"Didn't Pharer say anything about it?"
Sally considered.
"Pharer's a king. She's good enough to be a queen."
"We've got one Queen, Sal, and those that have seen her say she's pretty, too. There's princesses and duchesses----"
"A duchess, a duchess!" cried Sally, clapping her hands. "If she can't be a queen, make her a duchess!"
"So be it, Sally. We'll call her a duchess. The Duchess of Rosemary Lane."
Sally slid off his knees, and brought a cup of water. "You must sprinkle her, you know. That's the way. Now no one can't call her nothink else."
"Ladies and gentlemen," said Seth, addressing the company with mock dignity, "allow me to present to you the Duchess of Rosemary Lane."
[CHAPTER XIII.]
Thus, after having unconsciously passed through peril and danger, the heroine of this story may be said to have found a place in the world. Lowly indeed was her home--as low as a grave; but as from the grave, where the lifeless clay rots and moulders, the spirit rises to purer space, so doubtless will the Duchess of Rosemary Lane find means to rise in her mortal state, to a higher rung in the ladder of life than the humble cellar of Seth Dumbrick. At present she is helpless, dependent on strangers for food and shelter--thrown into the arms of charity, and saved from early suffering by the cunning and devotion of a child but two or three years older than herself.