.'"

MRS. GRAHAM glanced up from her sewing, with a smile.

"What a sweet voice that child has," she said; "with training I believe
she would sing remarkably well."

"I love to hear her singing about the house," said Miss Jessie, also
pausing to listen to the clear young voice; "I wonder where she learned
all those old songs. I remember that ballad, but I haven't heard it
since I was a child."

"She probably picks them up from Jim," Mrs. Graham suggested; "he is
always singing about the place."

"I don't think I ever heard Jim sing this one," said Miss Jessie,
reflectively. "Susie, I do wish we could find out something about the
child's family. I feel sure she has been brought up among people of
refinement."

"She is a very attractive girl," Mrs. Graham agreed, "but if she has
relatives it seems incredible that they should never have made the
slightest effort to find her. Donald and I were talking about her last
night. He thinks that any relatives she had must have been killed in the
earthquake. It seems the only explanation. There is nothing for us to do
but wait patiently in the hope that Undine may some time be able to tell
us everything herself. I confess I should be very sorry to part with
her; she has been a great help and comfort since Marjorie went away."

"She has indeed," said Miss Jessie, heartily. "I have grown very fond of
her, and I think she cares for us, too. We should have another letter
from Marjorie by this time."

"Yes, Jim has gone for the mail; he may bring one this afternoon. It
does my heart good to know the dear child is having such a happy
holiday. I would like to write and thank Mrs. Randolph for all her
kindness to Marjorie; she must be a lovely woman."

"I am sure she is, and the son must be a nice boy, too, judging from
what Marjorie says. Our little girl has made some good friends, as I
felt sure she would."

Mrs. Graham rose, and began folding up her work.

"I must go to the kitchen to look after Juanita," she said. "It is a
lovely afternoon. Why don't you get Undine to wheel you out in the sun
for an hour?"

"I think I will," said Miss Jessie, with a glance out of the windows at
the cloudless sky and brilliant winter sunshine. "Ah, here comes Undine.
Undine dear, I think I will go out for a little while."

The bright-faced, rosy-cheeked girl who entered the room at this moment
was a very different being from the pale, timid, little waif of four
months earlier. She had