nins, and a bound girl: but Ann
Wales, and a daughter in her mother's home.

Ann dropped into one of the best chairs, and sat there, her little
dark face very pale. "Should I have the--papers?" she gasped at
length.

"Your papers? Yes, child, you can have them."

"I don't want them," cried Ann, "never! I want them to stay just where
they are, till my time is out. If I am adopted, I don't want the
papers!"

Mrs. Polly stared. She had never known how Ann had taken the
indentures with her on her run-away trip years ago; but now Ann
told her the whole story. In her gratitude to her mistress, and her
contrition, she had to.

It was so long ago in Ann's childhood, it did not seem so very
dreadful to Mrs. Polly, probably. But Ann insisted on the indentures
remaining in the desk, even after the papers of adoption were made
out, and she had become "Ann Wales." It seemed to go a little way
toward satisfying her conscience. This adoption meant a good deal to
Ann; for besides a legal home, and a mother, it secured to her a
right in a comfortable property in the future. Mrs. Polly Wales was
considered very well off. She was a smart business-woman, and knew how
to take care of her property too. She still hired Phineas Adams to
carry on the blacksmith's business, and kept her farm-work running
just as her husband had. Neither she nor Ann were afraid of work, and
Ann Wales used to milk the cows, and escort them to and from pasture,
as faithfully as Ann Ginnins.

It was along in springtime when Ann was adopted, and Mrs. Polly
fulfilled her part of the contract in the indentures by getting the
Sunday suit therein spoken of.

They often rode on horseback to meeting, but they usually walked on
the fine Sundays in spring. Ann had probably never been so happy in
her life as she was walking by Mrs. Polly's side to meeting that first
Sunday after her adoption. Most of the way was through the woods;
the tender light green boughs met over their heads; the violets and
anemones were springing beside their path. There were green buds and
white blossoms all around; the sky showed blue between the waving
branches, and the birds were singing.

Ann in her pretty petticoat of rose-colored stuff, stepping daintily
over the young grass and the flowers, looked and felt like a part of
it all. Her dark cheeks had a beautiful red glow on them; her black
eyes shone. She was as straight and graceful and stately as an Indian.

"She's as handsome as