She wondered why her ladyship did not come in to see her, and then sighed to think that she was only a poor, friendless waif, who had been picked out of the streets and ministered unto for charity’s sake. But one day, upon awaking from a long and refreshing sleep, she found the queerest-looking old lady bending over her and scrutinizing her closely. She was nearly bent double, and held a cane in her hand. She uttered a low grunt as Brownie opened her large brown eyes, giving her a surprised look, and then asked, in a sharp, though not unkindly, tone: “Who are you? What’s your name?” “My name is Douglas,” replied Brownie, quietly, her pale face flushing slightly at the blunt question. “Eh? What? Oh! Dundas,” returned the deformed creature, twisting her neck to get a better view of the delicate face. She was evidently hard of hearing, and did not catch the name correctly; but she continued: “And what’s your other name?” “Mehetabel,” the young girl said, with her usual quiet smile whenever she pronounced the obnoxious cognomen. “Ah! Mabel,” replied the old woman, only seeing the motion of her lips, and catching the last syllables. “Mabel Dundas! That is a good-sounding name. Now, how old are you?” Brownie was upon the point of correcting the mistake regarding her name, when she checked herself. “What matters it,” she breathed, with a sad sigh, “whether I am Mehetabel Douglas or Mabel Dundas? It will be all the same to her, and perhaps help to shield me from my enemies.” “I am nearly nineteen,” she replied to the question. “What? I’m not always so hard of hearing, but I’ve got a cold to-day. How old did you say you are?” “Nearly nineteen,” Brownie repeated, speaking louder. “Do you suffer much?” “Not very much.” “Where are your friends?” “I have none,” and the sad, sweet eyes filled with tears. “Humph! That’s bad for a pretty face like yours. What do you do for a living?” “Teach.” “Teach what?” “Almost anything, except the higher classics.” “Ah! indeed! and only nineteen! Perhaps you are one of those reduced gentlewomen, who go out governessing, and pretend to know everything!” snapped the old woman, with a sneer. Probably she had been taken in some time during her life by some such person as she described, which accounted for her scorn. “No, madam; I pretend to nothing. I have a good education, therefore teach for a living, and am only a poor girl without home or friends.” Brownie’s cheeks were very red now, but her dignity would have done credit to the highest lady in the land. The strange woman chuckled audibly, nodded her head two or three times, as if much amused, and then went on with her catechising: “Do you read French?” “Yes, madam,” replied the young girl, inwardly resenting the woman’s brusque manner, yet feeling bound to reverence her gray head. “And German.” “Yes, madam.” “Can you play the piano, and sing?” “I can.” “Have you an engagement now?” “No, madam.”