Without speaking, she dropped into the seat beside the strange girl, and put her hand on the other's shoulder. "My dear!" she said, when the startled gray eyes--all a-flood with tears--were raised to her own. "My dear, tell me all about it--_do_! If I can't help you, I will be your friend, and it will make you feel lots better to tell it all to somebody who sympathizes." "Bu-but you ca-can't sympathize with me!" gasped the other, looking into Wyn's steady, brown eyes and finding friendliness and commiseration there. "You--you see, you never knew the lack of anything good; you're not poor." "No, I am not poor," admitted Wyn. "And I don't want charity!" cried the strange girl quickly. "I am not going to offer it to you. But I'd dearly love to be your friend," Wyn said. "You know--you're so pretty!" she added, impulsively. The girl flushed charmingly again. "I--I guess I'm not very pretty in my old duds, and with my nose and eyes red from crying." But she was really one of those few persons who are not made ugly by crying. She had neither red eyes nor a red nose. "Do tell me what troubles you," urged Wyn, patting her firm, calloused hand. Those hands were no soft, useless members--no, indeed! Pretty as she was, the stranger had evidently been in the habit of performing arduous manual labor. "Where do you live, my dear?" asked Wyn, again, as her first question was not answered. "Up beyond Meade's Forge," said the strange girl. "Oh, my! On Lake Honotonka?" "Yes, ma'am." "Please don't _ma'am_ me!" cried the captain of the Go-Ahead Club. "My name is Wynifred Mallory. My friends all call me Wyn. Now, I want you to be my friend, so you must commence calling me Wyn right away." "But--but you don't know me," said the other girl, hesitatingly. "I am going to; am I not?" demanded Wyn, with her frank smile. "Surely, now that I have confided in you, you will confide in me to the same extent? Or, don't you like me?" "Of course I like you!" exclaimed the still sobbing girl. "But--but I do not know that I have any right to allow you to be my friend." "Goodness me! why not?" exclaimed Wyn. "Why--why, we have a bad name in this town, it seems," said the other. "Who have?" snapped Wyn, hating Mr. Erad harder than ever now. "My father and I." "What have you done that makes you a pariah?" exclaimed Wyn, fairly laughing now. "Aren't you foolish?" "No. People say my father was not honest I am Polly Jarley," said the girl, desperately. "Polly Jolly?" cried Wyn. "Not much you are! You are anything but jolly. You are Polly Miserrimus." "I don't know what that means, ma'am----" "Wyn!" exclaimed the other girl, quickly. "M--Miss Wyn." "Not right. Just Wyn. Plain Wyn----" "Oh, I couldn't call you plain," cried the poorly dressed girl, with some spontaneity now. "For you are very pretty. But I don't really know what Mis--Mis----" "'Miserrimus'?'" "That is it."