y, how did you know my name?" she cried.

Tom looked confused. How indeed did he know? But Miss Angelina, with a
readiness that surprised herself, came to his rescue.

"We were talking of a little girl named Mary," she said. "And you look just
like her. What did you come for, dear?"

The little girl hung her head and turned crimson.

"I--I came to see Angelina Terry," she whispered. "I--I've got a doll that
belongs to her."

There was a pause, then Miss Terry said, "Well, go on."

"I--I found her on the steps of this house last night, and I ought to
have brought her right here then. But I didn't. I took her home. I hope
Angelina was not very unhappy last night."

Miss Terry smiled upon Tom, who gave a kind, low laugh.

"No," said Miss Terry. "Angelina did not worry about her lost doll. She was
thinking about something else,--the nicest Christmas present that ever
anybody had. But you were a good girl to bring back the doll."

"No, I'm not a good girl," said Mary, and her voice trembled. "I was a
wicked girl. I meant to keep Miranda for myself, because I thought she
would be a lovely big doll. And when I found she was old and homely,
somehow I still wanted to keep her. But it was stealing, and I couldn't.
Please, will you give her to Angelina, and tell her I am so sorry?" She
took Miranda out of the wrapping and held her toward Miss Terry without
looking at the doll. It was as if she were afraid of being tempted once
more.

[Illustration: MARY RETURNS THE DOLL]

Miss Terry did not take the doll.

"I am Angelina," she said. "The doll was mine."

"You! Angelina!" the child's face was full of bewilderment. Mechanically
she drew Miranda to her and clasped her close.

"Yes, I am Angelina, and that was my doll Miranda," said Miss Terry gently.
"Thank you for returning her. But Mary,--your name is Mary?" The child
nodded.--"Suppose I wanted you to keep her for me, what would you say?"

Mary's eyes still dwelt upon Miss Terry with a puzzled look. This
gray-haired Angelina was so different from the one she had pictured. She
did not answer the question. Miss Terry drew the child to a chair beside
her.

"Tell me all about yourself, Mary," she said.

After some coaxing and prompting from what they already guessed, Mary told
the story of her sad little life.

She was an orphan recently left to the care of her uncle and aunt, who had
received her grudgingly. They were her sole relatives; and the shame of
their de