As for Marion, her first thought was one of disgust; then, the picture of her gawky brother-in-law being “buncoed” by sharpers rose before her mental vision, and, in spite of herself, she burst out laughing. “So you were a ‘green goods’ victim, dad!” she cried, hysterically. “You thought, by mortgaging the farm, you’d get rich in a minute! Oh, it’s no wonder that city people think we country folks are green! That’s why they never lose a chance of imposing upon us!” “Waal, it’s did, an’ thet’s all there is about it,” said her father, dolefully, “an’ it’s me an’ yewr mother thet’s got ter bear the brunt. Yew an’ Dollie air free, an’ yew look prosperous, Marion.” The old man was weakening very rapidly now. He was fast becoming meek and submissive in his manner. “We’ve had an awful struggle,” was Marion’s slow answer. “We’ve been without money and almost without friends, but Dollie has got a position as typewriter in view, and when I get back I’m to be a nurse. I’ve got a letter in my pocket this minute accepting my application.” Her parents stared at her curiously, so Marion went on. She was glad to see that they took an interest in what she was telling them. “Yes, I applied for a dozen or more positions during the first few weeks I was in New York, and this morning, just as I was coming away, I got my first acceptance. I’m to go to Charity Hospital, on Blackwell’s Island, as soon as I go back, and I’m just crazy to begin, for I know I will like nursing.” “But I tho’t yew wanted to be a singer,” said her father, a little vaguely. “Yew’ve got a bootiful voice, Marion, it’s a pity yew can’t use it.” Marion smiled at these words of praise from her father, but did not show by a look that she thought them surprising. “I sang one night in a concert hall,” she said, laughing. “I had no idea what the place was like before I sang, or I would never have done it; but I guess it didn’t hurt me, and I made a hundred dollars.” “What!” cried her father and mother, in one breath. Marion nodded her head in a knowing manner. “They offered me that every night if I would sing,” she said, proudly; “but it was a drinking place, and I wouldn’t do it.” Deacon Marlowe was still staring at her as though he could not believe his senses. Such tales as this set his old brain to spinning. “Everything that is wicked pays well in New York,” said Marion, sadly; “but it’s another thing when you are honest and want to live decently.” Mrs. Marlowe began weeping again, this time very quietly. “Tew think what we have come tew,” she moaned, behind her apron. “Our two daughters in a big, wicked city a-tryin’ tew earn their livin’, an’ yew an’ me, Joshuy, a-goin’ tew leave the old home an’ go tew the Poor Farm, an’ it’s all on account of yewr hardness an’ overbearin’—it’s all yewr fault, Joshuy!” Marion stopped her before she could go any farther.