And Marion did try it. How well she succeeded in her efforts for their good will be revealed in the pages of our book. Her life was a busy one. Often, when she retired to rest, both body and brain were weary, and yet she was very happy. In her own home she tended her flowers and fed her birds with a song on her lips. She met her friends with a smile so sweet, joyous, and free from care that they envied her. Naturally, she was overflowing with fun; indeed, her vivacity, her quickness at repartee, made her the life of any circle, and her company, while she resided with her uncle, was sought by the young of both sexes. It was not her intention to exclude herself wholly from society, but she was resolute in her determination not to become a slave to fashion, the degrading effects of such slavery having, even at her age, been forced on her notice. "I never saw any one who enjoyed life more than Miss Howard," was the remark of an old gentleman, after watching her at a musical party. She was surrounded by a group of young people to whom she was relating a story, the arch expression on her face bringing into play all her dimples. Gradually one and another, some advanced in life, drew nearer, eager to share in the enjoyment. Perceiving this, Marion skilfully drew her story to a close, and engaged others in conversation, asking questions, and showing herself so anxious to please that a half-hour passed most delightfully. "Singular being," muttered Mr. Lambert, an irascible old man who had been introduced to her. "Not a word of scandal, thirty-five minutes, and no gossip. Pshaw! Fact, no talk about religion either. A strange fanatic that." Stranger still, perhaps, that the old man persistently lingered in the neighborhood of Miss Howard, leaning forward to catch every word, drinking in the musical ripple of laughter, which Marion's friends used to call one of her greatest charms, watching the pure, fresh countenance, the merry, earnest eyes, until the ice about his heart began to thaw. When they parted, to no one's surprise more than to his own, he extended his hand, and gave hers a warm pressure as he said,— "I am glad that I have met one who has no trouble." "I am an orphan," responded Marion, tears suddenly dimming her eyes, "but I have a dear Father who is so very good to me." "You do love life then, even though your parents have left you." There was a touch of sarcasm in his voice which made her pity him. "Oh, yes; I am very happy to be alive. There is so much to be done. I envy nothing so much as the leisure hours some do not know what to do with. Yes, it is good to live." "What can you find to employ other people's leisure beside your own?" She gave one quick, earnest glance into his face, paused a moment, and then answered,— "I try to make others happy." She was turning away when he caught her hand, and with a strange twitching around his mouth, said,—