“But her other name?”
“I don’t know, I only know Tante Pauline. Oh please, please don’t send me there! I’m afraid to go back, because she said I must sing and beg money, and I couldn’t sing, and I didn’t like to ask people for nickels,” and the child’s voice broke into a little wail of entreaty that touched the kind heart of that noble, tender, loving woman, the Margaret whom some to-day call Saint Margaret. She had heard just such pitiful stories before from hundreds of hapless little orphans, who never appealed to her in vain.
“Where are your father and mother?” she asked, as she led the child to the shelter of the porch.
Lady Jane made the same pathetic answer as usual:
“Papa went to heaven, and Tante Pauline says that mama’s gone away, and I think she’s gone where papa is.”
Margaret’s eyes filled with tears, while the child shivered and clung closer to her. “Would you like to stay here to-night, my dear?” she asked, as she opened the door. “This is the home of a great many little homeless girls, and the good Sisters love and care for them all.”
Lady Jane’s anxious face brightened instantly. “Oh, can I—can I stay here where the Christmas-tree is?”
“Yes, my child, and to-morrow there will be something on it for you.”
And Margaret opened the door and led Lady Jane into that safe and comfortable haven where so many hapless little ones have found a shelter.
That night, after the child had been fed and warmed, and was safely in bed with the other little orphans, the good Margaret sent word to all the police stations that she had housed a little wanderer who if called for could be found safe in her care.