They were three girls; there was a blazing fire, and in front of it stood Marion. Thirteen years old was she--that uncomfortable age for girls--with dark brown hair and laughing merry eyes; her hands were in the pockets of a large bib apron, which was none too clean, and her elbows were stuck out square on either side of her. She was laughing heartily; it was plain Miss Marion was in high spirits; indeed she was seldom out of them. "Seven hours more and they'll be home! Hurrah for Christmas, and hurrah for holidays! I always feel as though I'd like to--I'd like to--I don't know what; but that is how I feel, you know. I wish mother would let us go and meet them. I don't see why we shouldn't;…
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