"I do not know. Over there they call me Marie, but that isn’t my name." "I can’t let you go off alone by yourself," Jo was talking more to herself than to the girl. "Then, what are you going to do with me? Please try to help me. You see I was very sick once and I—I cannot remember what happened before that, but it keeps coming closer and closer and pressing harder and harder—here." The girl put her hand to her head. "Once in awhile I catch little bits and then I hold them close and keep them. If I could be let alone I think soon I would remember." The pleading eyes filled with tears, the lips trembled. Now the obvious thing to do, Jo knew very well: she ought to bundle the girl into the cart and drive as fast as possible to the Home. But Mam’selle Jo knew that she was not going to do the obvious thing, and before she had time to plan another course she saw two black-robed figures coming across the pasture opposite. The girl saw them, too, and rushed to Jo. She clung to her fiercely and implored: "God in heaven, save me! If they get me, I will kill myself." The appeal turned Jo to stone. "Get in the cart," she commanded, "and cover up in the straw." The two Sisters from the Home were in the road as Jo bent to gather up the debris of the meal. "Ah, ’tis the Mam’selle Morey," said the older Sister. "You were coming to St. Michael’s perhaps, with your goodly gifts?" The words were spoken in pure French. "I was coming, Sister—to—to adopt a child!" The blunt statement, in bungling words, made both Sisters stare. "’Tis like your good heart to think of this thing, Mam’selle Morey. Another day we will consider it." "Why not to-day, Sister? My time is never empty. I want a boy, very young and—and good to look at." "Oh, but Mam’selle Morey, one does not adopt a child as one does a stray cat. Another day, Mam’selle, and we will consider gladly, but to-day——" "What of to-day, Sister?" "Well, one of our little flock has strayed, a child sadly lacking but dearly loved; we must find her." "She has been gone long?" Jo was moving to the cart with her basket and bottles. "She has just been missed. We will soon find her." Jo’s hand, searching the straw, was patting the cold one that trembled beneath her touch. "May I give you a lift along the road?" she asked grimly, the humour of the thing striking her while she reassured the hidden girl by a whispered word. "Thanks, no, Mam’selle. We will not keep to the roads. The lost one loved the woods. She’d seek them." Jo waited until the Sisters had departed, her hand never having left the trembling one beneath hers. "You are going to—to take me with you?" The words came muffled, from the straw. "Yes." "And where?" "To Point of Pines." "What a lovely name. And you, what may I call you?" "Jo, Mam’selle Jo." "Mam’selle Jo. That is pretty, too, like Point of Pines. How kind you are and good. I did not know any one could be so good." "Lie down now, child, and sleep."