Marjorie had just finished her unpacking when there was a tap at her door, and in answer to her "Come in," a girl of about her own age presented herself. One glance was sufficient to assure Marjorie that she was the same curly-haired, friendly-faced girl, whose photograph, in a silver frame, stood in a prominent place on the writing-desk. "I'm Grace Patterson," announced the visitor, in a voice as friendly as her face. "Cousin Barbara told me to come right up; my brother and I have come over especially to see you." "I'm very glad to meet you," said Marjorie, shaking hands, and drawing forward a chair for her guest. "I've just been looking at your picture," she added, smiling. Grace Patterson glanced about the room, and a shade of sadness crossed her bright face. "It seems so strange to be in this room again," she said; "I haven't been here since poor Babs--you've heard about Babs, of course?" Marjorie nodded. "She was my chum," said Grace, with a little catch in her voice, "and one of the dearest girls that ever lived. We were almost the same age, and as neither of us had any sisters, we were together a great deal. Babs had a governess, and my younger brother and I used to come over here every day for lessons. Our place is only two miles away, and my mother and Cousin Barbara are great friends. It nearly killed poor Cousin Barbara." "I know," said Marjorie. "It was lovely of Mrs. Randolph to let me have this room. I have been so interested in Barbara ever since I first heard about her, but I don't like to talk to her mother or brother about her." "You know how it happened, I suppose?" "Oh, yes; Beverly told me that. It must have been a frightful shock to you all." "Frightful! I should say it was. Even Beverly has never been quite the same since. He was devoted to Babs, and they were such chums. I don't think it would have been quite so terrible if they could have recognized her afterward, but she was so frightfully injured--oh, I can't bear to talk about it! They recognized Miss Randolph, Bab's aunt, but poor Babs was completely crushed, and--oh, let's come downstairs. I can't stand it up here; it gives me the horrors." There were more questions Marjorie would have liked to ask, but the subject was evidently a very painful one to her new acquaintance, for Grace had grown rather pale, and there was a look of horror in her eyes. So she said no more, and the two girls went downstairs, where they found the family assembled, and where Marjorie was introduced to Harry Patterson--Grace's brother--a pleasant-faced boy of seventeen.