Proud and fond indeed is Malcom Douglas of his mother and "little
Madge," as he calls her, who, petite and slender, with sunny, flowing
curls, the sweetest of blue eyes, and a pure, childlike face, stands,
with parted lips, flushed with animation, by her mother's side. Margery
is, as she looks, gentle and lovable. Not yet has she ever known the
weight of the slightest burden of care, but has been as free and happy
as the birds, as she has lived in her beautiful home with her mother and
brother.

Barbara and Bettina stand a little apart from the others, with clasped
hands and dim eyes, as the shore, the home-shore, is fast receding from
their sight. They are alike, and yet unlike. People always say "Barbara
and Bettina," never "Bettina and Barbara." They are of the same height,
each with brown hair and eyes.

Barbara's figure is a little fuller and more womanly, her hair has
caught the faintest auburn hue, her eyes have a more brilliant sparkle,
and the color on her cheeks glows more steadily. She looks at strangers
with a quiet self-possession, and questions others rather than thinks of
herself being questioned. As a child she always fought her own and her
sister's battles, and would do the same to-day did occasion demand.

Bettina is more timid and self-conscious; her dreamy eyes and quickly
coming and going color betray a keen sensitiveness to thought and
impressions.

Both are beautiful, and more than one of their fellow-passengers look at
the sisters with interest as they stand together, so absorbed in feeling
that they take no note of what is passing about them. Just now both are
thinking of the same thing--a conversation held with their father as the