Her mind was fixed upon the strange girl and her troubles. Wyn did not neglect the errand her mother had given her to do, although she hurried her shopping.

When she was out of the store, she drew a long breath. "I couldn't breathe in that place--not well," she told herself. "I wonder where that poor girl has gone now?"

There was n.o.body to answer her, nor was the strange girl in sight. Wyn felt rather remorseful that she had not let her shopping wait and followed the strange girl out of the store immediately.

The stranger might have been in desperate straits. Wyn could not imagine anybody begging for goods, and for work, especially after the way Mr.

Erad had spoken, unless in great trouble.

Wyn began to take herself seriously to task. The strange girl had disappeared and she had not even tried to help her, or comfort her.

"I might have gone out and offered some little help, or sympathy. How do I know what will become of her? And she may have no friends in town. At least, it is evident that she does not live here."

There were several other errands to do. All the time, especially while she was on the street, she kept her eye open for the strange girl whose name she presumed must be "Jarley."

[Ill.u.s.tration: "MY DEAR, I WILL BE YOUR FRIEND." _Page 30._]

But Wyn did not see her anywhere, and it seemed useless to wander down Market Street looking for her. So, when she had completed her purchases, she turned her face homeward.

She went up past Mr. Erad's store again and turned through Archer Street. As she crossed into the park she looked for a settee to rest on, for unconsciously she had walked more briskly than usual.

There, under a wide-limbed oak, was a green-painted seat, removed from any other settee; but there was a figure on it.

"There's room for two, I guess," thought Wyn; and then she made a discovery that almost made her cry out aloud. Its occupant was the very girl for whom she was in search!

Wyn controlled her impulse to run forward, and approached the bench quite casually. Before she reached it, however, she realized that the dark girl was crying softly.

Natural delicacy would have restrained Wyn from approaching the girl so abruptly. Only, she was deeply interested, and already knowing the occasion for her tears, the captain of the Go-Ahead Club could not ignore the forlorn figure on the bench.

Without speaking, she dropped into the seat beside the strange girl, and put her hand on the other's shoulder.

"My dear!" she said, when the startled gray eyes--all a-flood with tears--were raised to her own. "My dear, tell me all about it--_do_! If I can't help you, I will be your friend, and it will make you feel lots better to tell it all to somebody who sympathizes."

"Bu-but you ca-can't sympathize with me!" gasped the other, looking into Wyn's steady, brown eyes and finding friendliness and commiseration there. "You--you see, you never knew the lack of anything good; you're not poor."

"No, I am not poor," admitted Wyn.

"And I don't want charity!" cried the strange girl quickly.

"I am not going to offer it to you. But I'd dearly love to be your friend," Wyn said. "You know--you're so pretty!" she added, impulsively.

The girl flushed charmingly again. "I--I guess I'm not very pretty in my old duds, and with my nose and eyes red from crying."

But she was really one of those few persons who are not made ugly by crying. She had neither red eyes nor a red nose.

"Do tell me what troubles you," urged Wyn, patting her firm, calloused hand.

Those hands were no soft, useless members--no, indeed! Pretty as she was, the stranger had evidently been in the habit of performing arduous manual labor.

"Where do you live, my dear?" asked Wyn, again, as her first question was not answered.

"Up beyond Meade's Forge," said the strange girl.

"Oh, my! On Lake Honotonka?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Please don't _ma'am_ me!" cried the captain of the Go-Ahead Club.

"My name is Wynifred Mallory. My friends all call me Wyn. Now, I want you to be my friend, so you must commence calling me Wyn right away."

"But--but you don't know me," said the other girl, hesitatingly.

"I am going to; am I not?" demanded Wyn, with her frank smile. "Surely, now that I have confided in you, you will confide in me to the same extent? Or, don't you like me?"

"Of course I like you!" exclaimed the still sobbing girl. "But--but I do not know that I have any right to allow you to be my friend."

"Goodness me! why not?" exclaimed Wyn.

"Why--why, we have a bad name in this town, it seems," said the other.

"Who have?" snapped Wyn, hating Mr. Erad harder than ever now.

"My father and I."

"What have you done that makes you a pariah?" exclaimed Wyn, fairly laughing now. "Aren't you foolish?"

"No. People say my father was not honest I am Polly Jarley," said the girl, desperately.

"Polly Jolly?" cried Wyn. "Not much you are! You are anything but jolly.

You are Polly Miserrimus."

"I don't know what that means, ma'am----"

"Wyn!" exclaimed the other girl, quickly.

"M--Miss Wyn."

"Not right. Just Wyn. Plain Wyn----"

"Oh, I couldn't call you plain," cried the poorly dressed girl, with some spontaneity now. "For you are very pretty. But I don't really know what Mis--Mis----"

"'Miserrimus'?'"

"That is it."

"It's Latin, and it means miserable, all right," laughed Wyn. "And you act more to fit the name of 'Polly Miserrimus' than that of 'Polly Jolly.'"

"It's Jarley, Miss Wyn."

"But now tell me all about it, Polly," urged Wyn, having by this means stopped the flow of Polly's tears. "Surely it will help you just to free your mind. And don't be foolish enough to think that I wouldn't want to know you and be your friend if your poor father was the biggest criminal on earth."