haired, medium-sized orphan, and brought her home.

The girl's name was Pomona. Whether or not her parents gave her
this name is doubtful. At any rate, she did not seem quite decided
in her mind about it herself, for she had not been with us more
than two weeks before she expressed a desire to be called Clare.
This longing of her heart, however, was denied her. So Euphemia,
who was always correct, called her Pomona. I did the same whenever
I could think not to say Bologna--which seemed to come very pat for
some reason or other.

As for the boarder, he generally called her Altoona, connecting her
in some way with the process of stopping for refreshments, in which
she was an adept.

She was an earnest, hearty girl. She was always in a good humor,
and when I asked her to do anything, she assented in a bright,
cheerful way, and in a loud tone full of good-fellowship, as though
she would say:

"Certainly, my high old cock! To be sure I will. Don't worry
about it--give your mind no more uneasiness on that subject. I'll
bring the hot water."

She did not know very much, but she was delighted to learn, and she
was very strong. Whatever Euphemia told her to do, she did
instantly with a bang. What pleased her better than anything else
was to run up and down the gang-plank, carrying buckets of water to
water the garden. She delighted in out-door work, and sometimes
dug so vigorously in our garden that she brought up pieces of the