The Heiress of Mcgregor by Lucy Ellen Guernsey

MARION stayed at the parsonage to tea, and had a very nice visit.

When she got home, she found two or three letters waiting for her from Hemlock Valley, and one from Lizzy Gates at Holford. The first tones of Gerty's voice told her what she was to expect.

"You are highly favoured in the line of letters, certainly," said Gerty. "What do they find to waste so much time and paper upon?"

"Oh, there is a great deal both of time and paper at Hemlock Valley," said Marion, gayly; "and I like to hear all the news."

"What news is there to tell?"

"Well, the tabby-cat has presented her owner with two tortoise-shell kittens, and Emma's doll Eugenia Stanley has met her death by being eaten up by Meg's puppy, and Mrs. Chris Hollenbeck has a baby girl. I believe those are the most important items of information, only father and Bram are coming over some time next week. And Lizzy Gates tells me all the Holford news about the girls. Oh, there is plenty to tell. See here, Asahel: come and look at my sketch and see if you know what it is meant for."

"The tannery, of course," said Asahel, coming to look at the sketch. "How natural it looks, with the tree over the end and that bit of the bridge coming in! Well, I never thought you would do as much as that, Marion. Your pictures look like real live things. It is worth while to take drawing-lessons if one can succeed in that style. See, Gerty, what a pretty picture Marion has made of the tannery."

"I can't say I see any great beauty in it-no disrespect to Marion," said Gerty, languidly glancing at the picture. "I dare say it is well done for water-colours, but I don't think much of them, anyway; and what is the use of taking so much trouble to make a picture of what one can see every day?"

"It is good study," said Marion; "and besides, the colours are very nice. The old gray building comes out so pretty against that bank of red rock and earth. At home the rocks are all cold and gray, not warm, as they are here."

"I shouldn't think there could be much difference in the temperature-at least in summer," said Asahel, innocently.

Marion laughed, "It isn't the temperature, it is the colour. Our rocks are all gray."

"Marion is doing the artist-don't you understand? " said Gerty. "She has read in a book that red things are warm, or perhaps dear Cousin Helen told her. I must say I don't think it in the best taste to talk so much paint-shop, especially considering that-"

"Well, that what? " asked Marion, looking full at her.

Gerty did not answer directly, but as Marion quitted the room to put away her painting things, she heard Gerty say in a tone which was evidently meant to catch her ear,-

"That her father was a worthless, drunken, dissipated sign-painter. If I were Marion, I'd do anything but paint."

Marion hastened up to her room and locked herself in. She had learned how to conquer now, but it was not always without a struggle. She prayed for grace to forgive and to be patient.

And then, to divert herself, she took out all her letters and read them over. They told her plenty of home and Holford news.

Lizzy was a delightful correspondent, and forgot nothing. Emily Sibley had gone out West to teach, and Mary McIntyre had come into her place, to her great delight. Matty McRae had gone away to boarding-school. Therese was doing admirably, and everybody liked her. They had a French club which met twice a week and talked only French, except when they talked Latin. And herewith Lizzy presented some specimens of Latin and French sentences over which Marion had a hearty laugh, which did her more good than a great many tears.

When she had finished the letters, she leaned back in her chair, absorbed in thought. Was it only a year since she had been a member of Crocker school? Her cheeks turned hot as she went back and remembered how she had wasted her time and employed her thoughts over visions of grandeur and magnificence-of the wonderful things she was to accomplish while she was letting precious time and opportunity pass by her unimproved.

"Oh dear! If I could only have them back! " she sighed. "But Cousin Helen was right. There is only just so much time, anyhow; and if we waste it, we never can find it again. And to think how I abused Aunt Baby's kindness and forbearance! I don't think I need resent Gerty's speeches when I remember how I used to speak to Aunt Baby."