Jessica had long been a favorite with her, and Brown seemed non-committal.
Mr.Geary looked at her sharply, but she said the name glibly, and Jessica was what he called "highfalutin" enough to fit her evident station in life, so he made no comment.
"Where do you live ?" he went on.
"I have no home," said Marjorie, steadily; "I am a findling." "A what ?" "A findling,--from the asylum." The term didn't sound _quite_ right to her,--but she couldn't think of the exact word,--and having used it, concluded to stick to it.
Zeb Geary was not highly educated, but this word, so soberly used, struck his humorous sense, and he put his brawny hand over his mouth to hide his smiles.
"Yep," he said, after a moment, "I understand,--I do.

And whar'd ye set out fer ?" "I started for New York, but I've decided not to go there." "Oh, ye hev, hev ye?
An' jes' what do ye calkilate to do ?" "Well, Mr.Geary," Marjorie looked troubled,--"and Mrs.Geary, I'd _like_ to stay here for a while.

I'll work for you, and you can pay me by giving me food and lodging.

I s'pose I wouldn't be worth very much at first, but I'd learn fast,--you know,--I do everything fast,--Mother always said so,--I,--I mean, the lady I used to live with, said so.

And I'd try very hard to please you both.