irl's name, mammy?" asked Lizzie. Having finished
her supper, she was standing at her mother's side, staring with wide
eyes at Anne and shyly rolling a corner of her apron in her fingers.

"Sh-sh-sh," whispered Mrs. Collins. "'Tain't perlite to ask questions.
You make her cry again.--But, Peter, I'm worried to think maybe her
folks is missed her and lookin' for her. You have to take the lantern
presen'ly and go and tell 'em she's here."

"Whar is I gwine? And who I gwi' tell?" asked Mr. Collins.

"Peter Collins, you is the most unreasonable man I ever see in my life!
You sho ain't goin' to worry the po' little thing and make her cry
again, askin' all kinds of questions. You jest got to hunt up her folks.
They'll be worried to death, missing a child like this, and at night,
too."

But Anne was now ready to explain cheerfully. "I haven't any folks--not
any real folks of my own now," she said. "Mother is dead and father is
dead. Uncle Carey got lost, I reckon. I used to live here. Mr.
Patterson took me to a--a orphan 'sylum, Mrs. Marshall calls it. The
name over the door is 'Home for Girls.' This evening I was on the train
with Mrs. Marshall and I knew the place when we came to the water-tank.
And I wanted to be here. So we came, Honey-Sweet and I. I thought the
dog was going to bite me."

"You hear that, Peter Collins?" exclaimed Mrs. Collins. "Now wasn't that
smart of her? She knowed the place and got off the train by herself and
come right up to the house. And Red Coat might 'a' bit the po' child
traipsin' 'long in the dark. You got to shut that dog up nights," she
said, as if every evening was to bring a little lost Anne wandering into
danger. "To think of puttin' a po' little motherless, fatherless thing
in a 'sylum," she continued. "Many homes as thar is in this world!--Le'
me fry you another plateful of nice brown cakes, honey, and get you some
damson preserves--maybe you like them better'n sweetmeats. Or would you
choose raspberry jam?" She had thrown open the diamond-paned doors of
the bookcase, now used as a pantry, and was looking over the rows of
jars.

"I couldn't eat another mouthful of anything; indeed, I couldn't,"
insisted Anne.

"I wish you would," sighed Mrs. Collins. "It gives me a feelin' to see
yo' po' thin little face--no wider'n a knitting needle."

Anne laughed. "I ate ever so many cakes. They were so good--as good as
Aunt Charity's. Please--where is Aunt Charity?"

"Aunt Charity who?" a