n a little tramp!"

"No, of course not," agreed "Cobbler" Horn, with a perplexed smile.

"It's true, nevertheless," affirmed Miss Owen. "Mr. and Mrs. Burton have
been like parents to me almost ever since I can remember, and I always
call them 'father' and 'mother'; but they are no more relations to me than
are you and Miss Horn. They found me in the road, a poor little ragged
mite; and they took me home, and I've been just like their own ever since.
I remember something of it, in a vague sort of way."

"Cobbler" Horn was regarding his secretary with a bewildered gaze.

"You may well be astonished, Mr. Horn. But, do you know, sometimes I
almost feel glad that I don't know my real father and mother. They must
have been dreadful people. But, whatever they were, they could never have
been better to me than Mr. and Mrs. Burton have been. They have treated me
exactly as if I had been their own child."

Many confused thoughts were working in the brain of "Cobbler" Horn.

"But," said Miss Owen, resuming her work, "I must tell you about it
another time."

"Yes, you shall," said "Cobbler" Horn, rousing himself. "I shall want to
hear it all."

So saying, he left the room, and betook himself to his old workshop for an
hour or two on his beloved cobbler's bench. He had placed the old house
under the care of a widow, whom he permitted to live there rent free, and
to have the use of the furniture which remained in the house, and to whom,
in addition, he paid a small weekly fee.

As he walked along the street, he could not fail to think of what his
secretary had just said with reference to her early life. His thoughts
were full of pathetic interest. Then she too had been a little homeless
one! The fact endeared to him, more than ever, the bright young girl who
had come like a stream of sunshine into his life. For to "Cobbler" Horn
his young secretary was indeed becoming very dear. It could not be
otherwise. She was just filling his life with the gentle and considerate
helpfulness which he had often thought would have been afforded to him by
his little Marian. And now, it seemed to draw this young girl closer to
him still, when he learnt that she had once been homeless and friendless,
as he had too much reason to fear that his own little one had become. He
had a feeling also that the coincidence therein involved was strange.

CHAPTER XXVII.

COMING INTO COLLISION WITH THE PROPRI