I wish I were rich! Maybe I shall be some day.

Who knows ?' The great tears were shining in her eyes as she talked, and brushing them away she suddenly changed the conversation, and said: 'I never come in here that a thousand strange fancies do not begin to flit through my brain, and my memory seems stretched to the utmost tension, and I remember things away back in the past before you found me in the carpet-bag.' She was gazing up toward the rafters with a rapt look on her face, as if she were seeing the things of which she was talking; and Harold, who had never seen her in this way, said to her very softly: 'What do you remember, Jerrie?
What do you see ?' She did not move her head or eyes, but answered him.
'I see always a sweet pale face, to which I can almost give a name--a face which smiles upon me; and a thin, white hand which is laid upon my hair--a hand not like those you have told me about, and which must have touched me so tenderly that awful night.

Did you ever try to recall a name, or a dream, which seems sometimes just within your grasp, and then baffles all your efforts to retain it ?' 'Yes, often,' Harold said.
'Just so it is with me,' she continued, 'I try to keep the fancies which come and go so fast, and which always have reference to the past and some far off country--Germany, I think.

Harold, I must have been older when you found me than you supposed I was.' 'Possibly,' Harold replied.

'You were so small that we thought you almost a baby, although you had an old head on your shoulders from the first, and could you have spoken our language I believe you might have told us where you were and where you came from.' 'Perhaps,' Jerry said.