patient."

"Oh, but I want to see my little girl!" cried the mother, with tears in
her eyes. "My little girl whom I thought gone for ever!"

"I hope this will prove to be she," said Mr. DeVere.

"I'm sure it will!" cried the father. "No one but Mildred would remember
her old doll--Estelle Brown!" and he held up a battered toy.

Softly, the parents entered the room. The girl on the bed heard some one
come in, and sat up. There was a look of joy and happiness on her face;
and yet it was not such as would come after a separation of four years.
It was as if she had only separated from her loved ones a few hours
before.

"Oh, Daddy! Momsey!" she cried. "I did so want you! And did you bring
Estelle Brown?"

"My little girl! My own little lost girl!" cried Mrs. Passamore. "Oh,
after all these years--when we had given you up for dead!"

"After all these years? Why, Momsey, I left you only two days ago to go
to Seattle. There must have been a wreck or something; for I heard a
dreadful crash, and then I awakened here with these nice moving picture
folk. They were on the same train, I guess."

Dr. Wherry made the parents a signal not to tell the secret just yet.

"And did you bring Estelle?" asked Mildred.

"Yes, here is your doll!" and as Mr. Passamore handed it to his daughter
he and his wife exchanged tearful glances of joy. The lost had been
found.

It was a scene of rejoicing at Oak Farm, and the moving picture girls
came in for a big share of praise. For had it not been for the fact that
Alice had seen the paper containing the account of the missing girl and
saved it, the identity of Mildred might not have been disclosed for some
time.

Finally, she was told what had happened; that for four years she had
been another person--Estelle Brown--a name she had taken after the
awakening following the railroad accident because of some kink in the
brain that retained the memory of the doll.

"Then Lieutenant Varley was right, he must have seen you in Portland,"
said Alice, when explanations were being made.

"He must have," admitted Mildred. "But I don't understand how it
happened."

Later on it was all made clear.

Mildred Passamore, the daughter of a wealthy family, living temporarily
at the Palace Hotel, in San Francisco, had started on a trip to visit
relatives in Seattle. She was well supplied with money.

The train Mildred was on was wrecked near Portland, Oregon, and the girl
received a blow on her head t