your mother, Maggie. Exactly what she was at your age."

"My mother!" answered Maggie. "You never talked to me of her; tell me
of her now. I did not suppose I was like her in anything."

"Yes, in everything," said old Hagar; "the same dark eyes and hair,
the same bright red cheeks, the same--"

"Why, Hagar, what can you mean?" interrupted Maggie. "My mother had
light blue eyes and fair brown hair, like Theo. Grandma says I am
not like her at all, while old Hannah, the cook, when she feels
ill-natured and wishes to tease me, says I am the very image of Hester
Hamilton."

"And what if you are? What if you are?" eagerly rejoined old Hagar.
"Would you feel badly to know you looked like Hester?" and the old
woman bent anxiously forward to hear the answer: "Not for myself,
perhaps, provided Hester was handsome, for I think a good deal of
beauty, that's a fact; but it would annoy grandma terribly to have me
look like a servant. She might fancy I was Hester's daughter, for she
wonders every day where I get my low-bred ways, as she calls my liking
to sing and laugh and be natural."

"And s'posin' Hester was your mother, would you care?" persisted
Hagar.

"Of course I should," answered Maggie, her large eyes opening wide at
the strange question. "I wouldn't for the whole world be anybody
but Maggie Miller, just who I am. To be sure, I get awfully out of
patience with grandma and Mrs. Jeffrey for talking so much about birth