Mrs. Barr had left the girl to her own gentle devices. A perfect knowledge of her character made this course a wise one. When God gives the power of usefulness to any human being, that power teaches the way. So this young creature was let loose into the establishment as a wild bird is free to the woods, and worked out her own sweet will unchecked. On first coming to the institution, a conversation regarding the future had taken place between Catharine and her benefactress. There was nothing in her history which she had not revealed to this good woman, except the name of her husband and of her aunt. These she kept a secret in her own bosom, and Mrs. Barr trusted her sufficiently to respect a reserve which injured no one. This conversation arose one day, when Catharine was called upon to sign her name. “It is not my name,” she said, doubtfully, “and I think it would annoy my aunt to see it connected with any public institution, but _his_ name I am forbidden to use.” Mrs. Barr took the pen from Catharine’s hand, walked to a window, and became very thoughtful for some time. She was a widow with sufficient means for an humble independent support. They had been ample once; but she had given them with a free hand year after year, till but little was left. Her life had been full of benevolence, but she was very lonely, notwithstanding. What if she adopted this young person! The thought became more and more pleasant. She, who had been all her life childless, might gain the benefits and happiness of motherhood by uniting this young creature’s destiny with her own. She went back to the table where Catharine was sitting, and placed the pen in her hand. “Sign it Catharine Barr, if you like the name and will take me for a mother,” she said, “for, henceforth, I consider you as my own child. There is no one on earth to question my right, and it will be a relief to these proud friends of yours.” Catharine threw her arms around the old woman’s neck, and kissed her soft cheek in grateful silence. Then she took up the pen again, and wrote _Catharine Barr_ plainly as she could through the tears that were filling her eyes. So from that day Catharine knew what it was to have a firm friend, and a tender mother, and in this way her identity was lost alike to those who had sought her so anxiously and to those who gladly forgot her. CHAPTER XXXIV. ELSIE, THE LUNATIC.