I didn't think so either. What on earth would Euphemia have done with that volcanic Irishwoman in her little kitchen! I took up my hat and bade Mrs. Blaine good morning. “Good morning,” said she, with a distressing smile. She had one of those mouths that look exactly like a gash in the face. I went home without a girl. In a day or two Euphemia came to town and got one. Apparently she got her without any trouble, but I am not sure. She went to a “Home”--Saint Somebody's Home--a place where they keep orphans to let, so to speak. Here Euphemia selected a light-haired, medium-sized orphan, and brought her home. The girl's name was Pomona. Whether or not her parents gave her this name is doubtful. At any rate, she did not seem quite decided in her mind about it herself, for she had not been with us more than two weeks before she expressed a desire to be called Clare. This longing of her heart, however, was denied her. So Euphemia, who was always correct, called her Pomona. I did the same whenever I could think not to say Bologna--which seemed to come very pat for some reason or other. As for the boarder, he generally called her Altoona, connecting her in some way with the process of stopping for refreshments, in which she was an adept. She was an earnest, hearty girl. She was always in a good humor, and when I asked her to do anything, she assented in a bright, cheerful way, and in a loud tone full of good-fellowship, as though she would say: “Certainly, my high old cock! To be sure I will. Don't worry about it--give your mind no more uneasiness on that subject. I'll bring the hot water.” She did not know very much, but she was delighted to learn, and she was very strong. Whatever Euphemia told her to do, she did instantly with a bang. What pleased her better than anything else was to run up and down the gang-plank, carrying buckets of water to water the garden. She delighted in out-door work, and sometimes dug so vigorously in our garden that she brought up pieces of the deck-planking with every shovelful. Our boarder took the greatest interest in her, and sometimes watched her movements so intently that he let his pipe go out. “What a whacking girl that would be to tread out grapes in the vineyards of Italy! She'd make wine cheap,” he once remarked. “Then I'm glad she isn't there,” said Euphemia, “for wine oughtn't to be cheap.” Euphemia was a thorough little temperance woman.