"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?"