company with her baggage, a battered old valise and an
ancient umbrella. She clung to each of these articles with a death grip,
evidently fearful that someone might try to steal them. She appeared
to be of an age ranging from late sixteen to early twenty, and had a
turned-up nose and reddish hair drawn smoothly back from her forehead
and fastened with a round comb. Her smile was of the "won't come off"
variety.

Thankful met her at the back door and ushered her into the kitchen, the
room most free from workmen at the moment.

"How do you do?" said the lady. "I'm real glad to see you. Hope you had
a nice trip down in the cars."

"Lordy, yes'm!" was the emphatic answer, accompanied by a brilliant
smile. "I never had such a long ride in my life. 'Twas just like bein'
rich. I made believe I WAS rich most all the way, except when a man set
down in the seat alongside of me and wanted to talk. Then I didn't make
believe none, I bet you!"

"A man?" grinned Thankful. "What sort of a man?"

"I don't know. One of the railroad men I guess 'twas; anyhow he was
a fresh young guy, with some sort of uniform hat on. He asked me if I
didn't want him to put my bag up in the rack. He said you couldn't be
too careful of a bag like that. I told him never mind my bag; it was
where it belonged and it stayed shut up, which was more'n you could say
of some folks in this world. I guess he understood; anyhow he beat it.
Lordy!" with another smile. "I knew how to treat HIS kind. Miss Coffin's
told me enough times to look out for strange men. Is this where I'm
goin' to live, ma'am?"

"Why--why, yes; if you're a good girl and try hard to please and to
learn. Now--er--Marguerite--that's your name, isn't it?"

"No, ma'am, my name's Imogene."

"Imo--which? Why! I thought you was Marguerite. Miss Coffin hasn't sent
another girl, has she?"

"No, ma'am. I'm the one. My name used to be Marguerite, but it's goin'
to be Imogene now. I've wanted to change for a long while, but up there
to the Home they'd got kind of used to Marguerite, so 'twas easier to
let it go at that. I like Imogene lots better; I got it out of a book."

"But--but you can't change your name like that. Isn't Marguerite your
real name?"

"No'm. Anyhow I guess 'tain't. I got that out of a book, too. Lordy,"
with a burst of enthusiasm, "I've had more names in my time! My Aunt
Bridget she called me 'Mag' when she didn't make it somethin' worse. And
when I first came to the Home