is is--oh, good Lordie, Missy, whatever is de matter?"

Marjorie--who had been following Mammy from one photograph to another,
with amused interest--had suddenly uttered a sharp cry of astonishment,
and was staring blankly at the photograph of a girl of twelve, which was
occupying the place of honor over Mammy's bed.

"Who--who is that?" she gasped, seizing the old woman's arm, and
beginning to tremble with excitement.

"Dat Miss Babs, took jes' 'fo' she went away to Californy," said Mammy,
sadly. "Land sakes, Missy! What is it? You jes' sit right down heah, an'
I'll go call Mas'r Bev'ly."

When Beverly appeared in answer to Mammy's hasty summons, he found
Marjorie ghastly white, and shaking from head to foot.

"Good gracious, Marjorie!" exclaimed the boy, springing to her side,
"what's the matter? Don't you feel well--is it the waffles?"

"It's--it's Undine!" faltered Marjorie, with shaking lips, and she
pointed to the photograph on which her eyes still rested, in a wild,
incredulous stare.

[Illustration: "LAND SAKES, MISSY! WHAT IS IT?"--_Page 283._]

"'Undine,'" repeated Beverly, stupidly, "who is Undine? That is the
picture of my sister Barbara."

"It's Undine," repeated Marjorie, with obstinate persistence; "it's
exactly like her; I would know her anywhere."

"But who is Undine? I never even heard of her?"

"Yes, you did; I told you about her once, and you said I mustn't mention
her to your mother, because she was hurt in the earthquake. We called
her Undine, because she couldn't remember her real name, or anything
that happened to her before the earthquake. That's her photograph,
Beverly, I tell you it is--it is!"

Beverly had grown very pale, but he made a great effort at self-control.

"Don't talk nonsense, Marjorie," he said, almost angrily; "I tell you
that is my sister's photograph. I can show you another just like it at
home."

"Beverly," cried Marjorie, clasping her hands, and speaking in a tone of
sudden conviction, "I am not talking nonsense. That is the picture of
the girl who has been at the ranch since last August. She was found
in the street just after the earthquake, half buried under some ruins.
She was unconscious, and they took her to a hospital. She has never been
able to remember anything about herself since. Your sister was in the
earthquake, too; you think she was killed, but perhaps--oh, Beverly
dear, let us go home quick, and tell your uncle all about it."

Mrs. Randolph w