in a year's time. Poor Ann was
sorrowful enough for a long while after Grandma's death. She wore the
beloved gold beads round her neck, and a sad ache in her heart. The
dear old woman had taken the beads off her neck with her own hands
and given them to Ann before she died, that there might be no mistake
about it.

Mrs. Polly said she was glad Ann had them. "You might jist as well
have 'em as Dorcas's girl," said she; "she set enough sight more by
you."

Ann could not help growing cheerful again, after a while. Affairs in
Mrs. Polly's house were much brighter for her, in some ways, than
they had ever been before.

Either the hot iron of affliction had smoothed some of the puckers
out of her mistress' disposition, or she was growing, naturally, less
sharp and dictatorial. Anyway, she was becoming as gentle and loving
with Ann as it was in her nature to be, and Ann, following her
impulsive temper, returned all the affection with vigor, and never
bestowed a thought on past unpleasantness.

For the next two years, Ann's position in the family grew to be more
and more that of a daughter. If it had not been for the indentures
lying serenely in that tall wooden desk, she would almost have
forgotten, herself, that she was a bound girl.

One spring afternoon, when Ann was about sixteen years old, her
mistress called her solemnly into the fore-room. "Ann," said she,
"come here, I want to speak to you."

Nabby stared wonderingly; and Ann, as she obeyed, felt awed. There
was something unusual in her mistress's tone.

Standing there in the fore-room, in the august company of the best
bed, with its high posts and flowered-chintz curtains, the best chest
of drawers, and the best chairs, Ann listened to what Mrs. Polly had
to tell her. It was a plan which almost took her breath away; for it
was this: Mrs. Polly proposed to adopt her, and change her name to
Wales. She would be no longer Ann Ginnins, and a bound girl; but Ann
Wales, and a daughter in her mother's home.

Ann dropped into one of the best chairs, and sat there, her little
dark face very pale. "Should I have the--_papers?_" she gasped at
length.

"Your papers? Yes, child, you can have them."

"I don't want them!" cried Ann, "never. I want them to stay just
where they are, till my time is out. If I am adopted, I don't want
the papers!"

Mrs. Polly stared. She had never known how Ann had taken the
indentures with her on her run-away trip years ago; but now Ann