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Page 11
Moreover, Marjorie was of a merry, happy disposition. It was
natural to her to make the best of everything, and even had she
had reasons for being truly miserable, she would have tried to be
happy in spite of them.
So she bade her mother good-by, and sent loving messages to all at
home, and promised to write often.
"Remember," said her mother, as a parting injunction, "to read
every morning the list I gave you, which includes all my commands
for the summer. When I see you again I shall expect you to tell me
that you obeyed them all."
"I will try," said Marjorie; "but if it is a long list I may
forget some of them sometimes. You know, Mother, I AM forgetful."
"You are, indeed," said Mrs. Maynard, smiling; "but if you'll try
I think you'll succeed, at least fairly well. Good-by now, dear; I
must be off; and do you go at once to your room and read over the
list so as to start the day right."
"I will," said Marjorie, and as soon as she had waved a last good-
by, and the carriage had disappeared from view, she ran to her
room, and sitting down at her pretty desk, unfolded the list her
mother had given her.
To her great surprise, instead of the long list she had expected
to find, there were only two items. The first was, "Keep your
hands clean, and your hair tidy"; and the other read, "Obey
Grandma implicitly."
"Well," thought Marjorie to herself, "I can easily manage those
two! And yet," she thought further, with a little sigh, "they're
awfully hard ones. My hands just WON'T keep clean, and my hair
ribbon is forever coming off! And of course I MEAN to obey Grandma
always; but sometimes she's awful strict, and sometimes I forget
what she told me."
But with a firm resolve in her heart to do her best, Marjorie went
downstairs, and went out to play in the garden.
Some time later she saw a girl of about her own age coming down
the path toward her. She was a strange-looking child, with a very
white face, snapping black eyes, and straight wiry black hair,
braided in two little braids, which stood out straight from her
head.
"Are you Marjorie?" she said, in a thin, piping voice. "I'm Molly
Moss, and I've come to play with you. I used to know Kitty."
"Yes," said Marjorie, pleasantly, "I'm Marjorie, and I'm Kitty's
sister. I'm glad you came. Is that your kitten?"
"Yes," said Molly, as she held up a very small black kitten, which
was indeed an insignificant specimen compared to the Persian
beauty hanging over Marjorie's arm.
"It's a dear kitten," Molly went on. "Her name is Blackberry.
Don't you like her?"
"Yes," said Marjorie, a little doubtfully; "perhaps she can be
company for Puff. This is my Puff." Marjorie held up her cat, but
the two animals showed very little interest in one another.
"Let's put them to sleep somewhere," said Molly, "and then go and
play in the loft."
The kittens were soon deposited in the warm kitchen, and the two
girls ran back to the barn for a good play. Marjorie had already
begun to like Molly, though she seemed rather queer at first, but
after they had climbed the ladder to the warm sweet-smelling hay-
loft, they grew better acquainted, and were soon chattering away
like old friends.
Molly was not at all like Stella Martin. Far from being timid, she
was recklessly daring, and very ingenious in the devising of
mischief.
"I'll tell you what, Mopsy," she said, having already adopted
Marjorie's nickname, "let's climb out of the window, that skylight
window, I mean, onto the roof of the barn, and slide down. It's a
lovely long slide."
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