"Where am I? And is he here! Is this his house?"

"Whose house?" Mrs. Worthington asked.

The girl did not answer at once, and when she did her mind seemed
wandering.

"I waited so long," she said, "but he never came again, only the letter
which broke my heart. Willie was a baby then, and I almost hated him for
a while, but he wasn't to blame. I wasn't to blame. I'm glad God gave me
Willie now, even if he did take his father from me."

Mrs. Worthington and her daughter exchanged glances, and the latter
abruptly asked:

"Where is Willie's father?"

"I don't know," came in a wailing sob from the depths of the pillow.

"Where did you come from?" was the next question. The young girl looked
up in some alarm, and answered meekly:

"From New York. I thought I'd never get here, but everybody was so kind
to me and Willie, and the driver said if 'twan't so late, and he so many
passengers, he'd drive across the fields. He pointed out the way and I
came on alone."

The color had faded from Mrs. Worthington's face, and very timidly she
asked again: