Once when she was twelve, her piano teacher had invited a young niece to spend August in Marksville. The little girls had "clicked" at first sight. There was something there far more than friendship. Neither could understand what it was; but then, it seemed so natural that neither tried to understand.

Then it happened again at sixteen.

When the high school bus reached half way to Waterton, it stopped for a girl of seventeen. A girl who went in for athletics, who wore her hair shorter than the other girls, who spoke in a voice an octave lower than Marcia's. And who sat, whenever possible, beside Marcia as they rode to and from school. They didn't have classes together, but whenever they passed in the hall, the older girl would pat the younger on the shoulder. Sometimes, she would hold Marcia's hand in the bus. But it was her eye s which held Marcia's heart. Great gray eyes which looked upon Marcia as if she were some treasure, always to be wondered at, but never to be relinquished.

Then one morning when the green-gold of spring promised a new world, when the gray eyes grew unusually soft and the clasping hand unusually tender, the older girl spoke "Marcia, next week is Easter Vacation. My parents and I would love to have you spend it on our farm. We could ride the horses; and if it's warm enough, we could have ricaios at the falls. Can your father get along without you?

"Oh

"A wave of awe very nearly stilled the eager reply. "I'm almost sure he could." Her breath caught in her threat. A rosy pink flushed her face with unbelievable Joy. As far as school work was concerned, that day was lost to Marcia.

But the following Friday, Marcia's friend boarded the bus with stricken countenance. "My grandfather," she said, "has just died. He left a 400-acre farm in Wisconsin, and we have to leave here immediately. "We'll probably stay on there, and sell this place. Oh I Sho couldn't say any more, and neither could Marcia find words for answer.

Then followed nine years nine years – all without color, all with-