from a remnant of the same cloth."

"Scintillate all you want to, Hetty," cried Patsy with a laugh; "but
you're not going to be extinguished. For we, the imitation journalists,
have taken you under our wings. There's no underworld at Millville, and
the only excitement we can furnish just now is a night with us at the
old farm."

"That," replied Hetty, "is indeed a real excitement. You can't quite
understand it, perhaps; but it's so--so very different from what I'm
accustomed to."

Uncle John welcomed the girl artist cordially and under his hospitable
roof the waif soon felt at ease. At dinner the conversation turned upon
Thursday Smith and his peculiar experience. Beth asked Hetty if she knew
the man.

"Yes," replied the girl; "I've seen him at the office and we've
exchanged a word or two. But he boards with Thorne, the liveryman, and
not at the hotel."

"You have never seen him before you met him here?"

"Never."

"I wonder," said Louise musingly, "if he is quite right in his mind. All
this story may be an hallucination, you know."

"He's a very clever fellow," asserted Hetty, "and such a loss of memory
is by no means so uncommon as you think. Our brains are queer