"I am Angelina," she said. "The doll was mine."

"You! Angelina!" the child's face was full of bewilderment. Mechanically
she drew Miranda to her and clasped her close.

"Yes, I am Angelina, and that was my doll Miranda," said Miss Terry gently.
"Thank you for returning her. But Mary,--your name is Mary?" The child
nodded.--"Suppose I wanted you to keep her for me, what would you say?"

Mary's eyes still dwelt upon Miss Terry with a puzzled look. This
gray-haired Angelina was so different from the one she had pictured. She
did not answer the question. Miss Terry drew the child to a chair beside
her.

"Tell me all about yourself, Mary," she said.

After some coaxing and prompting from what they already guessed, Mary told
the story of her sad little life.

She was an orphan recently left to the care of her uncle and aunt, who had
received her grudgingly. They were her sole relatives; and the shame of
their degraded lives was plain through the outlines of the vague picture
which Mary sketched of them.

"You do not love them, Mary?" asked Miss Terry kindly.

"No," answered the child. "They always speak crossly to me. When they have
been drinking they beat me."