k when there's not so many round."

Such strict conformity to her religious scruples, combined with such
pathetic industry, seemed to augur well for the superior worth of this
tall, blonde, blue-eyed girl. I was anxious to make a friend of her,
and accordingly proffered my services until Phoebe should come to claim
me. She accepted gladly, and for the first time looked up and rewarded
me with a smile. I caught a glimpse of an unprepossessing
countenance--despite rather good features and fine hair--the most
striking characteristics of which were a missing front tooth and lips
that hung loose and colorless.

As we worked, the conversation became cordial. She inquired my name, and
I repeated the plain, homely Scotch-Irish cognomen that had been handed
down to me by my forefathers.

"Why don't you get a pretty name?" she asked, in a matter-of-fact tone.
"All the girls do it when they come to the factory to work. It don't
cost no more to have a high-sounding name."

Much interested, I protested, half in fun, that I didn't know any name
to take, and begged her to suggest one. She was silent for a moment.

"Well, last night," she went on--"last night I was reading a story about
two girls that was both mashed on the same feller. He was rich and they
was poor and worked, and one of them was called 'Rose Fortune.'"

"That's a very pretty name," I remarked.

"Isn't it, though? Rose Fortune--ever so much prettier than your own.
Say, why don't you take it, and I'll begin calling you by it right
away."

"And what's your name?" I ventured.

"Mine? Oh, mine's Henrietta Manners; only," she added hastily--"only
that's my real name. I was born with it. Now most of the girls got
theirs out of story-books. Georgiana Trevelyan and Goldy Courtleigh and
Gladys Carringford and Angelina Lancaster and Phoebe Arlington--them
girls all got theirs out of stories. But mine's my own. You see," and
she drew near that no other ear might hear the secret of her proud
birth--"you see, Manners was my mother's name, and she ran away and
married my papa against her rich father's wishes. He was a banker. I
mean mama's papa was a banker, but my papa was only a poor young
gentleman. So grandfather cut her off without a cent in his will, but
left everything to me if I would take the name of Manners."

The heroine of this strange romance stopped for breath, and if I had
cherished any doubts of the truth of her story in the beginning, at
least I was sur