"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."