grown at least two inches, and the clothes which
had hung loosely about her in her first days at the ranch had now become
a tight fit. At Miss Jessie's request she smiled, and came hurrying to
the side of her kind friend.

"It's a glorious day," she said; "it makes one happy just to be alive.
I've had such a wonderful ride. I went as far as the railroad, and saw
the West Bound pass; it was two hours late. I'll get your warm coat and
some wraps and we'll sit behind the playhouse. You won't feel the wind
there, and it will be heavenly."

"Undine," said Miss Graham suddenly, when the two were comfortably
established in one of their favorite nooks; the invalid in her chair,
and her companion on a rug spread on the ground; "where did you learn
the song I heard you singing when you came in from your ride just now?"

"I forget which it was," said Undine, looking puzzled. "Oh, yes, I
remember--'A Highland Laddie Lived over the Lea.' I don't know where I
learned it--isn't it one of Jim's songs?"

"I don't think so, dear, but we can ask him. I never heard you sing it
before."

Something of the old, troubled, far-away look crept into Undine's face.

"I don't know how I remember things," she said, slowly; "they just come
into my head sometimes. Now that I think of it, I don't believe I have
ever heard Jim sing that song. I must have heard it somewhere, though."

Miss Graham said nothing, and there was a short pause, which Undine
broke.

"You and Mrs. Graham don't like to have me talk about the things I can't
remember," she said, a little wistfully.

"Only because we don't want you to distress yourself and try to force
your brain. I have always told you I was sure the memory would come back
some day."

"I think it is coming soon," said Undine, softly. "I keep having dreams.
I dreamt of my mother last night."

There was a quiver in the girl's voice, and Miss Jessie leaned forward
and laid a kind hand on her shoulder.

"Tell me about it, dear," she said, gently.

Undine drew a deep breath that was almost a sob.

"It was a beautiful dream," she said. "My mother and I were in a dear
little room, all furnished in pink and white. I don't know where it was,
but it seemed quite familiar in the dream. I was unhappy about
something, and my mother kissed me, and put her arms round me. She had
such a dear, beautiful face. Oh, Miss Jessie, do you suppose my poor
mother was killed in that dreadful earthquake?"

"My dear little