“Are you having trouble with your baggage too?” she asked, kindly.  “One of our trunks was misplaced, and they would not examine anything until it was found.  It is here at last, thank fortune, so that we shall not be delayed much longer.  Mamma and I have noticed you waiting here, and wondered if you were in the same predicament.  Papa says that he will be so glad to help you in any way he can, if you need his assistance.”  She did not add that her mother had said, “I can’t go away with any peace of mind until I see that child safe in somebody’s hands.”

“There is some dreadful mistake!” sobbed Mildred.  “My uncle was to meet me here, and I do not know what to do!” She buried her face in her handkerchief, and the next minute “Muffit’s” mother had her arms around her.  Then she found that the girl’s name was not Muffit, but Mildred, like her own, Mildred Rowland.

When Mildred Stanhope told Mrs. Rowland her name, that motherly woman exclaimed, “Oh, Edward!  What if it were our daughter left in such a trying position!  She shall just come to the hotel with us and stay until we hear from her uncle.  Wasn’t it fortunate that that old trunk delayed us so long!  We might have hurried off and never known anything about you.  Well, it’s all right now.  Mr. Rowland shall telegraph to your uncle, and we will keep you with us until he comes.”

The next two days were full of strange experiences to Mildred.  The rush and roar of the great city, the life in the palatial hotel, with its seeming miles of corridors and hundreds of servants, bewildered her.  In response to Mr. Rowland’s telegram the reply came:  “Joseph Barnard died last Wednesday.  Call for letter Blank Hotel.”  The message was signed Derrick Jaynes.  The letter, which was brought up an hour later, bore the same signature.  It had been written at the request of Mrs. Barnard by her minister.  It told Mildred of her uncle’s sudden death, occurring the day that she left Liverpool, and had been sent to the hotel to which Mr. Barnard had intended to take his niece, Mrs. Barnard supposing that her husband had given Mildred that address in case of any slip in making connections.

The kindly old minister seemed to realize the unhappy position in which the young girl was placed, and gave minute directions regarding the journey she would have to take alone, while Mr. Rowland arranged for her comfort in the same fatherly way he would have done for his own Mildred.  “What would I have done without you?” she exclaimed, in a choking voice, as she clung to Mrs. Rowland at parting.  “Now I shall be adrift again, all alone in the world, as soon as you unclasp your hand.”

“No, Providence will take care of you, dear,” answered Mrs. Rowland.  “Just keep thinking of that motto you told me about, and let us hear from you when you are safe in Carlsville.”

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