But though Marjorie made her brave resolutions in good faith, it was hard to keep them. School was awful. The very sight of Gladys's empty seat made Midge choke with tears.

Miss Lawrence appreciated the case, and was most gentle and kind to
Marjorie, but still the trouble was there.

"Wouldn't you like to have Katy Black sit with you, dear?" asked the teacher.

"No, thank you." said Midge, "I can't bear to put any one in Gladys's place. Don't bother about me, Miss Lawrence, I'm not going to cry."

She didn't cry, but she sighed so frequently and so deeply, that kind-hearted Miss Lawrence almost wept in sympathy.

At home it was better. The Maynards always had good times at home, and of course when there, Marjorie didn't miss Gladys so much. But the long mornings in the school-room, and the long afternoons when she wanted to run over to Gladys's house were almost unbearable.

Merry, madcap Midget became a sober-faced little girl, who was all the more pathetic because she tried to be cheerful.

Mrs. Maynard felt worried about the matter, and proposed to her husband that she should take Marjorie, and go away for a trip somewhere.

"No," said Mr. Maynard; "let her fight it out. It's hard for her, but
it's doing her real good, and bringing out the best side of her nature.
We'll all help her all we can, and if I'm not greatly mistaken our
Marjorie will come out of this ordeal with flying colors."

"It's will-power, little daughter," said Mr. Maynard to her one evening. "Just determine that this cloud shall not entirely obscure the sun for you."

"Yes," said Midge, smiling, "it's just an eclipse, isn't it?"

"Yes, and it seems to be a total eclipse; but even total eclipses pass, if we wait long enough. Any letter from Gladys this week?"

"One came this morning. Would you like to read it?"

"Of course I should, very much."

"It's strange," said Marjorie, as she produced the letter, "for all Gladys loves school so, and is a good student, she can't seem to spell right."

"I know another lady who has difficulty in that direction," said Mr.
Maynard, smiling.

"Yes, but Glad is different. She can spell the spelling-book stickers, 'embarrassed,' and 'cleemosynary,' and such words, 'cause she studies them; and then she'll misspell simple every-day words. Now, you see."

Mr. Maynard smiled a little as he read the letter.

Los Angeles, Cal.

DEAR MARJORIE:

We are having a lovely time. We have not found a house yet, but are staying at the hotel till we do find one to suite us, I like it here very much. I miss you very much, dear Marjorie. There are lovely people in the hotel, and we go for walks to pick flowers. The flowers here are beautiful. Now I must close. With lots of love and kisses, your

LOVING GLADYS.

"Between you and me and the post, Midget, I don't think that's a very interesting letter, do you?"

"No, Father, I don't. I thought Glad would write more as she talks. She doesn't talk a bit like that, when we're together."

"I know it, Mops, I've heard her. But some people never can write as they talk. As soon as they get a pen between their fingers, their brain seems to freeze up, and break off in little, cold, hard sentences. Now, what sort of a letter do you write?"

"Here's the answer I wrote to-day to Gladys. I haven't sent it yet."

MY DARLING GLADYS:

I wish you would come back. It's perfectly horrid at school without you, and though Miss Lawrence said Katy Black could sit with me, I don't want her. She's a nice enough girl, but she isn't you. And nobody is, Dear old Glad, I do miss you so. Of course as there's no remedy under the sun, I'm being cheerful and gay about it, but my heart misses you just the same. We don't have the Jinks Club any more. It made me sick to go to it without you. I expect you're having good times in California, and I'm glad of that. Write soon to

YOUR LOVING MOPSY MIDGET.

"Now, of the two, Midge, yours is the much better letter. Don't ever try to copy Gladys's style, will you?"

"No; I'm glad you like mine best. You see, I write without thinking about anything except not to spill the ink."

"A very good plan. Stick to it all your life. Midget, I don't want to be unkind, but has it struck you that Gladys is not so heart-broken over your separation as you are?"

A look of pain came into Marjorie's loyal eyes, as she said:

"It does seem so, I know. But I think it's because Gladys has all sorts of new places and new people to amuse her, while I'm left here alone."

"It's partly that, little girl; and partly because Gladys hasn't such a warm, loving loyal heart as my Marjorie's."

"She is different," admitted Midget; "but I know she loves me, even if it doesn't say so right out in her letter."

"Perhaps she forgot to put it in, because she was so busy trying not to spill the ink."

"Perhaps so," agreed Marjorie, answering the twinkle in her father's eye.

"And now, Miss Mops, I have a bit of news for you. The Fulton house is rented to some people from New York."

"Is it?" said Marjorie, indifferently.

"And in the family is a girl twelve years of age."

"And you think she'll take Glad's place!" cried Midge, indignantly. "Well, I can just tell you she won't! A girl from New York! She'll be stuck-up, and superior, and look down on us Rockwell girls!"

"How do you know all this?"

"I know; 'cause Katy Black had a girl from New York visiting her, and she was just horrid! All stiff and mincy, and dropping curtseys every two minutes!"

"But you're taught to drop curtseys."

"Yes, when I enter or leave a room where there are ladies, but that girl was always at it, in school and everywhere."

"Sort of a jumping-jack, wasn't she? Well, try to like this new girl, dearie; it's the best I can do for you in the way of neighbors."

"Oh, I may like her,—and I'll be polite to her, of course; but I know I shan't want her for an intimate friend, like Glad."

"Perhaps not; but I was so pleased when I heard a little girl was coming to live across the street, that I think you ought to be pleased too."

"Well, I will! I am! And if she isn't too stuck-up, I'll try to like her."

A few afternoons later, King, who was sitting by a front window, called out:

"Hi! I say, Mops! Here's the new family moving into the Fulton house!"

Marjorie only upset a waste-basket and a very small table as she ran to the window to look out.

Kitty raced after her, and Rosy Posy toddled up too, so in a moment the four were eagerly gazing at the new-comers, themselves quite hidden by the lace curtains.

"Nice looking bunch," commented King, as he watched a well-dressed lady and gentleman get out of the carriage.

"And there's the girl!" cried Marjorie, as a child followed them. "Oh, she is a stuck-up!"

"How do you know?" said King. "I think she's a daisy!"

They could only see her back, as the new neighbor walked up the path to the house, but she seemed to be of a dainty, not to say finicky type.

She wore a large hat with feathers, and a black velvet coat that covered her frock completely.

A mass of fluffy golden hair hung below the big black hat, and the little girl tripped along in a way that if not "mincing," was certainly "citified."

"No, I don't like her," declared Midge, as she watched the stranger go up the steps and into the house; "she isn't a bit like Gladys."

"Neither am I," said King, "but you like me."

"Yes, you dear, cunning little sweet thing, I do like you," said Midget, touching King's hair in a teasing way.

He promptly pulled off her hair-ribbon, and as Marjorie felt in the humor, this began one of their favorite games of make-believe.

"The diamond tiara!" she shrieked, "the villain hath stole it!"

"Horrors!" cried Kitty, "then shall he be captured, and forced to restore it!"

She pounced on King, and aided by Marjorie, they threw him on the couch, and wrapped his head in the afghan. Horrible growls came from the prisoner, but no word of surrender.

"Art vanquished?" asked Kitty pulling the afghan away from one of his eyes.

"I art not!" he declared in a muffled voice, but with so terrific a glare from that one eye, that they hastily covered him up again.

But he managed to free himself, and stood towering above the terror-stricken girls, who now knelt at his feet and begged for mercy.

"Spare us!" moaned Kit. "We are but lorn damsels who seek food and shelter!"

"Me wants a selter, too," announced Rosy Posy, joining the others, and clasping her little fat hands as they did. "What is a selter?"

"A selter for none of you!" roared King, with threatening gestures. "To the dungeon, all three! Ha, varlets, appear, and do my bidding!"

"I'll be a varlet," said Midge, suddenly changing her rÔle. "We'll put Lady Katherine in the dungeon, and let the fair Lady Rosamond go free!"

"As thou sayest," said King, agreeably, and, though bravely resisting, Kitty was overpowered, and thrown into a dungeon under the table. From this she contrived to escape by the clever expedient of creeping out at the other side, but as it was then time to get ready for dinner, the game came to an untimely end.

"We've seen the new girl, Father," said Marjorie, as they sat at the table.

"Have you? Well, I've seen the new man,—that is, if you refer to our new neighbors across the street."

"Yes, in Gladys's house. What's his name, Father?"

"Mr. Spencer. I met him at the post-office, and Mr. Gage introduced us. Mr. Gage is the agent who has the Fulton house in charge, and he told we before that these newcomers are fine people. I liked Mr. Spencer exceedingly. I'm sorry, Mops, you're so determined not to like the daughter. Mr. Spencer tells me she's a lovable child."

"Oh, of course he'd think so,—he's her father."

"Well, I admit, fathers are a prejudiced class. Perhaps I have too high an opinion of my own brood."

"You couldn't have," said Kitty, calmly, and Mr. Maynard laughed as he looked at the four smiling faces, and responded:

"I don't believe I could!"

"Don't spoil them, Fred," said Mrs. Maynard, warningly, but King broke in:

"Too late, Mother! We're spoiled already. Father's high opinion of us has made us puffed up and conceited."

"Nonsense, King," cried Midge; "we're not conceited. Not nearly as much so as that girl across the way. You ought to see, Father, how she hopped up the walk! Like a scornful grasshopper!"

"Marjorie," said Mrs. Maynard, repressing a smile, "you must not criticise people so; especially those you don't know."

"Well, she did, Mother. She thinks because she came from New York,
Rockwell people are no good at all."

"How do you know that, Midge?" said her father, a little gravely.

"Oh, Midget is a reader of character," said King. "She only saw this girl's yellow hair, hanging down her back, and she knew all about her at once."

"She had a velvet coat," protested Marjorie, "and a short dress and long black legs—"

"You wouldn't want her to wear a train, would you?" put in Kitty.

"No, but her frock was awful short, and her hat was piled with feathers."

"That will do, Marjorie," said her father, very decidedly, now. "It isn't nice to run on like that about some one you've never met."

"But I'm just telling what I saw, Father."

"But not in a kind spirit, my child. You're trying to make the little girl appear unattractive, or even ridiculous; and you must not do that. It isn't kind."

"That's so," said Marjorie, contritely; "it's horrid of me, I know, and
I'll stop it. But she did look like a flyaway jib!"

"What is a flyaway jib?" said her father, with an air of one seeking information.

"I haven't an idea," said Mops, laughing; "but I know I've heard of it somewhere."

"And so you describe a girl whom you don't know, in words whose meaning you don't know! Well, that's consistent, at any rate! Now, I do know something about this young lady. And, to begin with, I know her name."

"Oh, what is it?" said Midge and Kitty together.

"Well, Mops is such a reader of character, she ought to be able to guess her name. What do you think it is, Midget?"

Marjorie considered. She dearly loved to guess, even when she had no hint to go by.

"I think," she said, slowly, "it is probably Arabella or Araminta."

"'Way off," said her father; "you're no good at guessing. Kitty, what do you say?"

"It ought to be Seraphina," said Kitty, promptly. "She looks like a wax doll."

"Wrong again! King, want to guess?"

"'Course I do. I think her name is Flossy Flouncy. She looks so dressy and gay."

"That's a good name, King," said Marjorie, "and just suits her. I shall call her that, what ever her real name is. I suppose it's Mary Jane, or something not a bit like her. What is it, Father?"

"Well, it's not a common name, exactly. It's Delight."

"Delight!" cried King. "What a funny, name! I never heard of it before."

"I think it's lovely," declared Marjorie. "It's a beautiful name. Why didn't you name me Delight, Mother?"

"You didn't say you wanted me to," returned Mrs. Maynard, smiling, for Marjorie often wished for various names that pleased her better than her own for the moment.

"Well, I think it's sweet, don't you, Kit?"

"Beautiful!" said Kitty, enthusiastically.

"And she's not at all 'stuck-up,'" went on Mr. Maynard; "she's rather shy, and though she wants to get acquainted with you children, she's afraid you won't like her. I didn't tell Mr. Spencer that you had decided already not to like her."

"I like her name," said Marjorie, "but I don't like her because she lives in Gladys's house, and she isn't Gladys!"

"So that's where the shoe pinches!" said Mr. Maynard, laughing at Marjorie's troubled face. "A foolish resentment because strangers are in your friend's home. Why, dearie, Mr. Fulton was most anxious to rent the house, and he'll be glad to have such good tenants. And, by the way, Midge, don't say anything more unpleasant about the little Spencer girl. You've said enough."

"I won't, Father," said Midget, with an honest glance from her big, dark eyes into his own, for truth to tell, she felt a little ashamed of her foolish criticisms already.

"Delight!" she said, musingly as she and Kitty were preparing for bed that night. "Isn't it a dear name, Kit? What does it make you think of?"

"A princess," said Kitty, whose imagination Was always in fine working order; "one who always wears light blue velvet robes, and eats off of gold dishes."

"Yes," agreed Marjorie, falling in with the game, "and she has white doves fluttering about, and black slaves to bow before her."

"No, not black slaves; they're for princesses named Ermengarde or Fantasmagoria." Kitty was not always particular about any authority for names, if they sounded well. "A princess named Delight would have handmaidens,—fair-haired ones, with soft trailing white robes."

"Kit, you're a wonder," said Marjorie, staring at her younger sister; "how do you know such things?"

"They come to me," said Kitty, mystically.

"Well, they sound all right, but I don't believe handmaidens ought to wear trailing gowns. How could they handmaid?"

"That's so," said Kitty, a little crestfallen.

"Never mind; I spect they could. They could gracefully throw the trails over their arms, as they glide along in their sandalled feet."

"Yes, and strains of music came from concealed luters—"

"Huh! looters are burglars, and it's slang besides."

"No, not that kind. Luters that play on lutes, I mean. And the Princess Delight would sniff attar of rose, and fan herself with waving peacock feathers."

"A slave ought to do that."

"Well, all right, let him. And then the Princess falls asleep 'neath her silken coverlet, and lets her sister put out the lights,—like this!" and with a jump, Kitty bounced into her own little bed, and pulled up the down coverlet to her chin.

Imitating the white-robed handmaidens, Marjorie swayed around to an improvised chant of her own, and putting out the electric lights with much dramatic elaboration, she finally swayed into her own bed, and after they had both chanted a choric good-night, they soon fell sleep.