She showed the place in the silk lining where a tear had been and was mended.

“For the Lord’s sake, who be you?” Mrs. Biggs exclaimed, still flourishing Tim’s shirt, which she finally dropped back into the tub, and in her excitement came near sitting down in a pail of bluing water instead of a chair.

“I am Eloise Albertina Smith, and my father was Homer Smith, and my mother was Eudora Harris from Florida, and sang in concerts, and lost her mind, and was in a private asylum in San Francisco, and my father died, and a strange man took her out a few months ago.  I did not know where she was, and was going to California to find her.  I believe your Mrs. Amy is she, and I am going to the Crompton House to inquire!”

“For Heaven’s sake!” was Mrs. Biggs’s next ejaculation.  “Harris was Amy’s name before she was called Crompton, and her name is Amy Eudora, too; but I never heard she had a girl.”

“Yes, she had, and I am that girl,” Eloise said, “and I am going up there now, right off!”

“You can’t walk,” Mrs. Biggs suggested.  “That ankle would turn before you got half way there.  If you must go,—­and I believe I would,—­Tim will git a rig from the livery.  Here, Tim,” she called, as she heard him whistling in the woodshed, “run to Miller’s and git a carriage and a span, quick as you can,—­a good one, too,” she added, as the possibility grew upon her that Eloise might belong to the Cromptons, and if so, ought to go up in style.

It did not take long for Tim to execute his mother’s order, and the best turn-out from Miller’s stable soon stood before the door.

“I b’lieve I’ll go, too.  The washin’ will keep, and this won’t,” the widow said, beginning to change her work-dress for a better one.

Eloise was too much excited to care who went with her, and with Mrs. Biggs she was soon driving up the broad avenue under the stately maples to the door of the Crompton House.  Peter saw the carriage, and thinking it came from town with callers on Amy, went out to say she could not see them, as she was not feeling well and was lying down.

“But I must see her,” Eloise said, alighting first and brushing past him, while he stood open-mouthed with surprise.

“She thinks she is Amy’s girl, and, I swan, I begin to think so, too,” Mrs. Biggs said, trying to explain and getting things a good deal mixed, and so bewildering the old man that he paid no attention to Eloise, who, with the cloak on her arm, was in the hall and saying to a maid who met her, “Take me to Mrs. Amy.”

All her timidity was gone, as she gave the order like one who felt perfectly at home.

“Mrs. Amy is asleep, and I don’t like to disturb her.  She is unusually nervous this morning.  Will you see the Colonel instead?” the girl said, awed by Eloise’s air of authority.

“My business is with Mrs. Amy, but perhaps I’d better see Col.  Crompton first,” she replied.