up by the roots and thrown into the
street, the change in their surroundings could have been no greater than
that which came to Mildred in the first shock of her father's death. She
had been like one in a confused dream ever since. Some one had answered
the letter from her mother's brother in America, offering her a home.
Some one had engaged her passage, and an old friend of her father's had
taken her to Liverpool and put her on board the steamer. Here she sat
for the first three days, staring out at the sea, with eyes which saw
nothing of its changing beauty, but always only a daisy-covered mound in
a little churchyard. All the happiness and hope that her life had, ended
in that.

"Who is the pretty little English girl?" people asked when they passed
her. "She doesn't seem to have an acquaintance on board."

"I never saw such a sad, hopeless face!" exclaimed one of the college
girls whom the others called "Muffit." "If she were an American girl I'd
ask her to walk with us. But English girls are so reserved and shy, and
I am afraid it would frighten her."

If Muffit could have known, that cold, reserved manner hid a heart
hungry for one friendly word. It was the third day out before any one
spoke to her. She had been warned against making the acquaintance of
strangers, but one look at the gentle-voiced, white-haired lady who took
the chair next her own, disarmed every suspicion. The lady was dressed
in deep mourning, like herself, and she had a sweet, motherly face that
drew Mildred irresistibly to her. Before the day was over the two were
talking together like old friends. When she saw how the girl grieved for
her father, she tried to draw her away from her sorrow by questioning
her about her future.

[Illustration: "BEFORE THE DAY WAS OVER THE TWO WERE TALKING TOGETHER
LIKE OLD FRIENDS."]

Mildred answered with a shiver. "Oh, I try not to think about that at
all. I have never seen Uncle Joe or any of his family, and everything
must be so strange and queer in America. Now, if they lived in India I
would not dread going half so much; for there would be something
homelike in feeling that I was still under the protection of our queen.
I cannot bear to think of leaving the ship, for it will be like
leaving the last bit of home, to step from under the dear old Union
Jack. 'A stranger in a strange land,'" she added, her lips quivering.

"No, dear, not as strange as you think," added the lady, with a motherly
hand-cl