"Why don't you say something?" questioned Florence, as Marian stood speechless before three miniatures in gold frames. "That's my mother and our baby in the middle frame, and the girl on this side is my little sister and the boy in the other frame we call brother, just brother, since the baby came. Why Marian Lee! I never thought of it before, but you look like brother just as sure as the world! "Why, Marian! what's the matter, what makes you cry when you look at mamma's picture?" "Nothing, Florence, only I want a mother myself, I always wanted one." "You poor young one!" exclaimed Florence, "it must be dreadful not to have a mother." "It's like the Desert of Sahara!" Marian declared, dashing the tears from her eyes and making an attempt to smile. "You will see your mother again soon." "I know it, Marian, only think, three weeks more and then the holidays. Are you going home Wednesday night or Thursday morning?" "I am not going home until June," was the reply. "Can you stand it as long as that, Marian?" The mere thought of feeling badly about not being home for the holidays made the child laugh. "You are the queerest girl," exclaimed Florence, "you cry when I don't see anything to cry about and you laugh when I should think you would cry." Marian checked an impulse to explain. How could Florence understand? Florence, whose beautiful mother smiled from the round, gold frame, the girl whose sister and brothers waited to welcome her home. "If they were mine," said Marian, gazing wistfully at the miniatures, "I would never leave them. I would rather be a dunce than go away to school." "Then my father wouldn't own you," said Florence, laughing. "Mamma says she's afraid he wouldn't have any patience if I disgraced him in school. You ought to belong to him, Marian, he would be proud of you. You know your lessons almost without studying and you have higher standings than the big girls. You've been highest in all your classes so far, haven't you?" "Yes," was the reply, "except in geometry, but what of it? Nobody cares." "Don't your folks at home? Aren't they proud of you?" "I used to hope they would be, Florence; but I tell you, nobody cares." "Well, haven't you any grandfathers or grandmothers or other aunts or uncles?" "I am not acquainted with them," said Marian. "My uncle hasn't any folks, only distant cousins." "That's just like my father," Florence interrupted. "His folks are all dead, though I have heard him mention one half brother with whom he wasn't friends. Mamma won't let me ask any questions about him. But, Marian, where are your mother's folks?" Where were they, indeed? Marian had never thought of them. "Well, you see," the child hastily suggested, "they don't live near us."