Marian knew no better than to tell about the tea-party, what a jolly time she had and how happy she was, closing her story by asking Uncle George if a pelican was a chicken. "Because," she added, "we had a little dish of cream chicken and I didn't see any pelican, but Annie did say two or three times, 'that old pelican!'" Aunt Amelia was prejudiced against pelicans and she objected to tea-parties, so Annie packed her trunk and left. Lala took her place. Lala was equally kind but far too wise. She befriended the little girl every way in her power but cautioned her to keep her mouth shut. She went so far as to instruct the child in the art of lying and had there not been deep in Marian's nature a love of truth, Lala's influence might have been more effective. Marian turned from her without knowing why, nor would she accept any favors from the girl unless she believed Aunt Amelia approved. Lala called Marian a "Little fool," Aunt Amelia called her an undeserving, ungrateful child who would steal if she were not watched, a saucy, bold "young one" who had disappointed her Uncle George, and Uncle George plainly didn't love her. What wonder that Marian had a small opinion of herself and dreaded the first Monday in September, the beginning of her school-days among strangers. The schoolhouse was so far from where Aunt Amelia lived, Marian carried her luncheon in a tin pail. The child left home that Monday, a timid, shrinking little mortal, afraid to speak to any one. She returned, happy as a lark, swinging her dinner pail and singing a new song until within sight of the St. Claire home. Then she walked more slowly and entered the gate like a weary pilgrim. She expected trouble, poor little Marian, but there happened to be callers, giving her a chance to escape unnoticed to the locust grove where she made a jumping rope of a wild grape vine and played until the shadows were long and the day was done. That evening Uncle George questioned Marian about her teacher and how she liked school. "I hope," said he, when he had listened to the account so gladly given, "I hope you will be a credit to your uncle and that you will behave yourself and get to the head of your class and stay there. Don't give your Uncle George any cause to be ashamed of his niece. I want to be proud of you." "Oh, do you!" exclaimed the child. "Oh, I'll try so hard to be good and learn my lessons best of anybody. Then will you love me?" "Good children are always loved," put in Aunt Amelia. "Doesn't your Uncle George love Ella?" "She's his little girl," ventured Marian, longing for a place beside Ella in her uncle's lap. He certainly did love Ella. "Sit down, child," said Uncle George, "you're my brother's little girl, aren't you, and you are Ella's cousin, aren't you?" "I am sure she ought to be grateful," interrupted Aunt Amelia, "with all she has done for her and such a home provided for her----"