Mr. and Mrs. Forester went to London, and Blanche to Hunters' Brae. Marjory and Peter fetched her in the pony-cart, and she brought Curly with her, as she could not bear to leave him for other people to look after. Silky was delighted with the puppy, and allowed the little fellow to take all sorts of liberties with him. It was a pretty picture--the big dog fondling the small one and playing with him.
Lisbeth had done as she had promised, and a second bed had been put up in Marjory's room. Such a pretty room it was--the best in the house, and looking out upon the garden. It was pretty by reason of its shape--long and low, with beams across the ceiling, and casement windows--and not from any extra decoration or those many knick-knacks which most girls contrive to collect around them. There were dainty white muslin curtains and covers, everything was spotless, but there were no ornaments or trifles lying about. On the bookshelf were Marjory's Bible and Psalm-book and a copy of the "Pilgrim's Progress"--no other books. These were all that the doctor considered it necessary for Marjory to have. There was a glass bowl on the chest of drawers, which was kept filled with flowers all the year round, and that was the only ornament in the room. Some might have thought it bare, but it had a simple charm of its own, with its spotless whiteness and its faint odour of lavender, stronger when the wardrobe or the drawers were open.
Marjory had been struck by the difference between Blanche's bedroom and hers when she had paid her first visit to Braeside. There the walls were covered with pictures of all sorts and sizes, the table was littered with silver toilet articles, photographs and trinkets, and the bookshelf was filled with books. Most of these things were presents from her father and mother, or from relations or acquaintances, and spoke for themselves of the difference in the lives of the two girls--the one solitary and simple in a remote country place, the other in the midst of friends and relations in the rush and hurry of a great city.
"How sweet your room is!" said Blanche as they went in.
"It isn't like yours, though," replied Marjory doubtfully. "You have such a lot of pretty things."