ly a wild
cucumber-vine. She put her two coarse hands on her hips, which were
large with the full gathers of her cotton skirt. Around her neck was
one of the garish-colored kerchiefs which had come with her from her
own country. It was an ugly thing, but gave a picturesque bit of
color to her otherwise dingy garb.

"Mr. Captain," said Marie, in a very small, sweet, almost infantile
voice. It was frightened, yet with a certain coquetry in it. This
small Hungarian girl had met with very few looks and words in her
whole life which were not admiring. In spite of her poor estate she
had the power of the eternal feminine, and she used it knowingly, but
quite artlessly. She knew exactly how to speak to her "Mr. Captain,"
in such a way that a smile in response would be inevitable.

Carroll stopped. "Well, Marie?" he said, and he smiled down into the
little face precisely after the manner of her calculation.

"Mr. Captain," said she again, and again came the feeler after a
smile, the expression of droll sweetness and appeal which forced it.

"Well, Marie," said Carroll, "what is it? What do you want?"

Marie went straight to the point. "Mine vages," said she, and a bit
of the coquetry faded, and her small smile waxed rather piteous. She
wanted that new dress for the ball sadly.

Carroll's face changed; he compressed his mouth. Marie shrank a
little with frightened eyes on his face.

"How much is it, Marie?" asked Carroll.

"Tree mont vage, Mr. Captain," answered Marie, eagerly, "I haf not
had."

Carroll took out his pocket-book and gave her a ten-dollar note.

Marie reached out for it eagerly, but her face fell a little. "It is
tree mont, Mr. Captain," she ventured.

"That is all I can spare to-night, Marie," said Carroll, quite
sternly. "That will have to answer to-night."

Marie smiled again, eying him timidly. "Yes, it will my dress get for
the ball, Mr. Captain."

Marie stood framed in her wild cucumber-vine, regarding the captain
with her pretty ingratiation, but not another smile she got. Carroll
strolled around to the front of the house, and in a second the
carriage rolled around from the stable. Marie nodded to the coachman;
there was never a man of her acquaintance but she had a pretty,
artless salutation always ready for him. She shook her ten-dollar
note triumphantly at him, and laughed with delight.

"Got money," said she. Marie had a way of ending up her words,
especially those ending in y, as if s