"I know you won't object to my calling you Marjorie, because you say you like being a little girl. I am writing to ask if you will go with us to New Haven to-day. We are going in my brother-in-law's car, and are to be ready to start at nine o'clock. The friend we expected would go with us has been prevented at the last moment, which gives us an extra seat in the car as well as a ticket for the game, and we should be delighted to have you with us. I am sure your aunt would not object, and I will explain everything to her myself. I would have written you last evening, but it was after ten when we learned that the friend we had expected would be unable to go. We have ordered breakfast for eight o'clock, and would be glad to have you take it with us. Be sure to wrap up well, for it may be a cold ride, and we shall not get back till late. "Hoping that you will be able to join us, I remain "Sincerely your friend, "BARBARA RANDOLPH." Marjorie was out of bed almost before she had finished the last line. Her eyes were dancing, and her heart pounding with excitement. "Tell the boy to say I shall be delighted to go," she cried. "There isn't time to write a note; I shall have to hurry. Oh, Hortense, did you ever hear of anything quite so splendid?" It was a very radiant Marjorie who presented herself at the Randolphs' apartment an hour later, and Beverly and his mother felt fully repaid for the kindly impulse which had prompted the invitation. The breakfast that followed was a very pleasant one, and Marjorie chatted away to her new friends as if she had known them all her life, and enjoyed herself more than she had done at any time since coming to New York. "I really didn't know how disappointed I was about not going till your mother's note came," she said to Beverly, when breakfast was over, and Mrs. Randolph had gone to put on her hat. "I have always longed to see a football game. My father was on the team at Harvard." "You seemed to take your disappointment rather cheerfully," said Beverly with characteristic bluntness. Marjorie blushed. "It was just one of the things that couldn't be helped," she said simply. "My aunt says there are some things every one has to make the best of." "Your aunt must be a sensible woman," remarked Mrs. Randolph, who had returned just in time to hear Marjorie's last sentence. Thereupon Marjorie launched forth into an account of Aunt Jessie's bravery and cheerfulness, in which both her companions seemed interested.