MY QUEEN
A WEEKLY JOURNAL FOR YOUNG WOMEN
No. 1. PRICE, FIVE CENTS.
FROM FARM TO FORTUNE
OR
Only A Farmer’s Daughter
BY GRACE SHIRLEY
PUBLISHED WEEKLY BY STREET & SMITH, 238 William Street, New York City.
Copyright, 1900, by Street & Smith. All rights reserved. Entered at York Post-Office as Second-Class Matter.
Issued Weekly. By Subscription $2.50 per year. Entered as Second Class Matter at the N. Y. Post Office, by Street & Smith, 238 William St., N. Y.
Entered According to Act of Congress in the year 1900, in the Office of the Librarian of Congress, Washington, D. C.
No. 1. NEW YORK, September 29, 1900. Price Five Cents.
From Farm to Fortune;
OR,
ONLY A FARMER’S DAUGHTER.
By GRACE SHIRLEY.
CHAPTER I.
THE DAISY CHAIN.
There was hardly a ripple on the sultryair as Marion Marlowe walked slowly alongthe dusty country road picking a daisyhere and there and linking them togetherin an artistic manner.
When the chain was finished she swungit lightly in her hand, notwithstanding thefact that each link held one of her heartsecrets interwoven in the form of a wish, asshe fashioned the frail necklace.
She paused for a moment upon the browof the steep hill behind her father’s farm,and pushing the gingham sunbonnet backfrom her face, took her usual evening glanceover the surrounding country.
“Same old hills! Same old trees!” shewhispered irritably. “And always that hideousold Poor Farm staring one in the face!Oh, I’m just sick of country life and ahorrid farm! Why couldn’t I have beenborn something besides a farmer’s daughter?”
The view which Marion gazed upon wasnot altogether unlovely, but the hills weresteep and the pastures were scorched andthe Poor Farm, always a blot upon thepeaceful picture, stood out with aggressiveugliness in the keen glow of sunset.
Just over the brow of a low hill rose acurling line of smoke. It came from thechimney of the little station where the Bostonand New York Express stopped morningand evening, the only connecting linkbetween them and civilization.
Marion Marlowe was seventeen andsuperbly handsome. Her twin sister wasfairer, more childish and a trifle smaller, butboth were far more beautiful than mostcountry maidens.
As Marion spoke, her gray eyes darkened[2]until they were almost black, and the ungainlysunbonnet could not begin to coverher hair, which was long and silky and arich, ripe chestnut.
Turning her back upon the Poor Farm,which always offended her, Marion suddenlygave vent to her mood in a most extraordinarymanner.
Posing on the very crest of the hill withher shoulders throw