o long after
breakfast? Won't you catch a lecture, though! I wouldn't be in your
shoes for a sovereign!"

"Don't believe you could be in them. You're so small they'd fall off,"
answered Dorothy laughing.

"No, they wouldn't. I'd tie them on. If I wanted to. Who are you?
When'd you come? How dare you stay in bed so?"

Dolly laughed again. She had fallen asleep convinced that she could
never laugh again, so tired and homesick had she been. But now,
refreshed by rest and with the sunlight streaming through the windows,
the world seemed a very different place. Besides, there was something
so winning about this inquisitive little maid, that the stranger's
heart was comforted that she had found a friend already.

"Well, dearie, I suppose I dare because Miss Tross-Kingdon--"

"Did she say you could? Isn't that odd! She's my aunt. I haven't any
folks 'cept her, I'm a norphan. I'm Millikins-Pillikins, my brother
Hugh calls me; and the girls, too. But I'm not, really. I'm Grace
Adelaide Victoria Tross-Kingdon. That's my truly name. Nobody could
call me all that, could they? Wouldn't be time. Auntie Princie calls
me just plain 'darling' or 'dear.' I'm a Minim. I don't have to do
lessons and things. I'm in the 'kindy.' Auntie Princie doesn't approve
of a kindergarten in this School for Young Ladies; but it's a
speriment the Board of Directioners wanted to try. Them's the
gentlemen auntie has to mind. Fancy! My great big grown-up Auntie
Prin having to mind them, same's I have to mind her! My Lord Bishop,
he's the head Directioner, but he's the jolliest! I just love him! He
knew my papa and mamma before they got drowned in the sea. My brother
Hugh lives with the Bishop and writes things for him. They call him a
seckeratary. He gets money for doing it. Think of that! Sometimes he
gives me pennies and even six-pences. Sometimes--not often. You see he
wants to earn enough to buy a cottage for him and me. I'm to be the
lady of it--the mistress! Fancy! But Auntie Princie says I have lots
to learn before then. I will have to make his bread, 'cause he won't
have money enough to keep me and a cook, too. I'll have to have a
housemaid to help me, but you know housemaids never do the cooking.
But say, girl, you haven't told me your name yet?"

Dorothy sat up in bed and drew the child toward her:

"My dear, you haven't given me a chance yet, you've been so busy
telling me who you are. But I've enjoyed it and I thank you for coming
to wa