"She has some kind of a crazy notion in her head,--but when she's thoroughly rested and wide awake, we can straighten it all out." The Maynards' motor was waiting at Seacote station, and after a few moments' ride, Marjorie was again in the presence of her own dear people.
"Mother, _Mother_!" she cried, in a strange, uncertain voice, and flew to the outstretched arms awaiting her.
Though unnerved herself, Mrs.Maynard clasped her daughter close and soothed the poor, quivering child.
"_Are_ you my mother ?" wailed Marjorie, in agonized tones; "_are_ you ?" "Yes, my child, _yes_!" and there was no doubting that mother-voice.
"Then why,--_why_ did you tell Mrs.Corey I was a findling ?" "Tell Mrs.Corey _what_ ?" "Why, when I was practising, you were talking to her, and I heard you tell her that you took me from an asylum when I was a baby,--and that I didn't really belong to you and Father ?" "Oh, Marjorie! Oh, my baby!" and dropping into the nearest armchair, with Marjorie in her lap, Mrs.Maynard laughed and cried together.
"Oh, Ed," she exclaimed, looking at her husband, "it's those theatricals! Listen, Marjorie, darling.

Our Dramatic Club is going to give a play called 'The Stepmother,' and Mrs.Corey and I were learning our parts.

That's what you heard!" "Truly, mother ?" "Truly, of course, you little goosie-girl! And so you ran away ?" "Yes; I couldn't stay here if I wasn't your little girl,--and Father's,--and King's sister,--and all.

And you said I was different from your own children and,----" "There, there, darling, it's all right now.

And we'll hear the rest of your story to-morrow.