Marian never heard of Aunt Amelia until it was all over and the superintendent sent for her. She came dancing into the office, her face aglow until she saw Aunt Amelia. Then the sunshine faded from her eyes and she shrank past the stranger, scarcely breathing until the superintendent's arms were about her. From that safe shelter she surveyed Aunt Amelia. There was nothing in the woman's appearance to inspire confidence in a little child. She was tall, thin, bloodless. One felt conscious of the bones in her very forehead. She wore her scant, black hair in wiry crimps parted in the middle. Her eyes were the color of stone, while her lips formed a thin, pale lone line closing over projecting front teeth. There was a brittle look about her ears and nose as though a blow might shatter them. Angles completed the picture. "You say you have a child of your own, Mrs. St. Claire?" The superintendent asked the question doubtfully. It seemed probable that his ears had deceived him. "I have," was the reply. "Then Marian will be sure of a playmate." The man seemed talking to himself. "If she behaves herself--perhaps," was the response. "What do you mean?" demanded the superintendent. "I think I expressed myself clearly," said Mrs. St. Claire. "If Marian behaves and is worthy of my little daughter's companionship, we may allow them to play together occasionally." "Does she want to 'dopt me?" whispered Marian; "tell her no, quick--I got to go back to the nursery. Put me down." "I am your Aunt Amelia," announced the woman, "and I have come to take you to Michigan to live with your Uncle George and me." "Where did I get any Uncle George?" asked Marian, turning to the superintendent. "It isn't necessary to give a mere child too much information," put in Mrs. St. Claire; "it is enough for her to know that she has relatives who are willing to take her and do their duty by her." Regardless of this the man answered one of the questions he saw in Marian's solemn blue eyes. "Your uncle and aunt," he explained, "are visiting in the city; they were in church last Sunday when you sang. When relatives come for Little Pilgrims, Marian, we have to let them go." "You will not send me away with--her!" exclaimed the child, terror and entreaty expressed in the uplifted face. "Dear child, we must." "But I won't go, I won't go," cried Marian, clinging to the superintendent for protection. "Oh, you won't send me away, Mrs. Moore won't let them take me--I won't go! Please let me stay until the pretty mother comes again and I will ask her to take me and I know she will. Oh, if you love me, don't send me away with her!" "It is just as I told my husband Sunday morning," remarked Mrs. St. Claire as the superintendent tried to soothe Marian's violent grief. "I said the child was subject to tantrums. It is sad to see such traits cropping out in one so young. Lack of training may have much to do with it. Other influences----"