"Yes," said Marjorie, disappointedly, "but I wanted to keep it until the
last thing. I wanted you to have the best last."
"If I ever do get the best it will be last!" said the subdued, sad voice.
"Then you shall have this first," returned the bright, childish voice.
But her watchful eyes had detected a stitch dropped in grandmother's work
and that must be attended to first. The old lady gave up her work
willingly and laid her head back to rest while Marjorie knit once around.
And then the short letter was twice read aloud and every sentence
discussed.
"If I ever wrote to him I suppose he'd write to me oftener," said his
mother, "but I can't get my hands into shape for fine sewing or for
writing. I'd rather do a week's washing than write a letter."
Marjorie laughed and said she could write letters all day.
"I think Miss Prudence is very kind to you girls," said Mrs. Rheid. "Is
she a relation?"
"Not a _real_ one," admitted Marjorie, reluctantly.
"There must be some reason for her taking to you and for your mother
letting you go. Your mother has the real New England grit and she's proud
enough. Depend upon it, there's a reason."
"Miss Prudence likes us, that's the reason, and we like her."
"But that doesn't repay _money_."
"She thinks it does. And so do we."
"How much board does the master pay?" inquired grandmother.
"I don't know; I didn't ask. He has brought all his books and the spare
chamber is full. He let me help him pile them up.
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