Mr. Duval placed in his daughter's hand a small oval frame containing a wonderful bit of painting. A woman's beautiful face. The countenance of a very _young_ woman, with a tender light in her brown eyes. And _such_ a pretty mouth. And oh! such dainty garments, so becomingly worn. "Your mother," said the little man, briefly. "Why!" gasped Jeanne. "She was a _lady_!" "Yes," admitted her father. "She was a lady." "And when she died, you married _Mollie_!" "When she died, I died too, I think. I was ill, ill. I walked through the streets with you in my arms one day, here in this strange town when your mother's sickness compelled her to leave the steamboat. You were two years old. In my illness, I fell in the street near the door of Mollie's mother's house, near the cemetery where they had laid your most beautiful mother. They took me in and cared for me and for you. For weeks I was very, very ill--a fever. I did not improve--I _wanted_ to die. But slowly, very slowly I grew better. Your mother had married against her father's wishes. Her father, I knew, would not receive you; and _I_ would ask no favors. "Mollie was young then and very good to you. I knew almost nothing about her except that she was giving you a mother's care. For that reason, when Mrs. Shannon said it was the thing to do, I married her. You understand, my Jeanne, it was not because I cared for _her_--it was just because I cared for _nothing_ in the whole world. Perhaps not even very much for you. I seemed to be asleep--numb and weak. It was two years before I realized what I had done for myself. Then it was too late. Of course I could not take Mollie and her mother to the town where I had lived with your mother; so I was obliged to find work here. I tried to be good to Mollie. She has always been kind to you. And now do you know why I want _your_ speech to be different from Mollie's?" "Yes, yes," cried Jeanne. "I'll _never_ say 'I done it' again! Or 'I should have went' or 'I ain't got no money.' Oh, I _wish_ I'd _never_ said them. Daddy! Do you s'pose I _could_ grow up to be a _lady_?" Her father looked at the eager young creature. "Yes," he said, "I believe there's a way. But it's a hard, heart-breaking way for one of us." "If _you're_ the one," said Jeanne, "I guess I'll stay just me and _not_ be a lady. Anyhow, a girl has to grow up first, doesn't she?" "Of _course_," returned Mr. Duval, with a sudden brightness in his dark eyes and something very like a note of relief in his tone. "There's still time for you to do a lot of growing. But these things had to be said. Now let us put the treasures away and do our spelling, or Old Captain will get here and put an end to our lessons." "Will you show me the picture again, some day, Daddy?" "Some day," he promised, opening the spelling book at the pink clover.