saw him the day we opened the 'Home.'"

Perceiving Tommy for the first time, Mr. and Mrs. Burton gave him a hearty
greeting.

"Our friend knows," continued "Cobbler" Horn, "that I've been very
sceptical about the good news."

"Very much so!" said Tommy, nodding his head.

"Cobbler" Horn smiled.

"He was the first to find it out. You must know that he took much kind
interest in my little girl; and it was a great grief to him that she was
lost. And when your adopted daughter came to us, he was not long in
forming conjectures as to who she might be. In a very short time, as a
matter of fact, he had quite made up his mind. He tried to tell me about
it; but I was too stupid to understand him, and so it was left for me to
find out the happy truth by accident. Tell our friends, Tommy, how you
came to discover who Miss Owen really was."

Thus enjoined, Tommy, nothing loath, recounted once more the story of his
great discovery. Mr. and Mrs. Burton listened with deep attention, and,
having put several questions to Tommy, admitted that what he had said
afforded much confirmation to the supposition that Miss Owen was the
long-lost Marian.

"I have a thought about the child's name," said Mrs. Burton after a brief
pause. "It comes to me that what she gave us as her name sounded quite as
much like _Marian Horn_ as _Mary Ann Owen_."

"Why yes," said Miss Jemima, "now I think of it, she used to pronounce her
name very much as though it had been something like _Mary Ann Owen_. As
well as I can remember, it was 'Ma--an O--on.'"

"I believe you are right, Jemima," said her brother.

"It must be admitted," interposed Mr. Burton quickly, "that _Mary Ann
Owen_ was a very reasonable interpretation of that combination of sounds."

"Undoubtedly it was," assented "Cobbler" Horn.

"Yes," said Mrs. Burton, "what you say, Miss Horn, is very much like the
way in which the child pronounced her name. And there's another thing
which may serve as a further mark. She had on, beneath the old shawl, a
little chemise, on which were worked, in red, the letters 'M.H.'"

"I know it!" cried Miss Jemima. "I always marked her clothes like that.
You used to laugh at me, Thomas; but what do you say now?"

"Well, well!" said "the Golden Shoemaker" softly.

"And listen to me," resumed Miss Jemima. "I am beginning to recollect,
too. Marian's hair was very stubborn; and there were two or three tufts
at the back which always would stand up, like black f