“Not quite right in her mind,” George Rivers said, when he came to the farm-house to ask if they would take his poor “Daisy” for a few weeks “She lost her baby six months ago,” he said, “and she’s been strange ever since. I brought her to the country hoping a change from the city would do her good, and I think she is improving. We have driven by here several times, and for some reason she has taken a great fancy to this place, and says she could sleep and should get well if she were here, so I called to ask if you will take her.” The price offered was remunerative, and as dollars were not so very plenty with the old couple they consented at last to take the young lady, whom her husband called Daisy, and whom Rena felt that she should love so much. She was a wonderfully beautiful little creature, not much taller than Rena herself, and her soft, brown eyes had in them an expression so sad and pitiful, that Rena could scarcely keep back the tears when she saw her coming in leaning upon her husband’s arm. There had been talk of a nurse to look after her when George returned to the city, but Rena had begged so hard for that office that Mr. Rivers had consented and Rena was to attend her, and she came at once to the invalid and showed her to the large, pleasant chamber which adjoined her own, and which overlooked the town and the hill country beyond. “This is so nice—so like a dream I’ve had of something. I shall be better here,” Daisy said, as she leaned from the window and looked out upon the yard and garden below. “Can I do anything for you? I am to be your little maid. I am Rena Harris.” This was what Rena said as the lady turned from the window, and Daisy’s brown eyes looked wonderingly at her, while a deep flush suffused the white face for an instant and then left it paler than before. “Rena, Rena,” she repeated; “I never knew but one, and she is with the angels. I called baby _Irene_, and she died too. Rena; it’s very strange that you should have that name.” Daisy was talking to herself now, for at the first mention of _Irene_, Rena had darted down stairs to Aunt Hannah, exclaiming: “I’ve got it now—my real name. You know I never could think for sure, but the moment she said her baby was Irene, it came back to me. That was the name in the Bible—_Irene Cutler_, and Ruth read it to me once and she called me Rena. Oh, grandma, you don’t know how sad the lady looked when she said, ‘Rena, Rena!’ I shall love her so dearly, and I mean to take such good care of her, too.”