“Land sake, child!  I ain’t tired.  An’ you ain’t used to this work, I see you ain’t.”

“That doesn’t matter.  I can do it, and I must do something to pay for my board,—­I have very little money.”

“Hear the child talk!  Wal, you kin help me with the work, a little, an’ then we must come to an understandin’.”

Marjorie worked with a nervous haste that betrayed her inexperience as well as her willingness, and after a time the plain little house was in order.

Mr. Geary came in from doing his out-of-door “chores,” and Marjorie saw the “understandin’” was about to be arrived at.  But she was prepared; she had made up her mind as to her course, and was determined to pursue it.

“Now, fust of all,” said Mr. Geary, kindly, but with decision, “what is your name?”

“Jessica Brown,” said Marjorie, promptly.

She had already assured herself that as she had no real right to the name she had always used, she was privileged to choose herself a new one.  Jessica had long been a favorite with her, and Brown seemed non-committal.

Mr. Geary looked at her sharply, but she said the name glibly, and Jessica was what he called “highfalutin” enough to fit her evident station in life, so he made no comment.

“Where do you live?” he went on.

“I have no home,” said Marjorie, steadily; “I am a findling.”

“A what?”

“A findling,—­from the asylum.”

The term didn’t sound quite right to her,—­but she couldn’t think of the exact word,—­and having used it, concluded to stick to it.

Zeb Geary was not highly educated, but this word, so soberly used, struck his humorous sense, and he put his brawny hand over his mouth to hide his smiles.

“Yep,” he said, after a moment, “I understand,—­I do.  And whar’d ye set out fer?”

“I started for New York, but I’ve decided not to go there.”

“Oh, ye hev, hev ye?  An’ jes’ what do ye calkilate to do?”

“Well, Mr. Geary,” Marjorie looked troubled,—­“and Mrs. Geary, I’d like to stay here for a while.  I’ll work for you, and you can pay me by giving me food and lodging.  I s’pose I wouldn’t be worth very much at first, but I’d learn fast,—­you know,—­I do everything fast,—­Mother always said so,—­I,—­I mean, the lady I used to live with, said so.  And I’d try very hard to please you both.  If you’d let me stay a while, perhaps you’d learn to like me.  You see, I’ve got to earn my own living, and I haven’t anywhere to go, and not a friend in the world but you two.”

These astonishing words, from the pretty, earnest child, in the dainty and fashionable dress of the best people, completely floored the old country couple.

“Well, I swan!” exclaimed Mr. Geary, while Mrs. Geary said, “My stars!” twice, with great emphasis.

“Please,” Marjorie went on, “please give me a trial; for I’ve been thinking it over, and I don’t see what I can possibly do but ‘work out.’  Isn’t that what you call it?  And if I learn some with you, I might work out in New York, later on.”