In her intercourse with her employer, "Cobbler" Horn's secretary was quite free and unreserved, as indeed he wished her to be. "It's to be a home for orphans, isn't it?" she asked. "Not for orphans only," he replied, tenderly, as he thought of his own lost little one. "It's for children who have no home, whether orphans or not,--little waifs, you know, and strays--children who have no one to care for them." "I'm doing it," he added, simply, "for the sake of my little Marian." "Oh, how good of you! And, do you know, Mr. Horn, its being for waifs and strays makes me like it all the more; because I was a waif and stray once myself." She was leaning forward, with her elbows on the table, and her pretty but decided chin resting on her doubled hands. As she spoke, her somewhat startling announcement presented itself to her in a serio-comic light, and a whimsical twinkle came into her eyes. The same impression was shared by "Cobbler" Horn; and, regarding his young secretary, with her neatly-clothed person, her well-arranged hair, and her capable-looking face, he found it difficult to regard as anything but a joke the announcement that she had once been, as she expressed it, "a waif and stray." "You!" he exclaimed, with an indulgent smile. "Yes, Mr. Horn, I was indeed a little outcast girl. Did not Mr. Durnford tell you that the dear friends who have brought me up are not my actual parents?" "Yes," replied "Cobbler" Horn, slowly, "he certainly did. But I did not suspect----" "Of course not!" laughed the young girl. "You would never dream of insulting me by supposing that I had once been a little tramp!" "No, of course not," agreed "Cobbler" Horn, with a perplexed smile. "It's true, nevertheless," affirmed Miss Owen. "Mr. and Mrs. Burton have been like parents to me almost ever since I can remember, and I always call them 'father' and 'mother'; but they are no more relations to me than are you and Miss Horn. They found me in the road, a poor little ragged mite; and they took me home, and I've been just like their own ever since. I remember something of it, in a vague sort of way." "Cobbler" Horn was regarding his secretary with a bewildered gaze. "You may well be astonished, Mr. Horn. But, do you know, sometimes I almost feel glad that I don't know my real father and mother. They must have been dreadful people. But, whatever they were, they could never have been better to me than Mr. and Mrs. Burton have been. They have treated me exactly as if I had been their own child." Many confused thoughts were working in the brain of "Cobbler" Horn. "But," said Miss Owen, resuming her work, "I must tell you about it another time." "Yes, you shall," said "Cobbler" Horn, rousing himself. "I shall want to hear it all."