“Mamma says, when one has an ugly name one must try to live a life to make it beautiful.”
[p16]
“Hum! Well, that isn’t bad. And when one has a beautiful name—like Dick, for instance,” said he waggishly, “what then?”
“Then the name should help the life, and the life the name—so mamma said when I asked her.”
“Well, your mother must be good,” said Dick to this.
“Yes, she is.” Wistful lights were stealing into Inna’s eyes, and Dick had a suspicion that there were tears in them.
“I’m not blest with one,” spoke he, carelessly to all seeming.
“With no mother?” inquired his companion gently.
“I’m sort of foster-child to Meggy, our cook and housekeeper—ours is Meggy, you know, and yours is Peggy, at Willett’s Farm.”
“Yes,” smiled Inna, “yes.” She had tided over that tenderness of spirit caused by speaking of her mother.
The train was steaming into a station again, but no passenger intruded; only the guard peeped in, as caretaker, to see if she was safe, as Dick remarked, when they were moving on again.