a newspaper and began to read it.

"Jack," said Marjorie, "don't read the paper at the table; it isn't polite."

Jack put the paper away, and Marjorie began to ask her father questions about what sort of a day he had had downtown, and told him how Jack had been selected to play on the school football team, and asked him to explain some points in her history lesson that were not quite clear in her mind. Marjorie was pleased to see that her father took a great deal more interest in what she and Jack were doing, and after that the dinner hour was the brightest and happiest in the day for Marjorie.

But Mr. Mason, though he recognized Marjorie's efforts to make this hour what it had been in the old house, and had begun to take a renewed interest in what interested Jack and Marjorie, still spent the most of his evenings away from home, and seemed often so preoccupied that with difficulty he aroused himself in response to Marjorie's efforts at polite conversation.

Those were anxious and sad days for Marjorie—Hetty's silly, thoughtless words had made a deep impression on her mind, and she knew that if they were true it must be because he missed the presence and companionship of her dear mother, and the home atmosphere with which she had surrounded their lives.

It seemed to her that the task she had undertaken would not have been so hopeless amid the familiar surroundings of their old home. But in this strange and unaccustomed place it seemed as though her efforts must be in vain. She studied to see if by some rearrangement of the furniture she could not give a more attractive and homelike air to the stiff and formal drawing-room.

Hetty laughed at her suggestions, and would not help her. So she set to work to do it herself. At first she resolved to banish a hideous vase on the top of a tall cabinet, but when,