h those letters.

"N. N.--Nancy Nelson--just Nobody from Nowhere," quoth Nancy to Miss
Trigg, the teacher and school secretary who, despite her thick
spectacles and angular figure, displayed more of a motherly interest in
Nancy than anybody else at Higbee School.

Miss Prentice, the principal, never seemed to be interested in Nancy.
The latter had nobody to "write home to," either good or bad about the
school--so the principal did not have to worry about her. And it didn't
matter whether Nancy's reports showed "improvement" or not--there was
nobody to read them.

Miss Trigg was also a lonely person; perhaps that was why she showed
some appreciation for "Miss Nobody from Nowhere." Sometimes in the long
summer vacation she and Nancy were alone at the school. That drew the
two together a little. But Miss Trigg was a spinster of very, very
uncertain age--saving that she couldn't be young!--and it was the more
surprising that she seemed to understand something of what the
sore-hearted young girl felt.

"The really great people of this world--the worth-while people--have
almost all been known by one name. There were many Caesars, but only one
_Caesar_, who crossed the Rubicon, and in his 'Commentaries' said: 'All
Gaul is divided into three parts.' One never hears what Cleopatra's
other name was," pursued Miss Trigg, with her queer smile. "Whether
Isabella of Spain--the Isabella that made the voyages of Columbus
possible--had another name, or not, we do not inquire. How many of us
stop to think that the married name of the English Victoria--that great
and good queen--was 'Victoria Wettin,' and that for the years of her
widowhood she was in fact 'the Widow Wettin'?

"The greatest king-maker the world ever saw--the man who turned all
Europe topsy-turvy--was known only by one initial--and that your own,
Nancy. Here! I will make you a more striking monogram than any of the
other girls possess," and quickly, with a few skilful strokes of her
pencil, Miss Trigg drew a single "N" surrounded by a neat, though
inverted, laurel wreath.

"Now your monogram will not conflict with Napoleon's," she said, with
one of her rare laughs; "but it is quite distinctive. It stands for
'Nancy.' Forget that 'Miss Nobody from Nowhere' chatter. You may be
quite as important as any girl in the school--only you don't know it
now."

That was what really troubled Nancy Nelson. She was too cheerful and
hopeful to really care because she couldn't ent