turned out to be that very little girl?"

"Yes, mother," was the reply, uttered in low and agitated tones, "I
remember very well."

"You didn't think that such a wonderful thing would ever come to pass, did
you, dear?" asked Mrs. Burton, gently stroking the back of the plump
little brown hand, which lay passive in her lap.

"No," replied the girl, "I certainly did not; and it was just a mad joke,
of course."

As she spoke her whole frame quivered, and she made as though she would
have withdrawn her hand and risen to her feet. Mrs. Burton tightened her
grasp upon the fluttering hand in her lap, and gently restrained the
agitated girl.

"I haven't finished yet, dear," she said. "You know the saying that 'many
a true word is spoken in jest'?"

"Yes, yes----"

"Well--try to be calm, my child--it has been found out----"

"I know what you are going to say, mother," broke in the young girl. "It
is that I have found my father--my very own; though I can never forget the
only father I have known these years, and I haven't found another mother,
and don't want to."

Then the woman and the child--for she was little more--became locked in a
close embrace. After some minutes, Mrs. Burton unclasped the young arms
from her neck, and, sitting hand in hand with her adopted daughter, she
told her all the wondrous tale.

"So you see, my child," she concluded, "your name is not Owen after all;
it is not even Mary Ann."

"No," said the girl, with a bewitching touch of scorn. "Mary Ann Owen,
forsooth! I always had my doubts. Horn is not much better in itself. But
it is my father's name; and Marian is all that could be desired. And so I
really am that little Marian of whom I have heard so many charming things!
How sweet! But, mother, you must be the very same to me as ever; and I
must find room for two fathers now, instead of one."

"Yes, my dear, I feel sure you will not love us any the less for this
great change."

"Mother, mother, never speak of that again! If it had not been for you, I
might never have come to know anything about myself, to say nothing of all
the dreadful things which might have happened. Oh, God is good!"

"He is indeed, dear! But you will be longing to go to your father."

"Yes," said the girl, with a quiver of shy delight; "what does he say?"

"My dear, he is thankful beyond measure."

"But can he bear to see me just yet?"

"He is preparing to receive you now. Come!"

"Cobbler" Horn had finished