'Tilda Jane struggled along the heavy road in the wake of the tall woman ahead. The small dog seemed to have grown larger, and lay a heavy burden in her arms. Yet she uttered no word of complaint. Her mind was in a whirl, and she gave no thought to physical fatigue. What was she doing? Had she--a little girl--any right to give so much trouble to grown people? Her actions were exactly in opposition to every precept that had been instilled into her mind. Children should be seen and not heard. Children should wait on grown people. Children must not lie under any circumstances. They must be obedient, truthful, honest, and uncomplaining. Perhaps she ought to go back to the orphan asylum. She could stand punishment herself--but her dog? They would make her give him up. Some boy would get him. Boys were all mischievous at times. Could she endure the thought of that little feeble frame subjected to torture? She could not, and steeling her heart against the asylum, the matron, and the lady managers, she walked on more quickly than ever.