Of course [she wrote], she isn’t at all a competent servant now, but she is bright and anxious to learn.  And she is a good girl, although something of a character.  Her Christian name is Marguerite, at least she says it is.  What her other name is goodness only knows.  She has been with us now for nearly seven years.  Before that she lived with and took care of a drunken old woman who said she was the girl’s aunt, though I doubt if she was.  Suppose I send her to you on trial; you can send her back to us if she doesn’t suit.  It would be a real act of charity to give her a chance, and I think you will like her in spite of her funny ways.

This doubtful recommendation caused Thankful to shake her head.  She had great confidence in Miss Coffin’s judgment, but she was far from certain that “Marguerite” would suit.  However, guarded inquiries in Wellmouth and Trumet strengthened her conviction that Captain Obed knew what he was talking about, and, the time approaching when she must have some sort of servant, she, at last, in desperation wrote her friend to send “the Marguerite one” along for a month’s trial.

The new girl arrived two days later.  Winnie S. brought her down in the depot-wagon, in company with her baggage, a battered old valise and an ancient umbrella.  She clung to each of these articles with a death grip, evidently fearful that someone might try to steal them.  She appeared to be of an age ranging from late sixteen to early twenty, and had a turned-up nose and reddish hair drawn smoothly back from her forehead and fastened with a round comb.  Her smile was of the “won’t come off” variety.

Thankful met her at the back door and ushered her into the kitchen, the room most free from workmen at the moment.

“How do you do?” said the lady.  “I’m real glad to see you.  Hope you had a nice trip down in the cars.”

“Lordy, yes’m!” was the emphatic answer, accompanied by a brilliant smile.  “I never had such a long ride in my life.  ‘Twas just like bein’ rich.  I made believe I was rich most all the way, except when a man set down in the seat alongside of me and wanted to talk.  Then I didn’t make believe none, I bet you!”

“A man?” grinned Thankful.  “What sort of a man?”

“I don’t know.  One of the railroad men I guess ’twas; anyhow he was a fresh young guy, with some sort of uniform hat on.  He asked me if I didn’t want him to put my bag up in the rack.  He said you couldn’t be too careful of a bag like that.  I told him never mind my bag; it was where it belonged and it stayed shut up, which was more’n you could say of some folks in this world.  I guess he understood; anyhow he beat it.  Lordy!” with another smile.  “I knew how to treat his kind.  Miss Coffin’s told me enough times to look out for strange men.  Is this where I’m goin’ to live, ma’am?”

“Why—­why, yes; if you’re a good girl and try hard to please and to learn.  Now—­er—­Marguerite—­that’s your name, isn’t it?”