sympathetically wiped her visitor's eyes.

"But I don't understand," she said doubtfully; "I never heard of a
person's not knowing her own name. Haven't you any relatives?"

"I suppose I had once, but I can't remember them. The first thing I
remember is waking up in a hospital. It was just after the earthquake in
San Francisco, and they told me I was found in the street under some
ruins. They thought a stone or something must have fallen on my head,
and that was what made me forget everything. Nobody knew whom I belonged
to, and I had only a nightgown on when I was found, so they couldn't
trace me by my clothes. At first the doctors thought I would remember
soon, and they used to ask me questions, but I never could answer any of
them. They kept me at the hospital a long time, but I was always
frightened because I couldn't remember anything. At last when I was
strong again, and nobody came to look for me, they said they couldn't
keep me there any longer. They sent me to the 'Home For The Friendless
in Oakland,' but I had only been there a week when Miss Brent came to
look for a girl to run errands, and carry home parcels. They told her
about me, and she said she would take me, because I might have rich
friends, who would come for me, and pay her well for taking care of me.
So I went to live with her, and she put an advertisement about me in the
newspapers. For a long time I kept hoping some one would come for me,
but nobody ever did. Miss Brent was a dressmaker, and she had a lot of
girls working for her, but I didn't like any of them, they were so
rough, and they used to laugh at me, and call me 'loony.' Miss Brent
called me Sally, but I know that isn't my real name. I got so tired
running errands, and carrying the heavy boxes home made my back ache. I
don't think I could have stood it if it hadn't been for Mr. Jackson. He
boarded with Miss Brent, and lived in a little room on the top floor. He
was very old, and nobody paid much attention to him, but I was sorry for
him, and I used to carry up his meals, and he talked to me so kindly. He
never made fun of me, because I couldn't remember, but he lent me books
to read, and asked me questions like the doctors at the hospital. It's
very queer, but I could always remember how to read. I can write, too,
and I can even remember things in history, but I can't remember a single
thing about myself. Mr. Jackson said he was sure my memory would come
back some day, and then I would