“No, ma’am, my name’s Imogene.”

“Imo—­which?  Why!  I thought you was Marguerite.  Miss Coffin hasn’t sent another girl, has she?”

“No, ma’am.  I’m the one.  My name used to be Marguerite, but it’s goin’ to be Imogene now.  I’ve wanted to change for a long while, but up there to the Home they’d got kind of used to Marguerite, so ’twas easier to let it go at that.  I like Imogene lots better; I got it out of a book.”

“But—­but you can’t change your name like that.  Isn’t Marguerite your real name?”

“No’m.  Anyhow I guess ’tain’t.  I got that out of a book, too.  Lordy,” with a burst of enthusiasm, “I’ve had more names in my time!  My Aunt Bridget she called me ‘Mag’ when she didn’t make it somethin’ worse.  And when I first came to the Home the kids called me ‘Fire Alarm,’ ’cause my hair was red.  And the cook they had then called me ‘Lonesome,’ ’cause I guess I looked that way.  And the matron—­not Miss Coffin, but the other one—­called me ‘Maggie.’  I didn’t like that, so when Miss Coffin showed up I told her I was Marguerite.  But I’d rather be Imogene now, if you ain’t particular, ma’am.”

“Why—­um—­well, I don’t know’s I am; only seems to me I’d settle on one or t’other and stay put.  What’s your last name?”

“I ain’t decided.  Montgomery’s a kind of nice name and so’s St. John, or Wolcott—­there used to be a Governor Wolcott, you know.  I s’pose, now I’m out workin’ for myself, I ought to have a last name.  Maybe you can pick one out for me, ma’am.”

“Humph!  Maybe I can.  I’ve helped pick out first names for babies in my time, but pickin’ out a last name for anybody would be somethin’ new, I will give in.  But I’ll try, if you want me to.  And you must try to do what I want and to please me.  Will you promise me that?”

“Lordy, yes’m!”

“Um!  Well, you might begin by tryin’ not to say ‘Lordy’ quite so many times.  That would please me, for a start.”

“All right’m.  I got in the habit of sayin’ it, I guess.  When I first come to the Home I used to say, ‘God sakes,’ but the matron didn’t like that.”

“Mercy on us!  I don’t wonder.  Well—­er—­Imogene, now I’ll show you the house and your room and all.  I hope you like ’em.”

There was no doubt of the liking.  Imogene was delighted with everything.  When she was shown the sunny attic bedroom which was to be hers she clapped her hands.

“It’s elegant, ma’am,” she cried.  “Just grand!  Oh! it’s too splendid to believe and yet there ain’t any make-believe in it.  Lordy!  Excuse me, ma’am, I forgot.  I won’t say it again.  I’ll wait and see what you say and then I’ll say that.  And now,” briskly, “I guess you think it’s time I was gettin’ to work.  All right, I can work if I ain’t got no other accomplishments.  I’m all ready to begin.”

As a worker she was a distinct success.  There was not a lazy bone in her energetic body.  She was up and stirring each morning at five o’clock and she evinced an eager willingness to learn that pleased Mrs. Barnes greatly.  Her knowledge of cookery was limited, and deadly, but as Thankful had planned to do most of the cooking herself, for the first season at least, this made little difference.  Altogether the proprietress of the High Cliff House was growing more and more sure that her female “hired help” was destined to prove a treasure.