beside her, and she stopped. And
then the child's voice repeated, "Is it Mamma?"

Mrs. Tretherick faced quickly about. Standing in the doorway was a
little girl of six or seven. Her dress had been originally fine, but was
torn and dirty; and her hair, which was a very violent red, was tumbled
seriocomically about her forehead. For all this, she was a picturesque
little thing, even through whose childish timidity there was a certain
self-sustained air which is apt to come upon children who are left much
to themselves. She was holding under her arm a rag doll, apparently
of her own workmanship, and nearly as large as herself--a doll with a
cylindrical head, and features roughly indicated with charcoal. A long
shawl, evidently belonging to a grown person, dropped from her shoulders
and swept the floor.

The spectacle did not excite Mrs. Tretherick's delight. Perhaps she had
but a small sense of humor. Certainly, when the child, still standing in
the doorway, again asked, "Is it Mamma?" she answered sharply, "No, it
isn't," and turned a severe look upon the intruder.

The child retreated a step, and then, gaining courage with the distance,
said in deliciously imperfect speech:

"Dow 'way then! why don't you dow away?"

But Mrs. Tretherick was eying the shawl. Suddenly she whipped it off the
child's shoulders, and said angrily:

"How dared you take my things, you bad child?"

"Is it yours? Then you are my mamma; ain't you? You are Mamma!" she
continued gleefully; and before Mrs. Tretherick could avoid her, she had
dropped her doll, and, catching the woman's skirts with both hands, was
dancing up and down before her.

"What's your name, child?" said Mrs. Tretherick coldly, removing the
small and not very white hands from her garments.

"Tarry."

"Tarry?"

"Yeth. Tarry. Tarowline."

"Caroline?"

"Yeth. Tarowline Tretherick."

"Whose child ARE you?" demanded Mrs. Tretherick still more coldly, to
keep down a rising fear.

"Why, yours," said the little creature with a laugh. "I'm your little
durl. You're my mamma, my new mamma. Don't you know my ol' mamma's dorn
away, never to turn back any more? I don't live wid my ol' mamma now. I
live wid you and Papa."

"How long have you been here?" asked Mrs. Tretherick snappishly.

"I fink it's free days," said Carry reflectively.

"You think! Don't you know?" sneered Mrs. Tretherick. "Then, where did
you come from?"

Carry's lip began to work under this sharp cro