"We never stint thanks in our world," said the little old lady, smiling. "Then there is nothing more that you want?" "Yes, kind friend, just one thing," said Marjory. "You promised me that when we met again you would tell me your name." The little woman melted away instantly, but somewhere out of the shadows came a small sweet sighing voice, which said softly, "My name is--Genius!" Jewels to Wear "Torches are made to burn; jewels to wear."--_Shakespeare_ CHAPTER I "I can’t think, Nancy, why you cannot get something useful to occupy yourself with. It seems to me that I have slaved and sacrificed myself all my life, in every possible direction, simply that you may waste your whole time spoiling good paper, scribbling, scribbling, scribbling, from morning till night, with your fingers inky, and your thoughts in the clouds, and your attention on nothing that I want you to attend to. I don’t call it a good reward to make to me. You will never do any good with that ridiculous scribbling--never! When I think of what you _might_ save me, of how you _might_ spare me in my anxious and busy life, it makes me positively ill to think I am your mother. Here have I been thinking of you, Nancy, and working for you, and struggling, and fighting, and slaving for you for twenty years, and now that the time has come when you might do something for me, you have only one idea in your head, and that is writing rubbishy stories that nobody will ever want to buy!" [Illustration: "You have only one idea in your head, and that is writing rubbishy stories that nobody will ever want to buy!"] The girl thus addressed turned and looked at her mother. "Mother, dear," she said depreciatingly, "I am sorry that I am not more useful. I can’t help it. I do think of you, I try to do everything I can to relieve you, and help you; but these stories will come into my head. They won’t be put out of it. What am I to do?" "What are you to do?" echoed the mother. "Why, look at that basket of stockings to darn!" "I am quite willing to darn them," said Nancy meekly. "Yes, you are quite willing, I daresay. You are quite willing _when_ I tell you. But you don’t seem to see what a burden it is to me to have to tell you everything as if you were a baby. There are the stockings, and there are you; at your age, you don’t surely need me to tell you that the stockings need mending!" "I will do them at once," said Nancy. "I will do them this minute." "Yes, with your thoughts in the clouds, and your mind fixed on scribbling. What, may I ask you, Nancy, do you think you will ever do with it?" "I don’t know," said Nancy desperately. "Perhaps I may make some money some day." "Never, never! Waste it, you mean. Waste it over pens, ink, paper and tablecloths. There is the tablecloth in your bedroom spotted with ink from end to end. It is heart-breaking." "Well, Mother, what do you wish me to do?" the girl asked in desperation.