MOTHER

A STORY

BY

KATHLEEN NORRIS

 TO J. E. T. AND J. A. T. 

 As years ago we carried to your knees The tales and treasures of eventful days, Knowing no deed too humble for your praise, Nor any gift too trivial to please, So still we bring, with older smiles and tears, What gifts we may, to claim the old, dear right; Your faith, beyond the silence and the night, Your love still close and watching through the years. 

JTABLE 4 7 1

MOTHER

CHAPTER I

"Well, we couldn't have much worse weather than this for the lastweek of school, could we?" Margaret Paget said in discouragement. She stood at one of the school windows, her hands thrust deep inher coat pockets for warmth, her eyes following the whirling courseof the storm that howled outside. The day had commenced with snow, but now, at twelve o'clock, the rain was falling in sheets, and thebarren schoolhouse yard, and the play-shed roof, ran muddy streamsof water. 

Margaret had taught in this schoolroom for nearly four years now, ever since her seventeenth birthday, and she knew every feature ofthe big bare room by heart, and every detail of the length of villagestreet that the high, uncurtained windows commanded. She had stoodat this window in all weathers: when locust and lilac made even uglylittle Weston enchanting, and all the windows were open to floods ofsweet spring air; when tie dry heat of autumn burned over the world;when the common little houses and barns, and the bare trees, laydazzling and transfigured under the first snowfall, and the woodcrackled in the schoolroom stove; and when, as to-day, midwinterrains swept drearily past the windows, and the children must havethe lights lighted for their writing lesson. She was tired of it all, with an utter and hopeless weariness. Tired of the bells, and thewhispering, and the shuffling feet, of the books that smelled ofpencil-dust and ink and little dusty fingers; tired of theblackboards, cleaned in great irregular scallops by small and zealousarms; of the clear-ticking big clock; of little girls who sulked, andlittle girls who cried after hours in the hall because they had losttheir lunch baskets or their overshoes, and little girls who had coldsin their heads, and no handkerchiefs. Looking out into the gray dayand the rain, Margaret said to herself that she was sick of it all!

There were no little girls in the schoolroom now. They were for themost part downstairs in the big playroom, discussing cold lunches, and planning, presumably, the joys of the closely approachingholidays. One or two windows had been partially opened to air theroom in their absence, and Margaret's only companion was anotherteacher, Emily Porter, a cheerful little widow, whose plain rosyface was in marked contrast to the younger woman's unusual beauty. 

Mrs. Porter loved Margaret and admired her very much, but she herselfloved teaching. She had had a hard fight to secure this position afew years ago; it meant comfort to her and her children, and it stillseemed to her a miracle of God's working, after her years of struggleand worry. She could not understand why Margaret wanted anythingbetter; what better thing indeed could life hold! Sometimes, lookingadmiringly at her associate's crown of tawny braids, at the dark eyesand the exquisite lines of mouth and forehead, Mrs. Porter would findherself sympathetic with the girl's vague discontent and longings, tothe extent of wishing that some larger social circle than that ofWeston might have a chance to appreciate Margaret Paget's beauty, that "some of those painters who go crazy over girls not half aspretty" might see her. But after all, sensible little Mrs. Porterwould say to herself, Weston was a "nice" town, only four hours fromNew York, absolutely up-to-date; and Weston's best people were all"nice, " and the Paget girls were very popular, and "wenteverywhere, "--young people were just discontented and exacting, thatwas all!

She came to Margaret's side now, buttoned snugly into her own stormcoat, and they looked out at the rain together. Nothing alive was insight. The bare trees tossed in the wind, and a garden gate halfwaydown the row of little shabby cottages banged and banged. 

"Shame--this is the worst yet!" Mrs. Porter said. "You aren't goinghome to lunch in all this, Margaret?"

"Oh, I don't know, " Margaret said despondently. "I'm so dead that I'dmake a cup of tea here if I didn't think Mother would worry and sendJulie over with lunch. "

"I brought some bread and butter--but not much. I hoped it would holdup. I hate to leave Tom and Sister alone all day, " Mrs. Porter saiddubiously. "There's tea and some of those bouillon cubes and somecrackers left. But you're so tired, I don't know but what you oughtto have a hearty lunch. "

"Oh, I'm not hungry. " Margaret dropped into a desk, put her elbows onit, pushed her hair off her forehead. The other woman saw a tear slipby the lowered, long lashes. 

"You're exhausted, aren't you, Margaret?" she said suddenly. 

The little tenderness was too much. Margaret's lip shook. 

"Dead!" she said unsteadily. Presently she added, with an effort atcheerfulness, "I'm just cross, I guess, Emily; don't mind me! I'mtired out with examinations and--" her eyes filled again--"and I'msick of wet cold weather and rain and snow, " she added childishly. "Our house is full of muddy rubbers and wet clothes! Other people goplaces and do pleasant things, " said Margaret, her breast rising andfalling stormily; "but nothing ever happens to us except broken arms, and bills, and boilers bursting, and chicken-pox! It's drudge, drudge, drudge, from morning until night!"

With a sudden little gesture of abandonment she found a handkerchiefin her belt, and pressed it, still folded, against her eyes. Mrs. Porter watched her solicitously, but silently. Outside the schoolroomwindows the wind battered furiously, and rain slapped steadily againstthe panes. 

"Well!" the girl said resolutely and suddenly. And after a momentshe added frankly, "I think the real trouble to-day, Emily, is thatwe just heard of Betty Forsythe's engagement--she was my brother'sgirl, you know; he's admired her ever since she got into High School, and of course Bruce is going to feel awfully bad. "

"Betty engaged? Who to?" Mrs. Porter was interested. 

"To that man--boy, rather, he's only twenty-one--who's been visitingthe Redmans, " Margaret said. "She's only known him two weeks. "

"Gracious! And she's only eighteen--"

"Not quite eighteen. She and my sister, Julie, were in my first classfour years ago; they're the same age, " Margaret said. "She camefluttering over to tell us last night, wearing a diamond the size ofa marble! Of course, "--Margaret was loyal, --"I don't think there's ajealous bone in Julie's body; still, it's pretty hard! Here's Julieplugging away to get through the Normal School, so that she can teachall the rest of her life, and Betty's been to California, and been toEurope, and now is going to marry a rich New York man! Betty's theonly child, you know, so, of course, she has everything. It seems sounfair, for Mr. Forsythe's salary is exactly what Dad's is; yet theycan travel, and keep two maids, and entertain all the time! Andas for family, why, Mother's family is one of the finest in thecountry, and Dad's had two uncles who were judges--and what werethe Forsythes! However, "--Margaret dried her eyes and put away herhandkerchief, --"however, it's for Bruce I mind most!"

"Bruce is only three years older than you are, twenty-three or four, "Mrs. Porter smiled. 

"Yes, but he's not the kind that forgets!" Margaret's flush was alittle resentful. "Oh, of course, you can laugh, Emily. I know thatthere are plenty of people who don't mind dragging along day afterday, working and eating and sleeping--but I'm not that kind!" shewent on moodily. "I used to hope that things would be different; itmakes me sick to think how brave I was; but now here's Ju comingalong, and Ted growing up, and Bruce's girl throwing him over--it'sall so unfair! I look at the Cutter girls, nearly fifty, and runningthe post-office for thirty years, and Mary Page in the Library, andthe Norberrys painting pillows, --and I could scream!"

"Things will take a turn for the better some day, Margaret, " said theother woman, soothingly; "and as time goes on you'll find yourselfgetting more and more pleasure out of your work, as I do. Why, I'venever been so securely happy in my life as I am now. You'll feeldifferently some day. "

"Maybe, " Margaret assented unenthusiastically. There was a pause. Perhaps the girl was thinking that to teach school, live in a plainlittle cottage on the unfashionable Bridge Road, take two roomers, and cook and sew and plan for Tom and little Emily, as Mrs. Porterdid, was not quite an ideal existence. 

"You're an angel, anyway, Emily, " said she, affectionately, a littleshamefacedly. "Don't mind my growling. I don't do it very often. ButI look about at other people, and then realize how my mother's slavedfor twenty years and how my father's been tied down, and I've cometo the conclusion that while there may have been a time when a womancould keep a house, tend a garden, sew and spin and raise twelvechildren, things are different now; life is more complicated. Youowe your husband something, you owe yourself something. I want to geton, to study and travel, to be a companion to my husband. I don't wantto be a mere upper servant!"

"No, of course not, " assented Mrs. Porter, vaguely, soothingly. 

"Well, if we are going to stay here, I'll light the stove, " Margaretsaid after a pause. "B-r-r-r! this room gets cold with the windowsopen! I wonder why Kelly doesn't bring us more wood?"

"I guess--I'll stay!" Mrs. Porter said uncertainly, following her tothe big book closet off the schoolroom, where a little gas stove anda small china closet occupied one wide shelf. The water for the teaand bouillon was put over the flame in a tiny enamelled saucepan;they set forth on a fringed napkin crackers and sugar and spoons. 

At this point, a small girl of eleven with a brilliant, tawny head, and a wide and toothless smile, opened the door cautiously, and said, blinking rapidly with excitement, --

"Mark, Mother theth pleath may thee come in?"

This was Rebecca, one of Margaret's five younger brothers andsisters, and a pupil of the school herself. Margaret smiled atthe eager little face. 

"Hello, darling! Is Mother here? Certainly she can! I believe, "--shesaid, turning, suddenly radiant, to Mrs. Porter, --"I'll just bet youshe's brought us some lunch!"

"Thee brought uth our luncheth--eggth and thpith caketh and everything!"exulted Rebecca, vanishing, and a moment later Mrs. Paget appeared. 

She was a tall woman, slender but large of build, and showing, under ashabby raincoat and well pinned-up skirt, the gracious generous linesof shoulders and hips, the deep-bosomed erect figure that is rarelyseen except in old daguerreotypes, or the ideal of some artist twogenerations ago. The storm to-day had blown an unusual color into herthin cheeks, her bright, deep eyes were like Margaret's, but the hairthat once had shown an equally golden lustre was dull and smooth now, and touched with gray. She came in smiling, and a little breathless. 

"Mother, you didn't come out in all this rain just to bring us ourlunches!" Margaret protested, kissing the cold, fresh face. 

"Well, look at the lunch you silly girls were going to eat!"Mrs. Paget protested in turn, in a voice rich with amusement. "I love to walk in the rain, Mark; I used to love it when I wasa girl. Tom and Sister are at our house, Mrs. Potter, playing withDuncan and Baby. I'll keep them until after school, then I'll sendthem over to walk home with you. "

"Oh, you are an angel!" said the younger mother, gratefully. And "Youare an angel, Mother!" Margaret echoed, as Mrs. Paget opened a shabbysuitcase, and took from it a large jar of hot rich soup, a little bluebowl of stuffed eggs, half a fragrant whole-wheat loaf in a whitenapkin, a little glass full of sweet butter, and some of the spicecakes to which Rebecca had already enthusiastically alluded. 

"There!" said she, pleased with their delight, "now take your time, you've got three-quarters of an hour. Julie devilled the eggs, andthe sweet-butter man happened to come just as I was starting. "

"Delicious!--You've saved our lives, " Margaret said, busy with cupsand spoons. "You'll stay, Mother?" she broke off suddenly, as Mrs. Paget closed the suitcase. 

"I can't, dear! I must go back to the children, " her mother saidcheerfully. No coaxing proving of any avail, Margaret went with herto the top of the hall stairs. 

"What's my girl worrying about?" Mrs. Paget asked, with a keen glanceat Margaret's face. 

"Oh, nothing!" Margaret used both hands to button the top button ofher mother's coat. "I was hungry and cold, and I didn't want to walkhome in the rain!" she confessed, raising her eyes to the eyes sonear her own. 

"Well, go back to your lunch, " Mrs. Paget urged, after a brief pause, not quite satisfied with the explanation. Margaret kissed her again, watched her descend the stairs, and leaning over the banister calleddown to her softly:

"Don't worry about me, Mother!"

"No--no--no!" her mother called back brightly. Indeed, Margaretreflected, going back to the much-cheered Emily, it was not in hernature to worry. 

No, Mother never worried, or if she did, nobody ever knew it. Care, fatigue, responsibility, hard long years of busy days and brokennights had left their mark on her face; the old beauty that had beenhers was chiselled to a mere pure outline now; but there was acontagious serenity in Mrs. Paget's smile, a clear steadiness inher calm eyes, and her forehead, beneath an unfashionably plainsweep of hair, was untroubled and smooth. 

The children's mother was a simple woman; so absorbed in the hourlyproblems attendant upon the housing and feeding of her husband andfamily that her own personal ambitions, if she had any, were quitelost sight of, and the actual outlines of her character were forgottenby every one, herself included. If her busy day marched successfullyto nightfall; if darkness found her husband reading in his big chair, the younger children sprawled safe and asleep in the shabby nursery, the older ones contented with books or games, the clothes sprinkled, the bread set, the kitchen dark and clean; Mrs. Paget asked no moreof life. She would sit, her overflowing work-basket beside her, looking from one absorbed face to another, thinking perhaps ofJulie's new school dress, of Ted's impending siege with the dentist, or of the old bureau up attic that might be mended for Bruce's room. "Thank God we have all warm beds, " she would say, when they all wentupstairs, yawning and chilly. 

She had married, at twenty, the man she loved, and had found himbetter than her dreams in many ways, and perhaps disappointing insome few others, but "the best man in the world" for all that. Thatfor more than twenty years he had been satisfied to stand for ninehours daily behind one dingy desk, and to carry home to her hisunopened salary envelope twice a month, she found only admirable. Daddy was "steady, " he was "so gentle with the children, " he was"the easiest man in the world to cook for. " "Bless his heart, nowoman ever had less to worry over in her husband!" she would say, looking from her kitchen window to the garden where he trained thepea-vines, with the children's yellow heads bobbing about him. Shenever analyzed his character, much less criticised him. Good and bad, he was taken for granted; she was much more lenient to him than toany of the children. She welcomed the fast-coming babies as giftsfrom God, marvelled over their tiny perfectness, dreamed over thesoft relaxed little forms with a heart almost too full for prayer. She was, in a word, old-fashioned, hopelessly out of the moderncurrent of thoughts and events. She secretly regarded her childrenas marvellous, even while she laughed down their youthful conceitand punished their naughtiness. 

Thinking a little of all these things, as a girl with her ownwifehood and motherhood all before her does think, Margaret wentback to her hot luncheon. One o'clock found her at her desk, refreshed in spirit by her little outburst, and much fortifiedin body. The room was well aired, and a reinforced fire roaredin the little stove. One of the children had brought her a sprayof pine, and the spicy fragrance of it reminded her that Christmasand the Christmas vacation were near; her mind was pleasantly busywith anticipation of the play that the Pagets always wrote andperformed some time during the holidays, and with the New Year'scostume dance at the Hall, and a dozen lesser festivities. 

Suddenly, in the midst of a droning spelling lesson, there was ajarring interruption. From the world outside came a child's shrillscreaming, which was instantly drowned in a chorus of frightenedvoices, and in the schoolroom below her own Margaret heard athundering rush of feet, and answering screams. With a suffocatingterror at her heart she ran to the window, followed by every childin the room. 

The rain had stopped now, and the sky showed a pale, cold, yellowlight low in the west. At the schoolhouse gate an immense limousinecar had come to a stop. The driver, his face alone visible betweena great leather coat and visored leather cap, was talking unheardabove the din. A tall woman, completely enveloped in sealskins, had evidently jumped from the limousine, and now held in her armswhat made Margaret's heart turn sick and cold, the limp figure ofa small girl. 

About these central figures there surged the terrified crying smallchildren of the just-dismissed primer class, and in the half momentthat Margaret watched, Mrs. Porter, white and shaking, and anotherteacher, Ethel Elliot, an always excitable girl, who was now sobbingand chattering hysterically, ran out from the school, each followedby her own class of crowding and excited boys and girls. 

With one horrified exclamation, Margaret ran downstairs, and out tothe gate. Mrs. Porter caught at her arm as she passed her in the path. 

"Oh, my God, Margaret! It's poor little Dorothy Scott!" she said. "They've killed her. The car went completely over her!"

"Oh, Margaret, don't go near, oh, how can you!" screamed Miss Elliot. "Oh, and she's all they have! Who'll tell her mother!"

With astonishing ease, for the children gladly recognized authority, Margaret pushed through the group to the motor-car. 

"Stop screaming--stop that shouting at once--keep still, every oneof you!" she said angrily, shaking various shoulders as she went withsuch good effect that the voice of the woman in sealskins could beheard by the time Margaret reached her. 

"I don't think she's badly hurt!" said this woman, nervously andeagerly. She was evidently badly shaken, and was very white. "Doquiet them, can't you?" she said, with a sort of apprehensiveimpatience. "Can't we take her somewhere, and get a doctor? Can'twe get out of this?"

Margaret took the child in her own arms. Little Dorothy roaredafresh, but to Margaret's unspeakable relief she twisted about andlocked her arms tightly about the loved teacher's neck. The otherwoman watched them anxiously. 

"That blood on her frock's just nosebleed, " she said; "but I thinkthe car went over her! I assure you we were running very slowly. How it happened--! But I don't think she was struck. "

"Nosebleed!" Margaret echoed, with a great breath. "No, " she saidquietly, over the agitated little head; "I don't think she's muchhurt. We'll take her in. Now, look here, children, " she added loudlyto the assembled pupils of the Weston Grammar School, whom merecuriosity had somewhat quieted, "I want every one of you childrento go back to your schoolrooms; do you understand? Dorothy's hada bad scare, but she's got no bones broken, and we're going to havea doctor see that she's all right. I want you to see how quiet youcan be. Mrs. Porter, may my class go into your room a little while?"

"Certainly, " said Mrs. Porter, eager to cooperate, and muchrelieved to have her share of the episode take this form. "Formlines, children, " she added calmly. 

"Ted, " said Margaret to her own small brother, who was one of Mrs. Porter's pupils, and who had edged closer to her than any boyunprivileged by relationship dared, "will you go down the street, and ask old Doctor Potts to come here? And then go tell Dorothy'smother that Dorothy has had a little bump, and that Miss Paget saysshe's all right, but that she'd like her mother to come for her. "

"Sure I will, Mark!" Theodore responded enthusiastically, departing on a run. 

"Mama!" sobbed the little sufferer at this point, hearinga familiar word. 

"Yes, darling, you want Mama, don't you?" Margaret said soothingly, as she started with her burden up the schoolhouse steps. "Whatwere you doing, Dorothy, " she went on pleasantly, "to get underthat big car?"

"I dropped my ball!" wailed the small girl, her tears beginningafresh, "and it rolled and rolled. And I didn't see the automobile, and I didn't see it! And I fell down and b-b-bumped my nose!"

"Well, I should think you did!" Margaret said, laughing. "Motherwon't know you at all with such a muddy face and such a muddy apron!"

Dorothy laughed shakily at this, and several other little girls, passing in orderly file, laughed heartily. Margaret crossed thelines of children to the room where they played and ate their luncheson wet days. She shut herself in with the child and the fur-clad lady. 

"Now you're all right!" said Margaret, gayly. And, Dorothy waspresently comfortable in a big chair, wrapped in a rug from themotor-car, with her face washed, and her head dropped languidlyback against her chair, as became an interesting invalid. The Irishjanitor was facetious as he replenished the fire, and made her laughagain. Margaret gave her a numerical chart to play with, and saw withsatisfaction that the little head was bent interestedly over it. 

Quiet fell upon the school; the muffled sound of lessons recitedin concert presently reached them. Theodore returned, reporting thatthe doctor would come as soon as he could and that Dorothy's motherwas away at a card-party, but that Dorothy's "girl" would come forher as soon as the bread was out of the oven. There was nothing todo but wait. 

"It seems a miracle, " said the strange lady, in a low tone, when sheand Margaret were alone again with the child. "But I don't believeshe was scratched!"

"I don't think so, " Margaret agreed. "Mother says no child who cancry is very badly hurt. "

"They made such a horrible noise, " said the other, sighing wearily. She passed a white hand, with one or two blazing great stones uponit, across her forehead. Margaret had leisure now to notice that byall signs this was a very great lady indeed. The quality of her furs, the glimpse of her gown that the loosened coat showed, her rings, andmost of all the tones of her voice, the authority of her manner, thewell-groomed hair and skin and hands, all marked the thoroughbred. 

"Do you know that you managed that situation very cleverly just now?"said the lady, with a keen glance that made Margaret color. "One hassuch a dread of the crowd, just public sentiment, you know. Someodious bystander calls the police, they crowd against your driver, perhaps a brick gets thrown. We had an experience in England once--"She paused, then interrupted herself. "But I don't know your name?"she said brightly. 

Margaret supplied it, was led to talk a little of her own people. 

"Seven of you, eh? Seven's too many, " said the visitor, with theassurance that Margaret was to learn characterized her. "I've twomyself, two girls, " she went on. "I wanted a boy, but they're nicegirls. And you've six brothers and sisters? Are they all as handsomeas you and this Teddy of yours? And why do you like teaching?"

"Why do I like it?" Margaret said, enjoying these confidences andthe unusual experience of sitting idle in mid-afternoon. "I don't, I hate it. "

"I see. But then why don't you come down to New York, and dosomething else?" the other woman asked. 

"I'm needed at home, and I don't know any one there, "Margaret said simply. 

"I see, " the lady said again thoughtfully. There was a pause. Thenthe same speaker said reminiscently, "I taught school once for threemonths when I was a girl, to show my father I could support myself. "

"I've taught for four years, " Margaret said. 

"Well, if you ever want to try something else, --there are such lotsof fascinating things a girl can do now!--be sure you come and see meabout it, " the stranger said. "I am Mrs. Carr-Boldt, of New York. "

Margaret's amazed eyes flashed to Mrs. Carr-Boldt's face; hercheeks crimsoned. 

"Mrs. Carr-Boldt!" she echoed blankly. 

"Why not?" smiled the lady, not at all displeased. 

"Why, " stammered Margaret, laughing and rosy, "why, nothing--onlyI never dreamed who you were!" she finished, a little confused. 

And indeed it never afterward seemed to her anything short of amiracle that brought the New York society woman--famed on twocontinents and from ocean to ocean for her jewels, her entertainments, her gowns, her establishments--into a Weston schoolroom, and intoMargaret Paget's life. 

"I was on my way to New York now, " said Mrs. Carr-Boldt. 

"I don't see why you should be delayed, " Margaret said, glad to beable to speak normally, with such a fast-beating and pleasantlyexcited heart. "I'm sure Dorothy's all right. "

"Oh, I'd rather wait. I like my company, " said the other. And Margaretdecided in that instant that there never was a more deservedly admiredand copied and quoted woman. 

Presently their chat was interrupted by the tramp of the departingschool children; the other teachers peeped in, were reassured, andwent their ways. Then came the doctor, to pronounce the entirelycheerful Dorothy unhurt, and to bestow upon her some hoarhound drops. Mrs. Carr-Boldt settled at once with the doctor, and when Margaretsaw the size of the bill that was pressed into his hand, she realizedthat she had done her old friend a good turn. 

"Use it up on your poor people, " said Mrs. Carr-Boldt, to hisprotestations; and when he had gone, and Dorothy's "girl" appeared, she tipped that worthy and amazed Teuton, and after promisingDorothy a big doll from a New York shop, sent the child and maidhome in the motor-car. 

"I hope this hasn't upset your plans, " Margaret said, as they stoodwaiting in the doorway. It was nearly five o'clock, the school wasempty and silent. 

"No, not exactly. I had hoped to get home for dinner. But I thinkI'll get Woolcock to take me back to Dayton; I've some very dearfriends there who'll give me a cup of tea. Then I'll come back thisway and get home, by ten, I should think, for a late supper. " Then, as the limousine appeared, Mrs. Carr-Boldt took both Margaret's handsin hers, and said, "And now good-bye, my dear girl. I've got youraddress, and I'm going to send you something pretty to remember meby. You saved me from I don't know what annoyance and publicity. Anddon't forget that when you come to New York I'm going to help youmeet the people you want to, and give you a start if I can. You'refar too clever and good-looking to waste your life down here. Good-bye!"

"Good-bye!" Margaret said, her cheeks brilliant, her head awhirl. 

She stood unmindful of the chilly evening air, watching the greatmotor-car wheel and slip into the gloom. The rain was over; a dyingwind moaned mysteriously through the dusk. Margaret went slowlyupstairs, pinned on her hat, buttoned her long coat snugly abouther. She locked the schoolroom door, and, turning the corner, plungedher hands into her pockets, and faced the wind bravely. Deepeningdarkness and coldness were about her, but she felt surrounded bythe warmth and brightness of her dreams. She saw the brilliantstreets of a big city, the carriages and motor-cars coming andgoing, the idle, lovely women in their sumptuous gowns and hats. These things were real, near--almost attainable--to-night. 

"Mrs. Carr-Boldt!" Margaret said, "the darling! I wonder if I'llever see her again!"

CHAPTER II

Life in the shabby, commonplace house that sheltered the Paget familysometimes really did seem to proceed, as Margaret had suggested, ina long chain of violent shocks, narrow escapes, and closely avertedcatastrophes. No sooner was Duncan's rash pronounced not to bescarlet fever than Robert swallowed a penny, or Beck set fire tothe dining-room waste-basket, or Dad foresaw the immediate failureof the Weston Home Savings Bank, and the inevitable loss of hisposition there. Sometimes there was a paternal explosion becauseBruce liked to murmur vaguely of "dandy chances in Manila, " or becauseJulie, pretty, excitable, and sixteen, had an occasional dose of stagefever, and would stammer desperately between convulsive sobs that shewasn't half as much afraid of "the terrible temptations of the life"as she was afraid of dying a poky old maid in Weston. In short, thehome was crowded, the Pagets were poor, and every one of the sevenpossessed a spirited and distinct entity. All the mother's effortcould not keep them always contented. Growing ambitions made the Westonhorizon seem narrow and mean, and the young eyes that could not seebeyond to-morrow were often wet with rebellious tears. 

Through it all they loved each other; sometimes whole weeks went by inutter harmony; the children contented over "Parches" on the hearthrugin the winter evenings, Julie singing in the morning sunlight, asshe filled the vases from the shabby marguerite bushes on the lawn. But there were other times when to the dreamy, studious Margaret thehome circle seemed all discord, all ugly dinginess and thread-bareness;the struggle for ease and beauty and refinement seemed hopelessand overwhelming. In these times she would find herself staringthoughtfully at her mother's face, bent over the mending basket, orher eyes would leave the chessboard that held her father's attentionso closely, and move from his bald spot, with its encircling crown offluffy gray, to his rosy face, with its kind, intent blue eyes and thelittle lines about his mouth that his moustache didn't hide, --with ahalf-formed question in her heart. What hadn't they done, thesedearest people, to be always struggling, always tired, always "behindthe game"? Why should they be eternally harassed by plumbers' bills, and dentists' bills, and shoes that would wear out, and school-booksthat must be bought? Why weren't they holding their place in Westonsociety, the place to which they were entitled by right of the Quincygrandfather, and the uncles who were judges?

And in answer Margaret came despondently to the decision, "If you havechildren, you never have anything else!" How could Mother keep up withher friends, when for some fifteen years she had been far too busy toput on a dainty gown in the afternoon, and serve a hospitable cup oftea on the east porch? Mother was buttering bread for supper, then;opening little beds and laying out little nightgowns, starting Ted offfor the milk, washing small hands and faces, soothing bumps andbinding cuts, admonishing, praising, directing. Mother was only tooglad to sink wearily into her rocker after dinner, and, after a fewspirited visits to the rampant nursery upstairs, express the hope thatnobody would come in to-night. Gradually the friends dropped away, andthe social life of Weston flowed smoothly on without the Pagets. 

But when Margaret began to grow up, she grasped the situation with allthe keenness of a restless and ambitious nature. Weston, detestedWeston, it must apparently be. Very well, she would make the best ofWeston. Margaret called on her mother's old friends; she was tirelessin charming little attentions. Her own first dances had not beensuccessful; she and Bruce were not good dancers, Margaret had not beensatisfied with her gowns, they both felt out of place. When Julie'sdancing days came along, Margaret saw to it that everything was mademuch easier. She planned social evenings at home, and exhaustedherself preparing for them, that Julie might know the "right people. "To her mother all people were alike, if they were kind and not vulgar;Margaret felt very differently. It was a matter of the greatestsatisfaction to her when Julie blossomed into a fluffy-hairedbutterfly, tremendously in demand, in spite of much-cleaned slippersand often-pressed frocks. Margaret arranged Christmas theatricals, Maypicnics, Fourth of July gatherings. She never failed Bruce when thisdearest brother wanted her company; she was, as Mrs. Paget told herover and over, "the sweetest daughter any woman ever had. " But deep inher heart she knew moods of bitter distaste and restlessness. Thestruggle did not seem worth the making; the odds against her seemedtoo great. 

Still dreaming in the winter dark, she went through the home gate, andup the porch steps of a roomy, cheap house that had been built in theera of scalloped and pointed shingles, of colored glass embellishmentsaround the window-panes, of perforated scroll work and wooden railingsin Grecian designs. A mass of wet over-shoes lay on the porch, and twoor three of the weather-stained porch rockers swayed under the weightof spread wet raincoats. Two opened umbrellas wheeled in the currentof air that came around the house; the porch ran water. While Margaretwas adding her own rainy-day equipment to the others, a golden brownsetter, one ecstatic wriggle from nose to tail, flashed into view, andcame fawning to her feet. 

"Hello, Bran!" Margaret said, propping herself against the house withone hand, while she pulled at a tight overshoe. "Hello, old fellow!Well, did they lock him out?"

She let herself and a freezing gust of air into the dark hall, gropingto the hat-rack for matches. While she was lighting the gas, a verypretty girl of sixteen, with crimson cheeks and tumbled soft darkhair, came to the dining-room door. This was her sister Julie, Margaret's roommate and warmest admirer, and for the last year or twoher inseparable companion. Julie had her finger in a book, but now sheclosed it, and said affectionately between her yawns: "Come in here, darling! You must be dead. "

"Don't let Bran in, " cried some one from upstairs. 

"He is in, Mother!" Margaret called back, and Rebecca and the threesmall boys--Theodore, the four-year-old baby, Robert, and Duncan, agrave little lad of seven--all rushed out of the dining-room together, shouting, as they fell on the delighted dog:--

"Aw, leave him in! Aw, leave the poor little feller in! Come on, Bran, come on, old feller! Leave him in, Mark, can't we?"

Kissing and hugging the dog, and stumbling over each other and overhim, they went back to the dining-room, which was warm and stuffy. Acoal fire was burning low in the grate, the window-panes were beaded, and the little boys had marked their initials in the steam. They hadalso pushed the fringed table-cover almost off, and scattered thecontents of a box of "Lotto" over the scarred walnut top. The room wasshabby, ugly, comfortable. Julie and Margaret had established a teatable in the bay window, had embroidered a cover for the wide couch, had burned the big wooden bowl that was supposedly always full of nutsor grapes or red apples. But these touches were lost in the mass ofless pleasing detail. The "body Brussels" carpet was worn, the wallpaper depressing, the woodwork was painted dark brown, with animitation burl smeared in by the painter's thumb. The chairs were ofseveral different woods and patterns, the old black walnut sideboardclumsy and battered. About the fire stood some comfortable wornchairs. Margaret dropped wearily into one of these, and the dark-eyedJulie hung over her with little affectionate attentions. The childrenreturned to their game. 

"Well, what a time you had with little Dolly Scott!" said Julie, sympathetically. "Ted's been getting it all mixed up! Tell us aboutit. Poor old Mark, you're all in, aren't you? Mark, would you like acup of tea?"

"Love it!" Margaret said, a little surprised, for this luxury wasnot common. 

"And toast--we'll toast it!" said Theodore, enthusiastically. 

"No, no--no tea!" said Mrs. Paget, coming in at this point with somesewing in her hands. "Don't spoil your dinner, now, Mark dear; teadoesn't do you any good. And I think Blanche is saving the cream foran apple tapioca. Theodore, Mother wants you to go right downstairsfor some coal, dear. And, Julie, you'd better start your table; it'sclose to six. Put up the game, Rebecca!"

There was general protest. Duncan, it seemed, needed only "two more"to win. Little Robert, who was benevolently allowed by the otherchildren to play the game exactly as he pleased, screamed delightedlythat he needed only one more, and showed a card upon which even theblank spaces were lavishly covered with glass. He was generouslyconceded the victory, and kissed by Rebecca and Julie as he made hisway to his mother's lap. 

"Why, this can't be Robert Paget!" said Mrs. Paget, putting aside hersewing to gather him in her arms. "Not this great, big boy!"

"Yes, I am!" the little fellow asserted joyously, dodging her kisses. 

"Good to get home!" Margaret said luxuriously. 

"You must sleep late in the morning, " her mother commandedaffectionately. 

"Yes, because you have to be fresh for the party Monday!" exultedJulie. She had flung a white cloth over the long table, and wasputting the ringed napkins down with rapid bangs. "And New Year'sEve's the dance!" she went on buoyantly. "I just love Christmas, anyway!"

"Rebecca, ask Blanche if she needs me, "--that was Mother. 

"You'd go perfectly crazy about her, Ju, she's the most fascinating, and the most unaffected woman!" Margaret was full of the day's realevent. 

"And Mother theth that Ted and Dunc and I can have our friendth inon the day after Chrithmath to thee the Chrithmath tree!" That wasRebecca, who added, "Blanche theth no, Mother, unleth you want tomake thom cream gravy for the chopth!"

"And, Mark, Eleanor asked if Bruce and you and I weren't going asPierrot and Pierettes; she's simply crazy to find out!" This was Julieagain; and then Margaret, coaxingly, "Do make cream gravy for Bruce, Mother. Give Baby to me!" and little Robert's elated "I know threethings Becky's going to get for Christmas, Mark!"

"Well, I think I will, there's milk, " Mrs. Paget conceded, rising. "Put Bran out, Teddy; or put him in the laundry if you want to, whilewe have dinner. " Margaret presently followed her mother into thekitchen, stopping in a crowded passageway to tie an apron over herschool gown. 

"Bruce come in yet?" she said in a low voice. 

Her mother flashed her a sympathetic look. 

"I don't believe he's coming, Mark. "

"Isn't! Oh, Mother! Oh, Mother, does he feel so badly about Betty?"

"I suppose so!" Mrs. Paget went on with her bread cutting. 

"But, Mother, surely he didn't expect to marry Betty Forsythe?"

"I don't know why not, Mark. She's a sweet little thing. "

"But, Mother--" Margaret was a little at a loss. "We don't seem oldenough to really be getting married!" she said, a little lamely. 

"Brucie came in about half-past five, and said he was going over toRichie's, " Mrs. Paget said, with a sigh. 

"In all this rain--that long walk!" Margaret ejaculated, as she filleda long wicker basket with sliced bread. 

"I think an evening of work with Richie will do him a world of good, "said his mother. There was a pause. "There's Dad. I'll go in, " shesaid, suddenly ending it, as the front door slammed. 

Margaret went in, too, to kiss her father; a tired-looking, grayhaired man close to fifty, who had taken her chair by the fire. Mrs. Paget was anxious to be assured that his shoulders and shoes were notdamp. 

"But your hands are icy, Daddy, " said she, as she sat down behind asmoking tureen at the head of the table. "Come, have your nice hotsoup, dear. Pass that to Dad, Becky, and light the other gas. Whatsort of a day?"

"A hard day, " said Mr. Paget, heavily. "Here, one of you girls putBaby into his chair. Let go, Bob, --I'm too tired to-night for monkeyshines!" He sat down stiffly. "Where's Bruce? Can't that boy rememberwhat time we have dinner?"

"Bruce is going to have supper with Richie Williams, Dad, " said Mrs. Paget, serenely. "They'll get out their blue prints afterwards andhave a good evening's work. Fill the glasses before you sit down, Ju. Come, Ted--put that back on the mantel. --Come, Becky! Tell Daddy aboutwhat happened to-day, Mark--"

They all drew up their chairs. Robert, recently graduated from a highchair, was propped upon "The Officers of the Civil War, " and "TheHousehold Book of Verse. " Julie tied on his bib, and kissed the backof his fat little neck, before she slipped into her own seat. Themother sat between Ted and Duncan, for reasons that immediately becameobvious. Margaret sat by her father, and attended to his needs, telling him all about the day, and laying her pretty slim hand overhis as it rested beside his plate. The chops and cream gravy, as wellas a mountain of baked potatoes, and various vegetables, were underdiscussion, when every one stopped short in surprise at hearing thedoorbell ring. 

"Who--?" said Margaret, turning puzzled brows to her mother, and "I'msure I--" her mother answered, shaking her head. Ted was heard tomutter uneasily that, gee, maybe it was old Pembroke, mad because thefellers had soaked his old skate with snowballs; Julie dimpled andsaid, "Maybe it's flowers!" Robert shouted, "Bakeryman!" more becausehe had recently acquired the word than because of any conviction onthe subject. In the end Julie went to the door, with the four childrenin her wake. When she came back, she looked bewildered, and thechildren a little alarmed. 

"It's--it's Mrs. Carr-Boldt, Mother, " said Julie. 

"Well, don't leave her standing there in the cold, dear!" Mrs. Pagetsaid, rising quickly, to go into the hall. Margaret, her heartthumping with an unanalyzed premonition of something pleasant, andnervous, too, for the hospitality of the Pagets, followed her. So theywere all presently crowded into the hall, Mrs. Paget all hospitality, Margaret full of a fear she would have denied that her mother wouldnot be equal to the occasion, the children curious, Julie a littleembarrassed. 

The visitor, fur-clad, rain-spattered, --for it was raining again, --andbeaming, stretched a hand to Mrs. Paget. 

"You're Mrs. Paget, of course, --this is an awful hour to interruptyou, " she said in her big, easy way, "and there's my Miss Paget, --howdo you do? But you see I must get up to town to-night--in this door? Ican see perfectly, thank you!--and I did want a little talk with youfirst. Now, what a shame!"--for the gas, lighted by Theodore at thispoint, revealed Duncan's bib, and the napkins some of the others werestill carrying. "I've interrupted your dinner! Won't you let me waithere until--"

"Perhaps--if you haven't had your supper--you will have some with us, "said Mrs. Paget, a little uncertainly. Margaret inwardly shuddered, but Mrs. Carr-Boldt was gracious. 

"Mrs. Paget, that's charming of you, " she said. "But I had tea atDayton, and mustn't lose another moment. I shan't dine until I gethome. I'm the busiest woman in the world, you know. Now, it won't takeme two minutes--"

She was seated now, her hands still deep in her muff, for the parlorwas freezing cold. Mrs. Paget, with a rather bewildered look, satdown, too. 

"You can run back to your dinners, " said she to the children. "Takethem, Julie. Mark, dear, will you help the pudding?" They all fileddutifully out of the room, and Margaret, excited and curious, continued a meal that might have been of sawdust and sand for all sheknew. The strain did not last long; in about ten minutes Mrs. Pagetlooked into the room, with a rather worried expression, and said, alittle breathlessly:--

"Daddy, can you come here a moment?--You're all right, dear, " sheadded, as Mr. Paget indicated with an embarrassed gesture his wellworn house-coat. They went out together. The young people sat almostwithout speaking, listening to the indistinguishable murmur from theadjoining room, and smiling mysteriously at each other. Then Margaretwas called, and went as far as the dining-room door, and came back toput her napkin uncertainly down at her place, hesitated, arranged hergown carefully, and finally went out again. They heard her voice withthe others in the parlor. .. Questioning. .. Laughing. 

Presently the low murmur broke into audible farewells; chairs werepushed back, feet scraped in the hall. 

"Good-night, then!" said Mrs. Carr-Boldt's clear tones, "and so sorryto have--Good-night, Mr. Paget!--Oh, thank you--but I'm well wrapped. Thank you! Good-night, dear! I'll see you again soon--I'll write. "

And then came the honking of the motor-car, and a great swish whereit grazed a wet bush near the house. Somebody lowered the gas in thehall, and Mrs. Paget's voice said regretfully, "I wish we had had afire in the parlor--just one of the times!--but there's no help forit. " They all came in, Margaret flushed, starry-eyed; her father andmother a little serious. The three blinked at the brighter light, andfell upon the cooling chops as if eating were the important businessof the moment. 

"We waited the pudding, " said Julie. "What is it?"

"Why--" Mrs. Paget began, hesitatingly. Mr. Paget briskly took thematter out of her hands. 

"This lady, " he said, with an air of making any further talkunnecessary, "needs a secretary, and she has offered your sisterMargaret the position. That's the whole affair in a nutshell. I'm notat all sure that your mother and I think it a wise offer for Margaretto accept, and I want to say here and now that I don't want any childof mine to speak of this matter, or make it a matter of general gossipin the neighborhood. Mother, I'd like very much to have Blanche makeme a fresh cup of tea. "

"Wants Margaret!" gasped Julie, unaffected--so astonishing was thenews--by her father's unusual sternness. "Oh, Mother! Oh, Mark! Oh, you lucky thing! When is she coming down here?"

"She isn't coming down here--she wants Mark to go to her--that's it, "said her mother. 

"Mark--in New York!" shrilled Theodore. Julie got up to rusharound the table and kiss her sister; the younger childrenlaughed and shouted. 

"There is no occasion for all this, " said Mr. Paget, but mildly, forthe fresh tea had arrived. "Just quiet them down, will you, Mother? Isee nothing very extraordinary in the matter. This Mrs. --Mrs. CarrBoldt--is it?--needs a secretary and companion; and she offers theposition to Mark. "

"But--but she never even saw Mark until to-day!" marvelled Julie. 

"I hardly see how that affects it, my dear!" her father observedunenthusiastically. 

"Why, I think it makes it simply extraordinary!" exulted the generouslittle sister. "Oh, Mark, isn't this just the sort of thing you wouldhave wished to happen! Secretary work, --just what you love to do! Andyou, with your beautiful handwriting, you'll just be invaluable toher! And your German--and I'll bet you'll just have them all adoringyou--!"

"Oh, Ju, if I only can do it!" burst from Margaret, with a littlechildish gasp. She was sitting back from the table, twisted about sothat she sat sideways, her hands clasped about the top bar of herchair-back. Her tawny soft hair was loosened about her face, her darkeyes aflame. "Lenox, she said, " Margaret went on dazedly; "and Europe, and travelling everywhere! And a hundred dollars a month, and nothingto spend it on, so I can still help out here! Why, it--I can't believeit!"--she looked from one smiling, interested face to another, andsuddenly her radiance underwent a quick eclipse. Her lip trembled, andshe tried to laugh as she pushed her chair back, and ran to the armsher mother opened. "Oh, Mother!" sobbed Margaret, clinging there, "doyou want me to go--shall I go? I've always been so happy here, and Ifeel so ashamed of being discontented, --and I don't deserve a thinglike this to happen to me!"

"Why, God bless her heart!" said Mrs. Paget, tenderly, "of courseyou'll go!"

"Oh, you silly! I'll never speak to you again if you don't!" laughedJulie, through sympathetic tears. 

Theodore and Duncan immediately burst into a radiant reminiscence oftheir one brief visit to New York; Rebecca was heard to murmur thatshe would "vithet Mark thome day"; and the baby, tugging at hismother's elbow, asked sympathetically if Mark was naughty, and wascaught between his sister's and his mother's arms and kissed by themboth. Mr. Paget, picking his paper from the floor beside his chair, took an arm-chair by the fire, stirred the coals noisily, and whilecleaning his glasses, observed rather huskily that the little girlalways knew, she could come back again if anything went wrong. 

"But suppose I don't suit?" suggested Margaret, sitting back onher heels, refreshed by tears, and with her arms laid acrossher mother's lap. 

"Oh, you'll suit, " said Julie, confidently; and Mrs. Paget smoothedthe girl's hair back and said affectionately, "I don't think she'llfind many girls like you for the asking, Mark!"

"Reading English with the two little girls, " said Margaret, dreamily, "and answering notes and invitations. And keeping books--"

"You can do that anyway, " said her father, over his paper. 

"And dinner lists, you know, Mother--doesn't it sound like an Englishstory!" Margaret stopped in the middle of an ecstatic wriggle. "Mother, will you pray I succeed?" she said solemnly. 

"Just be your own dear simple self, Mark, " her mother advised. "January!" she added, with a great sigh. "It's the first break, isn't it, Dad? Think of trying to get along without our Mark!"

"January!" Julie was instantly alert. "Why, but you'll need all sortsof clothes!"

"Oh, she says there's a sewing woman always in the house, " Margaretsaid, almost embarrassed by the still-unfolding advantages of theproposition. "I can have her do whatever's left over. " Her fatherlowered his paper to give her a shrewd glance. 

"I suppose somebody knows something about this Mrs. Carr-Boldt, Mother?" asked he. "She's all right, I suppose?"

"Oh, Dad, her name's always in the papers, " Julie burst out; and themother smiled as she said, "We'll be pretty sure of everything beforewe let our Mark go!" Later, when the children had been dismissed, andhe himself was going, rather stiffly, toward the stairs, Mr. Pagetagain voiced a mild doubt. 

"There was a perfectly good reason for her hurry, I suppose? Oldsecretary deserted--got married--? She had good reason for wantingMark in all this hurry?"

Mrs. Paget and her daughters had settled about the fire for an hour'sdelicious discussion, but she interrupted it to say soothingly, "Itwas her cousin, Dad, who's going to be married, and she's been tryingto get hold of just the right person--she says she's fearfullybehindhand--"

"Well, you know best, " said Mr. Paget, departing a littlediscontentedly. 

Left to the dying fire, the others talked, yawned, made a pretence ofbreaking up: talked and yawned again. The room grew chilly. Bruce, --oldestof the children, --dark, undemonstrative, weary, --presently camein, and was given the news, and marvelled in his turn. Bruce andMargaret had talked of their ambitions a hundred times: of the daywhen he might enter college and when she might find the leisure andbeauty in life for which her soul hungered. Now, as he sat with hisarm about her, and her head on his shoulder, he said with generoussatisfaction over and over:--

"It was coming to you, Mark; you've earned it!"

At midnight, loitering upstairs, cold and yawning, Margaret kissed hermother and brother quietly, with whispered brief good-nights. ButJulie, lying warm and snug in bed half-an-hour later, had a last word. 

"You know, Mark, I think I'm as happy as you are--no, I'm not generousat all! It's just that it makes me feel that things do come your wayfinally, if you wait long enough, and that we aren't the only familyin town that never has anything decent happen to it!. .. I'll miss youawfully, Mark, darling!. .. Mark, do you suppose Mother'd let me takethis bed out, and just have a big couch in here? It would make theroom seem so much bigger. And then I could have the girls come uphere, don't you know--when they came over. .. . Think of you--you--goingabroad! I'd simply die! I can't wait to tell Betty!. .. I hope togoodness Mother won't put Beck in here!. .. We've had this room a longtime together, haven't we? Ever since Grandma died. Do you rememberher canary, that Teddy hit with a plate?. .. I'm going to miss youterribly, Mark. But we'll write. .. . "

CHAPTER III

On the days that followed, the miracle came to be accepted by allWeston, which was much excited for a day or two over this honor done afavorite daughter, and by all the Pagets, --except Margaret. Margaretwent through the hours in her old, quiet manner, a little more tenderand gentle perhaps than she had been; but her heart never beatnormally, and she lay awake late at night, and early in the morning, thinking, thinking, thinking. She tried to realize that it was in herhonor that a farewell tea was planned at the club, it was for her thather fellow-teachers were planning a good-bye luncheon; it was reallyshe--Margaret Paget--whose voice said at the telephone a dozen times aday, "On the fourteenth. --Oh, do I? I don't feel calm! Can't you tryto come in--I do want to see you before I go!" She dutifully repeatedBruce's careful directions; she was to give her check to anexpressman, and her suitcase to a red-cap; the expressman wouldprobably charge fifty cents, the red-cap was to have no more thanfifteen. And she was to tell the latter to put her into a taxicab. 

"I'll remember, " Margaret assured him gratefully, but with a sense ofunreality pressing almost painfully upon her. --One of a millionordinary school teachers, in a million little towns--and this marvelhad befallen her!

The night of the Pagets' Christmas play came, a night full of laughterand triumph; and marked for Margaret by the little parting gifts thatwere slipped into her hands, and by the warm good wishes that weremurmured, not always steadily, by this old friend and that. When thetime came to distribute plates and paper napkins, and great saucers ofice cream and sliced cake, Margaret was toasted in cold sweetlemonade; and drawing close together to "harmonize" more perfectly, the circle about her touched their glasses while they sang, "For she'sa jolly good fellow. " Later, when the little supper was almost over, Ethel Elliot, leaning over to lay her hand on Margaret's, began in herrich contralto:--

 "When other lips and other hearts. .. "

and as they all went seriously through the two verses, they stood up, one by one, and linked arms; the little circle, affectionate andadmiring, that had bounded Margaret's friendships until now. 

Then Christmas came, with a dark, freezing walk to the pine-spiced andcandle-lighted early service in the little church, and a quicker walkhome, chilled and happy and hungry, to a riotous Christmas breakfast, and a littered breakfast table. The new year came, with a dance andrevel, and the Pagets took one of their long tramps through the snowyafternoon, and came back hungry for a big dinner. Then there wasdressmaking, --Mrs. Schmidt in command, Mrs. Paget tireless at themachine, Julie all eager interest. Margaret, patiently standing to befitted, conscious of the icy, wet touch of Mrs. Schmidt's red fingerson her bare arms, dreamily acquiescent as to buttons or hooks, wastotally absent in spirit. 

A trunk came, Mr. Paget very anxious that the keys should not be"fooled with" by the children. Margaret's mother packed this trunkscientifically. "No, now the shoes, Mark--now that heavy skirt, " shewould say. "Run get mother some more tissue paper, Beck. You'll haveto leave the big cape, dear, and you can send for it if you need it. Now the blue dress, Ju. I think that dyed so prettily, just the thingfor mornings. And here's your prayer book in the tray, dear; if you goSaturday you'll want it the first thing in the morning. See, I'll puta fresh handkerchief in it--"

Margaret, relaxed and idle, in a rocker, with Duncan in her lap busilyworking at her locket, would say over and over:--

"You're all such angels, --I'll never forget it!" and wish that, knowing how sincerely she meant it, she could feel it a little more. Conversation languished in these days; mother and daughters feelingthat time was too precious to waste speech of little things, and thattheir hearts were too full to touch upon the great change impending. 

A night came when the Pagets went early upstairs, saying that, afterall, it was not like people marrying and going to Russia; it was notlike a real parting; it wasn't as if Mark couldn't come home again infour hours if anything went wrong at either end of the line. Margaret's heart was beating high and quick now; she tried to showsome of the love and sorrow she knew she should have felt, she knewthat she did feel under the hurry of her blood that made speechimpossible. She went to her mother's door, slender and girlish in herwhite nightgown, to kiss her good-night again. Mrs. Paget's big armswent about her daughter. Margaret laid her head childishly on hermother's shoulder. Nothing of significance was said. Margaretwhispered, "Mother, I love you!" Her mother said, "You were such alittle thing, Mark, when I kissed you one day, without hugging you, and you said, 'Please don't love me just with your face, Mother, loveme with your heart!'" Then she added, "Did you and Julie get thatextra blanket down to-day, dear?--it's going to be very cold. "Margaret nodded. "Good-night, little girl--" "Goodnight, Mother--"

That was the real farewell, for the next morning was all confusion. They dressed hurriedly, by chilly gas-light; clocks were compared, Rebecca's back buttoned; Duncan's overcoat jerked on; coffee drunkscalding hot as they stood about the kitchen table; bread barelytasted. They walked to the railway station on wet sidewalks, under abroken sky, Bruce, with Margaret's suit-case, in the lead. Weston wasasleep in the gray morning, after the storm. Far and near belatedcocks were crowing. 

A score of old friends met Margaret at the train; there were gifts, promises, good wishes. There came a moment when it was generally feltthat the Pagets should be left alone, now--the far whistle of thetrain beyond the bridge--the beginning of good-byes--a sudden fillingof the mother's eyes that was belied by her smile. --"Good-bye, sweetest--don't knock my hat off, baby dear! Beck, darling--Oh, Ju, do! don't just say it--start me a letter to-night! ALL write to me!Good-bye, Dad, darling, --all right, Bruce, I'll get right in!--anotherfor Dad. Good-bye, Mother darling, --goodbye! Good-bye!"

Then for the Pagets there was a walk back to the empty disorder of thehouse: Julie very talkative, at her father's side; Bruce walking farbehind the others with his mother, --and the day's familiar routine tobe somehow gone through without Margaret. 

But for Margaret, settling herself comfortably in the grateful warmthof the train, and watching the uncertain early sunshine brightenunfamiliar fields and farmhouses, every brilliant possibility in lifeseemed to be waiting. She tried to read, to think, to pray, to staresteadily out of the window; she could do nothing for more than amoment at a time. Her thoughts went backward and forward like aweaving shuttle: "How good they've all been to me! How grateful I am!Now if only, only, I can make good!"

"Look out for the servants!" Julie, from the depth of her sixteenyears-old wisdom had warned her sister. "The governess will hate youbecause she'll be afraid you'll cut her out, and Mrs. Carr-Boldt'smaid will be a cat! They always are, in books. "

Margaret had laughed at this advice, but in her heart she ratherbelieved it. Her new work seemed so enchanting to her that it was noteasy to believe that she did not stand in somebody's light. She wasglad that by a last-moment arrangement she was to arrive at the GrandCentral Station at almost the same moment as Mrs. Carr-Boldt herself, who was coming home from a three-weeks' visit in the middle west. Margaret gave only half her attention to the flying country that wasbeginning to shape itself into streets and rows of houses; all thelast half hour of the trip was clouded by the nervous fear that shewould somehow fail to find Mrs. Carr-Boldt in the confusion at therailroad terminal. 

But happily enough the lady was found without trouble, or ratherMargaret was found, felt an authoritative tap on her shoulder, caughta breath of fresh violets, and a glimpse of her patron's clearskinned, resolute face. They whirled through wet deserted streets;Mrs. Carr-Boldt gracious and talkative, Margaret nervously interestedand amused. 

Their wheels presently grated against a curb, a man in livery openedthe limousine door. Margaret saw an immense stone mansion facing thepark, climbed a dazzling flight of wide steps, and was in a great hallthat faced an interior court, where there were Florentine marblebenches, and the great lifted leaves of palms. She was a little dazedby crowded impressions; impressions of height and spaciousness andrichness, and opening vistas; a great marble stairway, and a landingwhere there was an immense designed window in clear leaded glass;rugs, tapestries, mirrors, polished wood and great chairs withbrocaded seats and carved dark backs. Two little girls, heavy, wellgroomed little girls, --one spectacled and good-natured looking, theother rather pretty, with a mass of fair hair, --were coming down thestairs with an eager little German woman. They kissed their mother, much diverted by the mad rushes and leaps of the two white poodles whoaccompanied them. 

"These are my babies, Miss Paget, " said Mrs. Carr-Boldt. "Thisis Victoria, who's eleven, and Harriet, who's six. And these areMonsieur--"

"Monsieur Patou and Monsieur Mouche, " said Victoria, introducingthe dogs with entire ease of manner. The German woman saidsomething forcibly, and Margaret understood the child's replyin that tongue: "Mamma won't blame you, Fraulein; Harriet andI wished them to come down!"

Presently they all went up in a luxuriously fitted little lift, Margaret being carried to the fourth floor to her own rooms, to whicha little maid escorted her. 

When the maid had gone Margaret walked to the door and tried it, forno reason whatever; it was shut. Her heart was beating violently. Shewalked into the middle of the room and looked at herself in themirror, and laughed a little breathless laugh. Then she took off herhat carefully and went into the bedroom that was beyond her sittingroom, and hung her hat in a fragrant white closet that was entirelyand delightfully empty, and put her coat on a hanger, and her glovesand bag in the empty big top drawer of a great mahogany bureau. Thenshe went back to the mirror and looked hard at her own beautyreflected in it; and laughed her little laugh again. 

"It's too good--it's too much!" she whispered. 

She investigated her domain, after quelling a wild desire to sit downat the beautiful desk and try the new pens, the crystal ink-well, andthe heavy paper, with its severely engraved address, in a long letterto Mother. 

There was a tiny upright piano in the sitting-room, and at thefireplace a deep thick rug, and an immense leather arm-chair. A clockin crystal and gold flanked by two crystal candlesticks had the centreof the mantelpiece. On the little round mahogany centre table was alamp with a wonderful mosaic shade; a little book-case was filled withbooks and magazines. Margaret went to one of the three windows, andlooked down upon the bare trees and the snow in the park, and upon therumbling green omnibuses, all bathed in bright chilly sunlight. 

A mahogany door with a crystal knob opened into the bedroom, wherethere was a polished floor, and more rugs, and a gay rosy wall paper, and a great bed with a lace cover. Beyond was a bathroom, all enamel, marble, glass, and nickel-plate, with heavy monogrammed towels on therack, three new little wash-cloths sealed in glazed paper, three newtooth-brushes in paper cases, and a cake of famous English soap justout of its wrapper. 

Over the whole little suite there brooded an exquisite order. Not aparticle of dust broke the shining surfaces of the mahogany, not afallen leaf lay under the great bowl of roses on the desk. Now andthen the radiator clanked in the stress; it was hard to believe inthat warmth and silence that a cold winter wind was blowing outside, and that snow still lay on the ground. 

Margaret, resting luxuriously in the big chair, became thoughtful;presently she went into the bedroom, and knelt down beside the bed. 

"O Lord, let me stay here, " she prayed, her face in her hands. "I wantso to stay--make me a success!"

Never was a prayer more generously answered. Miss Paget was an instantsuccess. In something less than two months she became indispensable toMrs. Carr-Boldt, and was a favorite with every one, from the ratherstolid, silent head of the house down to the least of the maids. Shewas so busy, so unaffected, so sympathetic, that her sudden rise infavor was resented by no one. The butler told her his troubles, theFrench maid darkly declared that but for Miss Paget she would not forone second r-r-remain! The children went cheerfully even to thedentist with their adored Miss Peggy; they soon preferred her escortto matinee or zoo to that of any other person. Margaret also escortedMrs. Carr-Boldt's mother, a magnificent old lady, on shoppingexpeditions, and attended the meetings of charity boards for Mrs. Carr-Boldt. With notes and invitations, account books and chequebooks, dinner lists, and interviews with caterers, decorators, andflorists, Margaret's time was full, but she loved every moment of herwork, and gloried in her increasing usefulness. 

At first there were some dark days; notably the dreadful one uponwhich Margaret somehow--somewhere--dropped the box containing the newhat she was bringing home for Harriet, and kept the little girl out inthe cold afternoon air while the motor made a fruitless trip back tothe milliner's. Harriet contracted a cold, and Harriet's mother forthe first time spoke severely to Margaret. There was another bad daywhen Margaret artlessly admitted to Mrs. Pierre Polk at the telephonethat Mrs. Carr-Boldt was not engaged for dinner that evening, thusobliging her employer to snub the lady, or accept a distastefulinvitation to dine. And there was a most uncomfortable occasion whenMr. Carr-Boldt, not at all at his best, stumbled in upon his wife withsome angry observations meant for her ear alone; and Margaret, busywith accounts in a window recess, was, unknown to them both, adistressed witness. 

"Another time, Miss Paget, " said Mrs. Carr-Boldt, coldly, uponMargaret's appearing scarlet-cheeked between the curtains, "don'toblige me to ascertain that you are not within hearing before feelingsure of privacy. Will you finish those bills upstairs, if you please?"

Margaret went upstairs with a burning heart, cast her bills haphazardon her own desk, and flung herself, dry-eyed and furious, on the bed. She was far too angry to think, but lay there for perhaps twentyminutes with her brain whirling. Finally rising, she brushed up herhair, straightened her collar, and, full of tremendous resolves, stepped into her little sitting room, to find Mrs. Carr-Boldt in thebig chair, serenely eyeing her. 

"I'm so sorry I spoke so, Peggy, " said her employer, generously. "Butthe truth is, I am not myself when--when Mr. Carr-Boldt--" The littlehesitating appeal in her voice completely disarmed Margaret. In theend the little episode cemented the rapidly growing friendship betweenthe two women, Mrs. Carr-Boldt seeming to enjoy the relief of speakingrather freely of what was the one real trial in her life. 

"My husband has always had too much money, " she said, in her positiveway. "At one time we were afraid that he would absolutely ruin hishealth by this--habit of his. His physician and I took him around theworld, --I left Victoria, just a baby, with mother, --and for too yearshe was never out of my sight. It has never been so bad since. You knowyourself how reliable he usually is, " she finished cheerfully, "unlesssome of the other men get hold of him!"

As the months went on Margaret came to admire her employer more andmore. There was not an indolent impulse in Mrs. Carr-Boldt's entirecomposition. Smooth-haired, fresh-skinned, in spotless linen, shebegan the day at eight o'clock, full of energy and interest. She haddaily sessions with butler and house-keeper, shopped with Margaret andthe children, walked about her greenhouse or her country garden withher skirts pinned up, and had tulips potted and stone work continued. She was prominent in several clubs, a famous dinner-giver, she took apersonal interest in all her servants, loved to settle their quarrelsand have three or four of them up on the carpet at once, tearful andexplanatory. Margaret kept for her a list of some two hundred friends, whose birthdays were to be marked with carefully selected gifts. Shepleased Mrs. Carr-Boldt by her open amazement at the latter'svitality. The girl observed that her employer could not visit anyinstitution without making a few vigorous suggestions as she wentabout, she accompanied her cheques to the organized charities--and hercharity flowed only through absolutely reliable channels--with littlefriendly, advisory letters. She liked the democratic attitude forherself, --even while promptly snubbing any such tendency in childrenor friends;--and told Margaret that she only used her coat of arms onhouse linen, stationery, and livery, because her husband and motherliked it. "It's of course rather nice to realize that one comes fromone of the oldest of the Colonial families, " she would say. "TheCarterets of Maryland, you know. --But it's all such bosh!"

And she urged Margaret to claim her own right to family honors:"You're a Quincy, my dear! Don't let that woman intimidate you, --shedidn't remember that her grandfather was a captain until her husbandmade his money. And where the family portraits came from I don't know, but I think there's a man on Fourth Avenue who does 'em!" she wouldsay, or, "I know all about Lilly Reynolds, Peggy. Her father was asrich as she says, and I daresay the crest is theirs. But ask her whather maternal grandmother did for a living, if you want to shut herup!" Other people she would condemn with a mere whispered "Coal!" or"Patent bath-tubs!" behind her fan, and it pleased her to tell peoplethat her treasure of a secretary had the finest blood in the world inher veins. Margaret was much admired, and Margaret was her discovery, and she liked to emphasize her find. 

Mrs. Carr-Boldt's mother, a tremulous, pompous old lady, unwittinglyaided the impression by taking an immense fancy to Margaret, and bytelling her few intimates and the older women among her daughter'sfriends that the girl was a perfect little thoroughbred. When theCarr-Boldts filled their house with the reckless and noisy companythey occasionally affected, Mrs. Carteret would say majestically toMargaret:--

"You and I have nothing in common with this riff-raff, my dear!"

Summer came, and Margaret headed a happy letter "Bar Harbor. " Twomonths later all Weston knew that Margaret Paget was going abroad fora year with those rich people, and had written her mother from theLusitania. Letters from London, from Germany, from Holland, fromRussia, followed. "We are going to put the girls at school inSwitzerland, and (ahem!) winter on the Riviera, and then Rome for HolyWeek!" she wrote. 

She was presently home again, chattering French and German to amuseher father, teaching Becky a little Italian song to match her littleItalian costume. 

"It's wonderful to me how you get along with all these rich people, Mark, " said her mother, admiringly, during Margaret's home visit. Mrs. Paget was watering the dejected-looking side garden with a stragglinglength of hose; Margaret and Julie shelling peas on the side steps. Margaret laughed, coloring a little. 

"Why, we're just as good as they are, Mother!"

Mrs. Paget drenched a dried little dump of carnations. 

"We're as good, " she admitted; "but we're not as rich, oras travelled, --we haven't the same ideas; we belong to adifferent class. "

"Oh, no, we don't, Mother, " Margaret said quickly. "Who are the CarrBoldts, except for their money? Why, Mrs. Carteret, --for all herfamily!--isn't half the aristocrat Grandma was! And you--you could bea Daughter of The Officers of the Revolution, Mother!"

"Why, Mark, I never heard that!" her mother protested, cleaningthe sprinkler with a hairpin. 

"Mother!" Julie said eagerly. "Great-grandfather Quincy!"

"Oh, Grandpa, " said Mrs. Paget. "Yes, Grandpa was a paymaster. He wason Governor Hancock's staff. They used to call him 'Major. ' But Mark--"she turned off the water, holding her skirts away from thecombination of mud and dust underfoot, "that's a very silly way totalk, dear! Money does make a difference; it does no good to go backinto the past and say that this one was a judge and that one a major;we must live our lives where we are!"

Margaret had not lost a wholesome respect for her mother's opinion inthe two years she had been away, but she had lived in a very differentworld, and was full of new ideas. 

"Mother, do you mean to tell me that if you and Dad hadn't had aperfect pack of children, and moved so much, and if Dad--say--had beenin that oil deal that he said he wished he had the money for, and westill lived in the brick house, that you wouldn't be in every way theequal of Mrs. Carr-Boldt?"

"If you mean as far as money goes, Mark, --no. We might have been wellto-do as country people go, I suppose--"

"Exactly!" said Margaret; "and you would have been as well off asdozens of the people who are going about in society this minute! It'sthe merest chance that we aren't rich. Just for instance: father'sfather had twelve children, didn't he?--and left them--how much wasit?--about three thousand dollars apiece--"

"And a Godsend it was, too, " said her mother, reflectively. 

"But suppose Dad had been the only child, Mother, " Margaret persisted, "he would have had--"

"He would have had the whole thirty-six thousand dollars, I suppose, Mark. "

"Or more, " said Margaret, "for Grandfather Paget was presumablyspending money on them all the time. "

"Well, but, Mark--" said Mrs. Paget, laughing as at the vagaries of asmall child, "Father Paget did have twelve children--and Daddy and Ieight--" she sighed, as always, at the thought of the little son whowas gone, --"and there you are! You can't get away from that, dear. "

Margaret did not answer. But she thought to herself that very fewpeople held Mother's views of this subject. 

Mrs. Carr-Boldt's friends, for example, did not accept increasingcares in this resigned fashion; their lives were ideally pleasant andharmonious without the complicated responsibilities of large families. They drifted from season to season without care, always free, alwaysgay, always irreproachably gowned. In winter there were dailymeetings, for shopping, for luncheon, bridge or tea; summer was filledwith a score of country visits. There were motor-trips for week-ends, dinners, theatre, and the opera to fill the evenings, German orsinging lessons, manicure, masseuse, and dressmaker to crowd themorning hours all the year round. Margaret learned from theseexquisite, fragrant creatures the art of being perpetually fresh andcharming, learned their methods of caring for their own beauty, learned to love rare toilet waters and powders, fine embroidered linenand silk stockings. There was no particular strain upon her wardrobenow, nor upon her purse; she could be as dainty as she liked. Shelistened to the conversations that went on about her, --sometimescritical or unconvinced; more often admiring; and as she listened shefound slowly but certainly her own viewpoint. She was not mercenary. She would not marry a man just for his money, she decided, but just ascertainly she would not marry a man who could not give her acomfortable establishment, a position in society. 

The man seemed in no hurry to appear; as a matter of fact, the menwhom Margaret met were openly anxious to evade marriage, even with thewealthy girls of their own set. Margaret was not concerned; she wastoo happy to miss the love-making element; the men she saw were not ofa type to inspire a sensible busy, happy, girl with any very deepfeeling. And it was with generous and perfect satisfaction thatshe presently had news of Julie's happy engagement. Julie wasto marry a young and popular doctor, the only child of one ofWeston's most prominent families. The little sister's letterbubbled joyously with news. 

"Harry's father is going to build us a little house on the big place, the darling, " wrote Julie; "and we will stay with them until it isdone. But in five years Harry says we will have a real honeymoon, inEurope! Think of going to Europe as a married woman! Mark, I wish youcould see my ring; it is a beauty, but don't tell Mother I was sillyenough to write about it!"

Margaret delightedly selected a little collection of things forJulie's trousseau. A pair of silk stockings, a scarf she never hadworn, a lace petticoat, pink silk for a waist. Mrs. Carr-Boldt, comingin in the midst of these preparations, insisted upon adding so manyother things, from trunks and closets, that Margaret was speechlesswith delight. Scarves, cobwebby silks in uncut lengths, embroideredlingerie still in the tissue paper of Paris shops, parasols, gloves, and lengths of lace, --she piled all of them into Margaret's arms. Julie's trousseau was consequently quite the most beautiful Weston hadever seen; and the little sister's cloudless joy made the fortnightMargaret spent at home at the time of the wedding a very happy one. Itwas a time of rush and flurry, laughter and tears, of roses, and girlsin white gowns. But some ten days before the wedding, Julie andMargaret happened to be alone for a peaceful hour over their sewing, and fell to talking seriously. 

"You see, our house will be small, " said Julie; "but I don't care--wedon't intend to stay in Weston all our lives. Don't breathe this toany one, Mark, but if Harry does as well as he's doing now for twoyears, we'll rent the little house, and we're going to Baltimorefor a year for a special course. Then--you know he's devoted toDr. McKim, he always calls him 'the chief, '--then he thinks maybeMcKim will work him into his practice, --he's getting old, you know, and that means New York!"

"Oh, Ju, --really!"

"I don't see why not, " Julie said, dimpling. "Harry's crazy to do it. He says he doesn't propose to live and die in Weston. McKim couldthrow any amount of hospital practice his way, to begin with. And youknow Harry'll have something, --and the house will rent. I'm crazy, "said Julie, enthusiastically, "to take one of those lovely oldapartments on Washington Square, and meet a few nice people, you know, and really make something of my life!"

"Mrs. Carr-Boldt and I will spin down for you every few days, "Margaret said, falling readily in with the plan. "I'm glad you're notgoing to simply get into a rut the way some of the other girlshave, --cooking and babies and nothing else!" she said. 

"I think that's an awful mistake, " Julie said placidly. "Starting inright is so important. I don't want to be a mere drudge like Ethel orLouise--they may like it. I don't! Of course, this isn't a matter totalk of, " she went on, coloring a little. "I'd never breathe this toMother! But it's perfectly absurd to pretend that girls don't discussthese things. I've talked to Betty and Louise--we all talk about it, you know. And Louise says they haven't had one free second since Buddycame. She can't keep one maid, and she says the idea of two maidseating their three meals a day, whether she's home or not, makes herperfectly sick! Some one's got to be with him every single second, even now, when he's four, --to see that he doesn't fall off something, or put things in his mouth. And as Louise says--it means no more weekend trips; you can't go visiting over night, you can't even go for aday's drive or a day on the beach, without extra clothes for the baby, a mosquito-net and an umbrella for the baby--milk packed in ice forthe baby--somebody trying to get the baby to take his nap--it's awful!It would end our Baltimore plan, and that means New York, and New Yorkmeans everything to Harry and me!" finished Julie, contentedly, flattening a finished bit of embroidery on her knee, and regardingit complacently. 

"Well, I think you're right, " Margaret approved. "Things are differentnow from what they were in Mother's day. "

"And look at Mother, " Julie said. "One long slavery! Life's too shortto wear yourself out that way!"

Mrs. Paget's sunny cheerfulness was sadly shaken when the actualmoment of parting with the exquisite, rose-hatted, gray-frocked Juliecame; her face worked pitifully in its effort to smile; her tallfigure, awkward in an ill-made unbecoming new silk, seemed to drooptenderly over the little clinging wife. Margaret, stirred by the sightof tears on her mother's face, stood with an arm about her, when thebride and groom drove away in the afternoon sunshine. 

"I'm going to stay with you until she gets back!" she remindedher mother. 

"And you know you've always said you wanted the girls to marry, Mother, " urged Mr. Paget. Rebecca felt this a felicitous moment to askif she and the boys could have the rest of the ice-cream. 

"Divide it evenly, " said Mrs. Paget, wiping her eyes and smiling. "Yes, I know, Daddy dear, I'm an ungrateful woman! I suppose your turnwill come next, Mark, and then I don't know what I will do!"

CHAPTER IV

But Margaret's turn did not come for nearly a year. Then--in Germanyagain, and lingering at a great Berlin hotel because the spring was sobeautiful, and the city so sweet with linden bloom, and especiallybecause there were two Americans at the hotel whose game of bridge itpleased Mr. And Mrs. Carr-Boldt daily to hope they could match, --thenMargaret was transformed within a few hours from a merely pretty, verydignified, perfectly contented secretary, entirely satisfied with whatshe wore as long as it was suitable and fresh, into a living woman, whose cheeks paled and flushed at nothing but her thoughts, wholaughed at herself in her mirror, loitered over her toilet trying onegown after another, and walked half-smiling through a succession ofrosy dreams. 

It all came about very simply. One of the aforementioned bridgeplayers wondered if Mrs. Carr-Bolt and her niece--oh, wasn't it?--hersecretary then, --would like to hear a very interesting young Americanprofessor lecture this morning?--wondered, when they were fanningthemselves in the airy lecture-room, if they would care to meetProfessor Tension?

Margaret looked into a pair of keen, humorous eyes, answered with herown smile Professor Tension's sudden charming one, lost her small handin his big firm one. Then she listened to him talk, as he strode aboutthe platform, boyishly shaking back the hair that fell across hisforehead. After that he walked to the hotel with them, throughdazzling seas of perfume, and of flowers, under the enchanted shiftinggreen of great trees, --or so Margaret thought. There was a plunge fromthe hot street into the awning cool gloom of the hotel, and then aluncheon, when the happy steady murmur from their own table seemedechoed by the murmurs clink and stir and laughter all about them, and accented by the not-too-close music from the band. 

Doctor Tension was everything charming, Margaret thought, instantlydrawn by the unaffected, friendly manner, and watching the interestedgleam of his blue eyes and the white flash of his teeth He was agentleman, to begin with; distinguished at thirty-two in his chosenwork; big and well-built, without suggesting the athlete, of an oldand honored American family, and the only son of a rich--andeccentric--old doctor whom Mrs. Carr-Bolt chanced to know. 

He was frankly delighted at the chance that had brought him in contactwith these charming people; and as Mrs. Carr-Bolt took an instantfancy to him, and as he was staying at their own hotel, they saw himafter that every day, and several times a day. Margaret would comedown the great sun-bathed stairway in the morning to find himpatiently waiting in a porch chair. Her heart would give a greatleap--half joy, half new strange pain, as she recognized him. There wouldbe time for a chat over their fruit and eggs before Mr. Carr-Boltcame down, all ready for a motor-trip, or Mrs. Carr-Bolt, swathed incream-colored coat and flying veils, joined them with an approving"Good-morning. "

Margaret would remember these breakfasts all her life; the sunsplashed little table in a corner of the great dining-room, the rosyfatherly waiter who was so much delighted with her German, the busypicturesque traffic in the street just below the wide-open window. She would always remember a certain filmy silk striped gown, a widehat loaded with daisies; always love the odor of linden trees inthe spring. 

Sometimes the professor went with them on their morning drive, to bedropped at the lecture-hall with Margaret and Mrs. Carr-Bolt. Thelatter was pleased to take the course of lectures very seriously, andcarried a handsome Russian leather note-book, and a gold pencil. Sometimes after luncheon they all went on an expedition together, andnow and then Margaret and Doctor Tension went off alone on foot, toexplore the city. They would end the afternoon with coffee and littlecakes in some tea-room, and come home tired and merry in the longshadows of the spring sunset, with wilted flowers from the streetmarkets in their hands. 

There was one glorious tramp in the rain, when the professor's greatlaugh rang out like a boy's for sheer high spirits, and when Margaretwas an enchanting vision in her long coat, with her cheeks glowingthrough the blown wet tendrils of her hair. That day they had tea inthe deserted charming little parlor of a tiny inn, and drank ittoasting their feet over a glowing fire. 

"Is Mrs. Carr-Bolt your mother's or your father's sister?" JohnTension asked, watching his companion with approval. 

"Oh, good gracious!" said Margaret, laughing over her teacup. "Haven'tI told you yet that I'm only her secretary? I never saw Mrs. CarrBolt until five years ago. "

"Perhaps you did tell me. But I got it into my head, that first day, that you were aunt and niece--"

"People do, I think, " Margaret said thoughtfully, "because we're bothfair. " She did not say that but for Mrs. Carr-Bolt's invaluable maidthe likeness would have been less marked, on this score at least. "Itaught school, " she went on simply, "and Mrs. Carr-Bolt happened tocome to my school, and she asked me to come to her. "

"You're all alone in the world, Miss Page?" He was eyeing heramusingly; the direct question came quite naturally. 

"Oh, dear me, no! My father and mother are living"; and feeling, asshe always did, a little claim on her loyalty, she added: "We are, orwere, rather, Southern people, --but my father settled in a very smallNew York town--"

"Mrs. Carr-Bolt told me that--I'd forgotten--" said ProfessorTenison, and he carried the matter entirely out of Margaret'shands, --much, much further indeed than she would have carried it, by continuing, "She tells me that Quincyport was named for yourmother's grandfather, and that Judge Paget was your father's father. "

"Father's uncle, " Margaret corrected, although as a matter of factJudge Paget had been no nearer than her father's second cousin. "But father always called him uncle, " Margaret assured herselfinwardly. To the Quincy-port claim she said nothing. Quincyportwas in the county that Mother's people had come from; Quincy wasa very unusual name, and the original Quincy had been a Charles, which certainly was one of Mother's family names. Margaret andJulie, browsing about among the colonial histories and genealogiesof the Weston Public Library years before, had come to a jubilantcertainty that mother's grandfather must have been the same man. But she did not feel quite so positive now. 

"Your people aren't still in the South, you said?"

"Oh, no!" Margaret cleared her throat. "They're in Weston--Weston, New York. "

"Weston! Not near Dayton?"

"Why, yes! Do you know Dayton?"

"Do I know Dayton?" He was like an eager child. "Why, my Aunt Pamelalives there; the only mother I ever knew! I knew Weston, too, alittle. Lovely homes there, some of them, --old colonial houses. Andyour mother lives there? Is she fond of flowers?"

"She loves them, " Margaret said, vaguely uncomfortable. 

"Well, she must know Aunt Pamela, " said John Tenison, enthusiastically. "I expect they'd be great friends. And you must knowAunt Pam. She's like a dainty old piece of china, or a--I don't know, a tea rose! She's never married, and she lives in the most charmingbrick house, with brick walls and hollyhocks all about it, and such anatmosphere inside! She has an old maid and an old gardener, and--don'tyou know--she's the sort of woman who likes to sit down under aportrait of your great-grandfather, in a dim parlor full of mahoganyand rose jars, with her black silk skirts spreading about her, and anOld Blue cup in her hand, and talk family, --how cousin this married aman whose people aren't anybody, and cousin that is outragingprecedent by naming her child for her husband's side of the house. She's a funny, dear old lady! You know, Miss Paget, " the professorwent on, with his eager, impersonal air, "when I met you, I thoughtyou didn't quite seem like a New Yorker and a Bar Harborer--if that'sthe word! Aunt Pam--you know she's my only mother, I got all my earlyknowledge from her!--Aunt Pam detests the usual New York girl, and theminute I met you I knew she'd like you. You'd sort of fit into theDayton picture, with your braids, and those ruffly things you wear!"

Margaret said simply, "I would love to meet her, " and began slowly todraw on her gloves. It surely was not requisite that she should add, "But you must not confuse my home with any such exquisitely orderedexistence as that. We are poor people, our house is crowded, our daysa severe and endless struggle with the ugly things of life. We havegood blood in our veins, but not more than hundreds of thousands ofother American families. My mother would not understand one tenth ofyour aunt's conversation; your aunt would find very uninteresting thethings that are vital to my mother. "

No, she couldn't say that. She picked up her dashing little hat, andpinned it over her loosened soft mass of yellow hair, and buttoned upher storm coat, and plunged her hands deep in her pockets. No, theprofessor would call on her at Bar Harbor, take a yachting trip withthe Carr-Boldts perhaps, and then--and then, when they were reallygood friends, some day she would ask. Mother to have a simple littleluncheon, and Mrs. Carr-Boldt would let her bring Dr. Tenison down inthe motor from New York. And meantime--no need to be too explicit. 

For just two happy weeks Margaret lived in Wonderland. The fourteendays were a revelation to her. Life seemed to grow warmer, more rosycolored. Little things became significant; every moment carried itsfreight of joy. Her beauty, always notable, became almost startling;there was a new glow in her cheeks and lips, new fire in the darklashed eyes that were so charming a contrast to her bright hair. Likea pair of joyous and irresponsible children she and John Tenisonwalked through the days, too happy ever to pause and ask themselveswhither they were going. 

Then abruptly it ended. Victoria, brought down from school inSwitzerland with various indications of something wrong, was in aflash a sick child; a child who must be hurried home to the onlysurgeon in whom Mrs. Carr-Boldt placed the least trust. There washurried packing, telephoning, wiring; it was only a few hours afterthe great German physician's diagnosis that they were all at therailway station, breathless, nervous, eager to get started. 

Doctor Tenison accompanied them to the station, and in the fiveminutes' wait before their train left, a little incident occurred, thememory of which clouded Margaret's dreams for many a day to come. Arriving, as they were departing, were the St. George Allens, noisy, rich, arrogant New Yorkers, for whom Margaret had a special dislike. The Allens fell joyously upon the Carr-Boldt party, with a confusionof greetings. "And Jack Tenison!" shouted Lily Allen, delightedly. "Well, what fun! What are you doing here?"

"I'm feeling a little lonely, " said the professor, smiling atMrs. Carr-Boldt. 

"Nothing like that; unsay them woyds, " said Maude Allen, cheerfully. "Mamma, make him dine with us! Say you will. "

"I assure you I was dreading the lonely evening, " John Tenison saidgratefully. Margaret's last glimpse of his face was between Lily'spink and cherry hat, and Maude's astonishing headgear of yellow straw, gold braid, spangled quills, and calla lilies. She carried a secretheartache through the worried fortnight of Victoria's illness, and thebusy days that followed; for Mrs. Carr-Boldt had one of many nervousbreak-downs, and took her turn at the hospital when Victoria camehome. For the first time in five happy years, Margaret drooped, andfor the first time a longing for money and power of her own gnawed atthe girl's heart. If she had but her share of these things, she couldhold her own against a hundred Maude and Lily Allens. 

As it was, she told herself a little bitterly, she was only asecretary, one of the hundred paid dependents of a rich woman. She wasonly, after all, a little middle-class country school teacher. 

CHAPTER V

"So you're going home to your own people for the week end, Peggy?--Andhow many of you are there, --I always forget?" said young Mrs. GeorgeCrawford, negligently. She tipped back in her chair, half shut hernovel, half shut her eyes, and looked critically at her finger-nails. 

Outside the big country house summer sunshine flooded the smoothlawns, sparkled on the falling diamonds and still pool of thefountain, glowed over acres of matchless wood and garden. But deepawnings made a clear cool shade indoors, and the wide rooms weredelightfully breezy. 

Margaret, busy with a ledger and cheque-book, smiled absently, finished a long column, made an orderly entry, and wiped her pen. 

"Seven, " said she, smiling. 

"Seven!" echoed Mrs. Potter, lazily. "My heaven--seven children!How early Victorian!"

"Isn't it?" said a third woman, a very beautiful woman, Mrs. WattsWatson, who was also idling and reading in the white-and-graymorning room. "Well, " she added, dropping her magazine, and lockingher hands about her head, "my grandmother had ten. Fancy tryingto raise ten children!"

"Oh, everything's different now, " the first speaker said indifferently. "Everything's more expensive, life is more complicated. People usedto have roomier houses, aunts and cousins and grandmothers living withthem; there was always some one at home with the children. Nowadayswe don't do that. "

"And thank the saints we don't!" said Mrs. Watson, piously. "Ifthere's one thing I can't stand, it's a houseful of things-in-law!"

"Of course; but I mean it made the family problem simpler, " Mrs. Crawford pursued. "Oh--and I don't know! Everything was so simple. Allthis business of sterilizing, and fumigating, and pasteurizing, andvaccinating, and boiling in boracic acid wasn't done in those days, "she finished vaguely. 

"Now there you are--now there you are!" said Mrs. Carr-Boldt, enteringinto the conversation with sudden force. Entirely recovered after hernervous collapse, as brisk as ever in her crisp linen gown, she wassigning the cheques that Margaret handed her, frowningly busy andabsorbed with her accounts. Now she leaned back in her chair, glancedat the watch at her wrist, and relaxed the cramped muscles of herbody. "That's exactly it, Rose, " said she to Mrs. Crawford. "Life ismore complicated. People--the very people who ought to havechildren--simply cannot afford it! And who's to blame? Can you blame awoman whose life is packed full of other things she simply cannot avoid, ifshe declines to complicate things any further? Our grandmothers didn'thave telephones, or motor-cars, or week-end affairs, or even--for thatmatter--manicures and hair-dressers! A good heavy silk was full dressall the year 'round. They washed their own hair. The 'up-stairs girl'answered the doorbell, --why, they didn't even have talcum powder andnursery refrigerators, and sanitary rugs that have to be washed everyday! Do you suppose my grandmother ever took a baby's temperature, orhad its eyes and nose examined, or its adenoids cut? They had morechildren, and they lost more children, --without any reason or logicwhatever. Poor things, they never thought of doing anything else, Isuppose! A fat old darky nurse brought up the whole crowd--it makesone shudder to think of it! Why, I had always a trained nurse, and theregular nurse used to take two baths a day. I insisted on that, andboth nurseries were washed out every day with chloride of potashsolution, and the iron beds washed every week! And even then Vic hadthis mastoid trouble, and Harriet got everything, almost. "

"Exactly, " said Mrs. Watson. "That's you, Hattie, with all the moneyin the world. Now do you wonder that some of the rest of us, who haveto think of money--in short, " she finished decidedly, "do you wonderthat people are not having children? At first, naturally, one doesn'twant them, --for three or four years, I'm sure, the thought doesn'tcome into one's head. But then, afterwards, --you see, I've beenmarried fifteen years now!--afterwards, I think it would be awfullynice to have one or two little kiddies, if it was a possible thing. But it isn't. "

"No, it isn't, " Mrs. Crawford agreed. "You don't want to have themunless you're able to do everything in the world for them. If I wereHat here, I'd have a dozen. "

"Oh, no, you wouldn't, " Mrs. Carr-Boldt assured her promptly. "No, youwouldn't! You can't leave everything to servants--there are clothes tothink of, and dentists, and special teachers, and it's frightfullyhard to get a nursery governess. And then you've got to see that theyknow the right people--don't you know?--and give them parties--I tellyou it's a strain. "

"Well, I don't believe my mother with her seven ever worked any harderthan you do!" said Margaret, with the admiration in her eyes that wasso sweet to the older woman. "Look at this morning--did you sit downbefore you came in here twenty minutes ago?"

"I? Indeed I didn't!" Mrs. Carr-Boldt said. "I had my breakfast andletters at seven, bath at eight, straightened out that squabblebetween Swann and the cook, --I think Paul is still simmering, butthat's neither here nor there!--then I went down with the vet to seethe mare. Joe'll never forgive me if I've really broken the creature'sknees!--then I telephoned mother, and saw Harriet's violin man, andtalked to that Italian Joe sent up to clean the oils, --he's in thegallery now, and--let's see--"

"Italian lesson, " Margaret prompted. 

"Italian lesson, " the other echoed, "and then came in here to signmy cheques. "

"You're so executive, Harriet!" said Mrs. Crawford, languidly. 

"Apropos of Swann, " Margaret said, "he confided to me that he hasseven children--on a little farm down on Long Island. "

"The butler--oh, I dare say!" Mrs. Watson agreed. "They can, because they've no standard to maintain--seven, or seventeen--theonly difference in expense is the actual amount of breadand butter consumed. "

"It's too bad, " said Mrs. Crawford. "But you've got to handle thequestion sanely and reasonably, like any other. Now, I love children, "she went on. "I'm perfectly crazy about my sister's little girl. She'seleven now, and the cutest thing alive. But when I think of allMabel's been through, since she was born, --I realize that it's alittle too much to expect of any woman. Now, look at us, --there arethousands of people fixed as we are. We're in an apartment hotel, withone maid. There's no room for a second maid, no porch and no backyard. Well, the baby comes, --one loses, before and after the event, just about six months of everything, and of course the expense isfrightful, but no matter!--the baby comes. We take a house. That meansthree indoor maids, George's chauffeur, a man for lawn andfurnace--that's five--"

"Doubling expenses, " said Mrs. Carr-Boldt, thoughtfully. 

"Doubling--! Trebling, or more. But that's not all. Baby must be outfrom eleven to three every day. So you've got to go sit by thecarriage in the park while nurse goes home for her lunch. Or, ifyou're out for luncheon, or giving a luncheon, she brings baby home, bumps the carriage into the basement, carries the baby upstairs, eatsher lunch in snatches--the maids don't like it, and I don't blamethem! I know how it was with Mabel; she had to give up that wonderfulold apartment of theirs on Gramercy Park. Sid had his studio on thetop floor, and she had such a lovely flat on the next floor, but therewas no lift, and no laundry, and the kitchen was small--a baby takesso much fussing! And then she lost that splendid cook of hers, Germaine. She wouldn't stand it. Up to that time she'd been cookingand waiting, too, but the baby ended that. Mabel took a house, and Sidpaid studio rent beside, and they had two maids, and then threemaids, --and what with their fighting, and their days off, andeternally changing, Mabel was a wreck. I've seen her trying to play abridge hand with Dorothy bobbing about on her arm--poor girl! Finallythey went to a hotel, and of course the child got older, and was lesstrouble. But to this day Mabel doesn't dare leave her alone for onesecond. And when they go out to dinner, and leave her alone in thehotel, of course the child cries--!"

"That's the worst of a kiddie, " Mrs. Watson said. "You can't everturn 'em off, as it were, or make it spades! They're always righton the job. I'll never forget Elsie Clay. She was the best friendI had, --my bridesmaid, too. She married, and after a while they tooka house in Jersey because of the baby. I went out there to lunch oneday. There she was in a house perfectly buried in trees, with therain sopping down outside, and smoke blowing out of the fireplace, and the drawing-room as dark as pitch at two o'clock. Elsie said sheused to nearly die of loneliness, sitting there all afternoon longlistening to the trains whistling, and the maid thumping irons in thekitchen, and picking up the baby's blocks. And they quarrelled, youknow, she and her husband--that was the beginning of the trouble. Finally the boy went to his grandmother, and now believe Elsie'smarried again, and living in California somewhere. "

Margaret, hanging over the back of her chair, was an attentive listener. 

"But people--people in town have children!" she said. "TheBlankenships have one, and haven't the de Normandys?"

"The Blankenship boy is in college, " said Mrs. Carr-Boldt; "and thelittle de Normandys lived with their grandmother until they were oldenough for boarding school. "

"Well, the Deanes have three!" Margaret said triumphantly. 

"Ah, well, my dear! Harry Deane's a rich man, and she was a Pell ofPhiladelphia, " Mrs. Crawford supplied promptly. "Now the Eastmans havethree, too, with a trained nurse apiece. "

"I see, " Margaret admitted slowly. 

"Far wiser to have none at all, " said Mrs. Carr-Boldt, in her decisiveway, "than to handicap them from the start by letting them see otherchildren enjoying pleasures and advantages they can't afford. And now, girls, let's stop wasting time. It's half-past eleven. Why can't wehave a game of auction right here and now?"

Margaret returned to her cheque-book with speed. The other two, gladto be aroused, heartily approved the idea. 

"Well, what does this very businesslike aspect imply?" Mrs. Carr-Boldtasked her secretary. 

"It means that I can't play cards, and you oughtn't, " Margaretsaid, laughing. 

"Oh--? Why not?"

"Because you've lots of things to do, and I've got to finish thesenotes, and I have to sit with Harriet while she does her German--"

"Where's Fraulein?"

"Fraulein's going to drive Vic over to the Partridges' for luncheon, and I promised Swann I'd talk to him about favors and things fortomorrow night. "

"Well--busy Lizzie! And what have I to do?"

Margaret reached for a well-filled date-book. 

"You were to decide about those alterations, the porch and diningroom, you know, " said she. "There are some architect's sketches aroundhere; the man's going to be here early in the morning. You said you'ddrive to the yacht club, to see about the stage for the children'splay; you were to stop on the way back and see old Mrs. McNab amoment. You wanted to write Mrs. Polk a note to catch the 'KaiserinAugusta', and luncheon's early because of the Kellogg bridge. " She shutthe book. "And call Mr. Carr-Boldt at the club at one, " she added. 

"All that, now fancy!" said her employer, admiringly. 

She had swept some scattered magazines from a small table, andwas now seated there, negligently shuffling a pack of cards inher fine white hands. 

"Ring, will you, Peggy?" said she. 

"And the boat races are to-day, and you dine at Oaks-in-the-Field, "Margaret supplemented inflexibly. 

"Yes? Well, come and beat the seven of clubs, " said Mrs. Carr-Boldt, spreading the deck for the draw. 

"Fraulein, " she said sweetly, a moment later, when a maid had summonedthat worthy and earnest governess, "tell Miss Harriet that Motherdoesn't want her to do her German to-day, it's too warm. Tell her thatshe's to go with you and Miss Victoria for a drive. Thank you. And, Fraulein, will you telephone old Mrs. McNab, and say that Mrs. CarrBoldt is lying down with a severe headache, and she won't be able tocome in this morning? Thank you. And, Fraulein, telephone the yachtclub, will you? And tell Mr. Mathews that Mrs. Carr-Boldt isindisposed and he'll have to come back this afternoon. I'll talk tohim before the children's races. And--one thing more! Will you tellSwann Miss Paget will see him about to-morrow's dinner when she comesback from the yacht club to-day? And tell him to send us somethingcool to drink now. Thank you so much. No, shut it. Thank you. Havea nice drive!"

They all drew up their chairs to the table. 

"You and I, Rose, " said Mrs. Watson. "I'm so glad you suggested this, Hattie. I am dying to play. "

"It really rests me more than anything else, " said Mrs. Carr-Boldt. "Two spades. "

CHAPTER VI

Archerton, a blur of flying trees and houses, bright in the latesunlight, Pottsville, with children wading and shouting, under thebridge, Hunt's Crossing, then the next would be Weston--and home. 

Margaret, beginning to gather wraps and small possessions together, sighed. She sighed partly because her head ached, partly because thehot trip had mussed her usual fresh trimness, largely because she wasgoing home. 

This was August; her last trip home had been between Christmas and theNew Year. She had sent a box from Germany at Easter, ties for theboys, silk scarves for Rebecca, books for Dad; and she had writtenMother for her birthday in June, and enclosed an exquisite bit of lacein the letter; but although Victoria's illness had brought her toAmerica nearly three months ago, it had somehow been impossible, shewrote them, to come home until now. Margaret had paid a great deal forthe lace, as a sort of salve for her conscience, --not that Motherwould ever wear it!

Here was Weston. Weston looking its very ugliest in the level pitilessrays of the afternoon sun. The town, like most of its inhabitants, waswilted and grimed after the burden and heat of the long summer day. Margaret carried her heavy suit-case slowly up Main Street. Shopwindows were spotted and dusty, and shopkeepers, standing idle intheir doorways, looked spotted and dusty too. A cloud of flies foughtand surged about the closely guarded door of the butcher shop; adelivery cart was at the curb, the discouraged horse switching anineffectual tail. 

As Margaret passed this cart, a tall boy of fourteen came out of theshop with a bang of the wire-netting door, and slid a basket into theback of the cart. 

"Teddy!" said Margaret, irritation evident in her voice, in spiteof herself. 

"Hello, Mark!" said her brother, delightedly. "Say, great to see you!Get in on the four-ten?"

"Ted, " said Margaret, kissing him, as the Pagets always quitesimply kissed each other when they met, "what are you drivingCostello's cart for?"

"Like to, " said Theodore, simply. "Mother doesn't care. Say, you lookswell, Mark!"

"What makes you want to drive this horrid cart, Ted?" protestedMargaret. "What does Costello pay you?"

"Pay me?" scowled her brother, gathering up the reins. "Oh, come outof it, Marg'ret! He doesn't pay me anything. Don't you make Motherstop me, either, will you?" he ended anxiously. 

"Of course I won't!" Margaret said impatiently. 

"Giddap, Ruth!" said Theodore; but departing, he pulled up to addcheerfully, "Say, Dad didn't get his raise. "

"Did?" said Margaret, brightening. 

"Didn't!" He grinned affectionately upon her as with a dislocatingjerk the cart started a ricochetting career down the street, withthat abandon known only to butchers' carts. Margaret, changingher heavy suit-case to the rested arm, was still vexedly watchingit, when two girls, laughing in the open doorway of the expresscompany's office across the street, caught sight of her. One ofthem, a little vision of pink hat and ruffles, and dark eyes andhair, came running to join her. 

Rebecca was now sixteen, and of all the handsome Pagets the best tolook upon. She was dressed according to her youthful lights; everyseparate article of her apparel to-day, from her rowdyish little hatto her openwork hose, represented a battle with Mrs. Paget'spreconceived ideas as to propriety in dress, with the honors largelyfor Rebecca. Rebecca had grown up, in eight months, her sisterthought, confusedly; she was no longer the adorable, un-self-conscioustomboy who fought and skated and toboganned with the boys. 

"Hello, darling dear!" said Rebecca. "Too bad no one met you! We allthought you were coming on the six. Crazy about your suit! Here'sMaudie Pratt. You know Maudie, don't you, Mark?"

Margaret knew Maudie. Rebecca's infatuation for plain, heavy-featured, complacent Miss Pratt was a standing mystery in the Paget family. Margaret smiled, bowed. 

"I think we stumbled upon a pretty little secret of yours to-day, MissMargaret, " said Maudie, with her best company manner, as they walkedalong. Margaret raised her eyebrows. "Rebel and I, " Maudie wenton, --Rebecca was at the age that seeks a piquant substitute for anunpoetical family name, --"Rebel and I are wondering if we may ask youwho Mr. John Tenison is?"

John Tenison! Margaret's heart stood still with a shock almostsickening, then beat furiously. What--how--who on earth had toldthem anything of John Tenison? Coloring high, she looked sharplyat Rebecca. 

"Cheer up, angel, " said Rebecca, "he's not dead. He sent a telegramto-day, and Mother opened it--"

"Naturally, " said Margaret, concealing an agony of impatience, asRebecca paused apologetically. 

"He's with his aunt, at Dayton, up the road here, " continuedRebecca; "and wants you to wire him if he may come down andspend tomorrow here. "

Margaret drew a relieved breath. There was time to turn around, at least. 

"Who is he, sis?" asked Rebecca. 

"Why, he's an awfully clever professor, honey, " Margaret answeredserenely. "We heard him lecture in Germany this spring, and met himafterwards. I liked him very much. He's tremendously interesting. " Shetried to keep out of her voice the thrill that shook her at the merethought of him. Confused pain and pleasure stirred her to the veryheart. --He wanted to come to see her, he must have telephoned Mrs. Carr-Boldt and asked to call, or he would not have known that she wasat home this week end, --surely that was significant, surely that meantsomething! The thought was all pleasure, so great a joy and prideindeed that Margaret was conscious of wanting to lay it aside, tothink of, dream of, ponder over, when she was alone. But, on the otherhand, there was instantly the miserable conviction that he mustn't beallowed to come to Weston, no--no--she couldn't have him see her homeand her people on a crowded hot summer Sunday, when the town lookedits ugliest, and the children were home from school, and when thescramble to get to church and to safely accomplish the one o'clockdinner exhausted the women of the family. And how could she keep himfrom coming, what excuse could she give?

"Don't you want him to come--is he old and fussy?" asked Rebecca, interestedly. 

"I'll see, " Margaret answered vaguely. "No, he's only thirty-twoor four. "

"And charming!" said Maudie archly. Margaret eyed her with acoolness worthy of Mrs. Carr-Boldt herself, and then turnedrather pointedly to Rebecca. 

"How's Mother, Becky?"

"Oh, she's fine!" Rebecca said, absently in her turn. When Maudie leftthem at the next corner, she said quickly:--

"Mark, did you see where we were when I saw you?"

"At the express office--? Yes, " Margaret said, surprised. 

"Well, listen, " said Rebecca, reddening. "Don't say anything to Motherabout it, will you? She thinks those boys are fresh in there--Shedon't like me to go in!"

"Oh, Beck--then you oughtn't!" Margaret protested. 

"Well, I wasn't!" Rebecca said uncomfortably. "We went to see ifMaudie's racket had come. You won't--will you, Mark?"

"Tell Mother--no, I won't, " Margaret said, with a long sigh. Shelooked sideways at Rebecca, --the dainty, fast-forming littlefigure, the even ripple and curl of her plaited hair, the assuredpose of the pretty head. Victoria Carr-Boldt, just Rebecca's age, as a big schoolgirl still, self-conscious and inarticulate, herwell-groomed hair in an unbecoming "club, " her well-hung skirtsunbecomingly short. Margaret had half expected to find Rebeccaat the same stage of development. 

Rebecca was cheerful now, the promise exacted, and cheerfullyobserved:--

"Dad didn't get his raise--isn't that the limit?"

Margaret sighed again, shrugged wearily. They were in their own quietside street now, a street lined with ugly, shabby houses andbeautified by magnificent old elms and maples. The Pagets' ownparticular gate was weather-peeled, the lawn trampled and bare. Abulging wire netting door gave on the shabby old hall Margaret knew sowell; she went on into the familiar rooms, acutely conscious, as shealways was for the first hour or two at home, of the bareness andugliness everywhere--the old sofa that sagged in the seat, thescratched rockers, the bookcases overflowing with coverless magazines, and the old square piano half-buried under loose sheets of music. 

Duncan sat on the piano bench--gloomily sawing at a violoncello. Robert, --nine now, with all his pretty baby roundness gone, a leanlittle burned, peeling face, and big teeth missing when he smiled, stood in the bay window, twisting the already limp net curtains into atight rope. Each boy gave Margaret a kiss that seemed curiously totaste of dust, sunburn, and freckles, before she followed a noise ofhissing and voices to the kitchen to find Mother. 

The kitchen, at five o'clock on Saturday afternoon, was in wildconfusion, and insufferably hot. Margaret had a distinct impressionthat not a movable article therein was in place, and not an availableinch of tables or chairs unused, before her eyes reached the tallfigure of the woman in a gown of chocolate percale, who was fryingcutlets at the big littered range. Her face was dark with heat, andstreaked with perspiration. She turned as Margaret entered, and gavea delighted cry. 

"Well, there's my girl! Bless her heart! Look out for this spoon, lovey, " she added immediately, giving the girl a guarded embrace. Tears of joy stood frankly in her fine eyes. 

"I meant to have all of this out of the way, dear, " apologizedMrs. Paget, with a gesture that included cakes in the process offrosting, salad vegetables in the process of cooling, soup in theprocess of getting strained, great loaves of bread that sent adelicious fragrance over all the other odors. "But we didn't lookfor you until six. "

"Oh, no matter!" Margaret said bravely. 

"Rebecca tell you Dad didn't get his raise?" called Mrs. Paget, in avoice that rose above the various noises of the kitchen. "Blanche!"she protested, "can't that wait?" for the old negress had begun tocrack ice with deafening smashes. But Blanche did not hear, so Mrs. Paget continued loudly: "Dad saw Redman himself; he'll tell you aboutit! Don't stay in the kitchen in that pretty dress, dear! I'm comingright upstairs. "

It was very hot upstairs; the bedrooms smelled faintly of matting, thesoap in the bathroom was shrivelled in its saucer. In Margaret's oldroom the week's washing had been piled high on the bed. She took offher hat and linen coat, brushed her hair back from her face, flingingher head back and shutting her eyes the better to fight tears, as shedid so, and began to assort the collars and shirts and put them away. For Dad's bureau--for Bruce's bureau--for the boys' bureau, tablecloths to go downstairs, towels for the shelves in the bathroom. Twolittle shirtwaists for Rebecca with little holes torn through themwhere collar and belt pins belonged. 

Her last journey took her to the big, third-story room where the threeyounger boys slept. The three narrow beds were still unmade, and thewestern sunlight poured over tumbled blankets and the scattered smallpossessions that seem to ooze from the pores of little boys, Margaretset her lips distastefully as she brought order out of chaos. It wasall wrong, somehow, she thought, gathering handkerchiefs and matchesand "Nick Carters" and the oiled paper that had wrapped caramels fromunder the pillows that would in a few hours harbor a fresh supply. 

She went out on the porch in time to put her arms about her father'sshabby shoulders when he came in. Mr. Paget was tired, and he told hiswife and daughters that he thought he was a very sick man. Margaret'smother met this statement with an anxious solicitude that was verysoothing to the sufferer. She made Mark get Daddy his slippers andloose coat, and suggested that Rebecca shake up the dining-room couchbefore she established him there, in a rampart of pillows. No outsiderwould have dreamed that Mrs. Paget had dealt with this exact emergencysome hundreds of times in the past twenty years. 

Mr. Paget, reclining, shut his eyes, remarked that he had had an"awful, awful day, " and wondered faintly if it would be too muchtrouble to have "somebody" make him just a little milk toast forhis dinner. He smiled at Margaret when she sat down beside him;all the children were dear, but the oldest daughter knew she camefirst with her father. 

"Getting to be an old, old man!" he said wearily, and Margaret hatedherself because she had to quell an impatient impulse to tell him hewas merely tired and cross and hungry, before she could say, in theproper soothing tone, "Don't talk that way, Dad darling!" She had tolisten to a long account of the "raise, " wincing every time her fatheremphasized the difference between her own position and that of heremployer. Dad was at least the equal of any one in Weston! Why, aman Dad's age oughtn't to be humbly asking a raise, he ought to bedictating now. It was just Dad's way of looking at things, and itwas all wrong. 

"Well, I'll tell you one thing!" said Rebecca, who had come in with abrimming soup plate of milk toast, "Joe Redman gave a picnic lastmonth, and he came here with his mother, in the car, to ask me. And Iwas the scornfullest thing you ever saw, wasn't I, Ted? Not much!"

"Oh, Beck, you oughtn't to mix social and business things that way!"Margaret said helplessly. 

"Dinner!" screamed the nine-year-old Robert, breaking into the room atthis point, and "Dinner!" said Mrs. Paget, wearily, cheerfully, fromthe chair into which she had dropped at the head of the table. Mr. Paget, revived by sympathy, milk toast, and Rebecca's attentions, tookhis place at the foot, and Bruce the chair between Margaret and hismother. Like the younger boys, whose almost confluent freckles hadbeen brought into unusual prominence by violently applied soap andwater, and whose hair dripped on their collars, he had brushed up fordinner, but his negligee shirt and corduroy trousers were stained andspotted from machine oil. Margaret, comparing him secretly to the menshe knew, as daintily groomed as women, in their spotless white, felta little resentment that Bruce's tired face was so contented, and saidto herself again that it was all wrong. 

Dinner was the same old haphazard meal with which she was so familiar;Blanche supplying an occasional reproof to the boys, Ted ignoring hisvegetables, and ready in an incredibly short time for a second cutlet, and Robert begging for corn syrup, immediately after the soup, andspilling it from his bread. Mrs. Paget was flushed, her disappearanceskitchenward frequent. She wanted Margaret to tell her all about Mr. Tenison. Margaret laughed, and said there was nothing to tell. 

"You might get a horse and buggy from Peterson's, " suggested Mrs. Paget, interestedly, "and drive about after dinner. "

"Oh, Mother, I don't think I had better let him come!" Margaret said. "There's so many of us, and such confusion, on Sunday! Ju and Harryare almost sure to come over. "

"Yes, I guess they will, " Mrs. Paget said, with her sudden radiantsmile. "Ju is so dear in her little house, and Harry's so sweet withher, " she went on with vivacity. "Daddy and I had dinner with themTuesday. Bruce said Rebecca was lovely with the boys, --we're goingto Julie's again sometime. I declare it's so long since we've beenanywhere without the children that we both felt funny. It was alovely evening. "

"You're too much tied, Mother, " Margaret said affectionately. 

"Not now!" her mother protested radiantly. "With all my babies turninginto men and women so fast. And I'll have you all together to-morrow--andyour friend I hope, too, Mark, " she added hospitably. "You hadbetter let him come, dear. There's a big dinner, and I always freezemore cream than we need, anyway, because Daddy likes a plate of itabout four o'clock, if there's any left. "

"Well--but there's nothing to do, " Margaret protested. 

"No, but dinner takes quite a while, " Mrs. Paget suggested a littledoubtfully; "and we could have a nice talk on the porch, and then youcould go driving or walking. I wish there was something cool andpleasant to do, Mark, " she finished a little wistfully. "You do justas you think best about asking him to come. "

"I think I'll wire him that another time would be better, " saidMargaret, slowly. "Sometime we'll regularly arrange for it. "

"Well, perhaps that would be best, " her mother agreed. "Some othertime we'll send the boys off before dinner, and have things all niceand quiet. In October, say, when the trees are so pretty. I don't knowbut what that's my favorite time of all the year!"

Margaret looked at her as if she found something new in the tired, bright face. She could not understand why her mother--still tooheated to commence eating her dinner--should radiate so definite anatmosphere of content, as she sat back a little breathless, after theflurry of serving. She herself felt injured and sore, not at the meredisappointment it caused her to put off John Tendon's visit, butbecause she felt more acutely than ever to-night the differencebetween his position and her own. 

"Something nice has happened, Mother?" she hazarded, entering with aneffort into the older woman's mood. 

"Nothing special. " Her mother's happy eyes ranged about the circle ofyoung faces. "But it's so lovely to have you here, and to have Jucoming to-morrow, " she said. "I just wish Daddy could build a housefor each one of you, as you marry and settle down, right around ourhouse in a circle, as they say people do sometimes in the Old World. Ithink then I'd have nothing in life to wish for!"

"Oh, Mother--in Weston!" Margaret said hopelessly, but her motherdid not catch it. 

"Not, Mark, " she went on hastily and earnestly, "that I'm not morethan grateful to God for all His goodness, as it is! I look at otherwomen, and I wonder, I wonder--what I have done to be so blessed!Mark--" her face suddenly glowed, she leaned a little toward herdaughter, "dearie, I must tell you, " she said; "it's about Ju--"

Their eyes met in the pause. 

"Mother--really?" Margaret said slowly. 

"She told me on Tuesday, . " Mrs. Paget said, with glistening eyes. "Now, not a word to any one, Mark, --but she'll want you to know!"

"And is she glad?" Margaret said, unable to rejoice. 

"Glad?" Mrs. Paget echoed, her face gladness itself. 

"Well, Ju's so young, --just twenty-one, " Margaret submitted a littleuncertainly; "and she's been so free, --and they're just in the newhouse! And I thought they were going to Europe!"

"Oh, Europe!" Mrs. Paget dismissed it cheerfully. "Why, it's thehappiest time in a woman's life, Mark! Or I don't know, though, " shewent on thoughtfully, --"I don't know but what I was happiest when youwere all tiny, tumbling about me, and climbing into my lap. .. . Why, you love children, dear, " she finished, with a shade of reproach inher voice, as Margaret still looked sober. 

"Yes, I know, Mother, " Margaret said. "But Julie's only got the onemaid, and I don't suppose they can have another. I hope to goodness Juwon't get herself all run down!"

Her mother laughed. "You remind me of Grandma Paget, " said she, cheerfully; "she lived ten miles away when we were married, but shecame in when Bruce was born. She was rather a proud, cold womanherself, but she was very sweet to me. Well, then little Charlie came, fourteen months later, and she took that very seriously. Mother wasdead, you know, and she stayed with me again, and worried me half sicktelling me that it wasn't fair to Bruce and it wasn't fair to Charlieto divide my time between them that way. Well, then when my third babywas coming, I didn't dare tell her. Dad kept telling me to, and Icouldn't, because I knew what a calamity a third would seem to her!Finally she went to visit Aunt Rebecca out West, and it was the veryday she got back that the baby came. She came upstairs--she'd comeright up from the train, and not seen any one but Dad; and he wasn'tvery intelligible, I guess--and she sat down and took the baby in herarms, and says she, looking at me sort of patiently, yet as if shewas exasperated too: 'Well, this is a nice way to do, the minute my back'sturned! What are you going to call him, Julia?' And I said, 'I'm going to call her Margaret, for my dear husband's mother, andshe's going to be beautiful and good, and grow up to marry thePresident!'" Mrs. Paget's merry laugh rang out. "I never shallforget your grandmother's face. "

"Just the same, " Mrs. Paget added, with a sudden deep sigh, "whenlittle Charlie left us, the next year, and Brucie and Dad were both soill, she and I agreed that you--you were just talking and trying towalk--were the only comfort we had! I could wish my girls no greaterhappiness than my children have been to me, " finished Mother, contentedly. 

"I know, " Margaret began, half angrily; "but what about the children?"she was going to add. But somehow the arguments she had used soplausibly did not utter themselves easily to Mother, whose childrenwould carry into their own middle age a wholesome dread of her anger. Margaret faltered, and merely scowled. 

"I don't like to see that expression on your face, dearie, " her mothersaid, as she might have said it to an eight-year-old child. "Be mysweet girl! Why, marriage isn't marriage without children, Mark. I'vebeen thinking all week of having a baby in my arms again, --it's solong since Rob was a baby. "

Margaret devoted herself, with a rather sullen face, to her dessert. Mother would never feel as she did about these things, and what wasthe use of arguing? In the silence she heard her father speak loudlyand suddenly. 

"I am not in a position to have my children squander money on concertsand candy, " he said. Margaret forgot her own grievance, and looked up. The boys looked resentful and gloomy; Rebecca was flushed, her eyesdropped, her lips trembling with disappointment. 

"I had promised to take them to the Elks Concert and dance, " Mrs. Paget interpreted hastily. "But now Dad says the Bakers are comingover to play whist. "

"Is it going to be a good show, Ted?" Margaret asked. 

"Oh, " Rebecca flashed into instant glowing response. "It's goingto be a dandy! Every one's going to be there! Ford Patterson isgoing to do a monologue, --he's as good as a professional!--andGeorge is going to send up a bunch of carrots and parsnips! Andthe Weston Male Quartette, Mark, and a playlet by the Hunt'sCrossing Amateur Theatrical Society!"

"Oh--oh!"--Margaret mimicked the eager rush of words. "Let me takethem, Dad, " she pleaded, "if it's going to be as fine as all that!I'll stand treat for the crowd. "

"Oh, Mark, you darling!" burst from the rapturous Rebecca. 

"Say, gee, we've got to get there early!" Theodore warned them, finishing his pudding with one mammoth spoonful. 

"If you take them, my dear, " Mr. Paget said graciously, "of courseMother and I are quite satisfied. "

"I'll hold Robert by one ear and Rebecca by another, " Margaretpromised; "and if she so much as dares to look at George or Ted orJimmy Barr or Paul, I'll--"

"Oh, Jimmy belongs to Louise, now, " said Rebecca, radiantly. There wasa joyous shout of laughter from the light-hearted juniors, andRebecca, seeing her artless admission too late, turned scarlet whileshe laughed. Dinner broke up in confusion, as dinner at home alwaysdid, and everybody straggled upstairs to dress. 

Margaret, changing her dress in a room that was insufferably hot, because the shades must be down, and the gas-lights as high aspossible, reflected that another forty-eight hours would see herspeeding back to the world of cool, awninged interiors, uniformedmaids, the clink of iced glasses, the flash of white sails on bluewater. She could surely afford for that time to be patient and sweet. She lifted Rebecca's starched petticoat from the bed to give Mother aseat, when Mother came rather wearily in to watch them. 

"Sweet girl to take them, Mark, " said Mother, appreciatively. "Iwas going to ask Brucie. But he's gone to bed, poor fellow; he'sworn out to-night. "

"He had a letter from Ned Gunther this morning, " said Rebecca, cheerfully, --powdering the tip of her pretty nose, her eyes almostcrossed with concentration, --"and I think it made him blue all day. "

"Ned Gunther?" said Margaret. 

"Chum at college, " Rebecca elucidated; "a lot of them are going toHonolulu, just for this month, and of course they wanted Bruce. Mark, does that show?"

Margaret's heart ached for the beloved brother's disappointment. Thereit was again, all wrong! Before she left the house with the riotingyoungsters, she ran upstairs to his room. Bruce, surrounded byscientific magazines, a drop-light with a vivid green shade over hisshoulder, looked up with a welcoming smile. 

"Sit down and talk, Mark, " said he. 

Margaret explained her hurry. 

"Bruce, --this isn't much fun!" she said, looking about the roomwith its shabby dresser and worn carpet. "Why aren't you goingto the concert?"

"Is there a concert?" he asked, surprised. 

"Why, didn't you hear us talking at dinner? The Elks, you know. "

"Well--sure! I meant to go to that. I forgot it was to-night, " hesaid, with his lazy smile. "I came home all in, forgot everything. "

"Oh, come!" Margaret urged, as eagerly as Rebecca ever did. "It's early, Bruce, come on! You don't have to shave! We'llhold a seat, --come on!"

"Sure, I will!" he said, suddenly roused. The magazines rapped on thefloor, and Margaret had barely shut the door behind her when she heardhis bare feet follow them. 

It was like old times to sit next to him through the hot merryevening, while Rebecca glowed like a little rose among her friends, and the smaller boys tickled her ear with their whispered comments. Margaret had sent a telegram to Professor Tenison, and felt relievedthat at least that strain was spared her. She even danced with Bruceafter the concert, and with one or two old friends. 

Afterwards, they strolled back slowly through the inky summer dark, finding the house hot and close when they came in. Margaret wentupstairs, hearing her mother's apologetic, "Oh, Dad, why didn't I giveyou back your club?" as she passed the dining-room door. She knewMother hated whist, and wondered rather irritably why she played it. The Paget family was slow to settle down. Robert became tearful andwhining before he was finally bumped protesting into bed. Theodore andDuncan prolonged their ablutions until the noise of shouting, splashing, and thumping in the bathroom brought Mother to the foot ofthe stairs. Rebecca was conversational. She lay with her slender armslocked behind her head on the pillow, and talked, as Julie had talkedon that memorable night five years ago. Margaret, restless in the hotdarkness, wondering whether the maddening little shaft of light fromthe hall gas was annoying enough to warrant the effort of getting upand extinguishing it, listened and listened. 

Rebecca wanted to join the Stage Club, but Mother wouldn't let herunless Bruce did. Rebecca belonged to the Progressive Diners. Did Marksuppose Mother'd think she was crazy if she asked the family not to bein evidence when the crowd came to the house for the salad course? AndRebecca wanted to write to Bruce's chum, not regularly, you know, Mark, but just now and then, he was so nice! And Mother didn't likethe idea. Margaret was obviously supposed to lend a hand with theseinteresting tangles. 

". .. And I said, 'Certainly not! I won't unmask at all, if it comesto that!'. .. And imagine that elegant fellow carrying my old booksand my skates! So I wrote, and Maudie and I decided. .. And Mark, if it wasn't a perfectly gorgeous box of roses!. .. That old, olddimity, but Mother pressed and freshened it up. .. . Not that I wantto marry him, or any one. .. "

Margaret wakened from uneasy drowsing with a start. The hall was darknow, the room cooler. Rebecca was asleep. Hands, hands she knew well, were drawing a light covering over her shoulders. She opened her eyesto see her mother. 

"I've been wondering if you're disappointed about your friend notcoming to-morrow, Mark?" said the tender voice. 

"Oh, no-o!" said Margaret, hardily. "Mother--why are you up so late?"

"Just going to bed, " said the other, soothingly. "Blanche forgot toput the oatmeal into the cooker, and I went downstairs again. I'll saymy prayers in here. "

Margaret went off to sleep again, as she had so many hundred timesbefore, with her mother kneeling beside her. 

CHAPTER VII

It seemed but a few moments before the blazing Sunday was precipitatedupon them, and everybody was late for everything. 

The kitchen was filled with the smoke from hot griddles blue in thesunshine, when Margaret went downstairs; and in the dining-room thesame merciless light fell upon the sticky syrup pitcher, and upon thestains on the tablecloth. Cream had been brought in in the bottle, thebread tray was heaped with orange skins, and the rolls piled on thetablecloth. Bruce, who had already been to church with Mother, and wasoff for a day's sail, was dividing his attention between Robert andhis watch. Rebecca, daintily busy with the special cup and plate thatwere one of her little affectations, was all ready for the day, exceptas to dress, wearing a thin little kimono over her blue ribbons andstarched embroideries. Mother was putting up a little lunch for Bruce. Confusion reigned. The younger boys were urged to hurry, if theywanted to make the "nine. " Rebecca was going to wait for the "halfpast ten, " because the "kids sang at nine, and it was fierce. " Mr. Paget and his sons departed together, and the girls went upstairs fora hot, tiring tussle with beds and dusting before starting for church. They left their mother busy with the cream freezer in the kitchen. Itwas very hot even then. 

But it was still hotter, walking home in the burning midday stillness. A group of young people waited lazily for letters, under the treesoutside the post-office door. Otherwise the main street was deserted. A languid little breeze brought the far echoes of pianos andphonographs from this direction and that. 

"Who's that on the porch?" said Rebecca, suddenly, as they nearedhome, instantly finding the stranger among her father and the boys. Margaret, glancing up sharply, saw, almost with a sensation ofsickness, the big, ungainly figure, the beaming smile, and the shockof dark hair that belonged to nobody else in the world but JohnTenison, A stony chill settled about her heart as she went up thesteps and gave him her hand. 

Oh, if he only couldn't stay to dinner, she prayed. Oh, if only hecould spare them time for no more than a flying visit! With a sinkingheart she smiled her greetings. 

"Doctor Tenison, --this is very nice of you!" Margaret said. "Have youmet my father--my small brothers?"

"We have been having a great talk, " said John Tenison, genially, "andthis young man--" he indicated Robert, "has been showing me thecolored supplement of the paper. I didn't have any word from you, MissPaget, " he went on, "so I took the chance of finding you. And yourmother has assured me that I will not put her out by staying to haveluncheon with you. "

"Oh, that's nice!" Margaret said mechanically, trying to dislodgeRobert from the most comfortable chair by a significant touch of herfingers on his small shoulder. Robert perfectly understood that shewanted the chair, but continued in absorbed study of the comicsupplement, merely wriggling resentfully at Margaret's touch. Margaret, at the moment, would have been glad to use violence on thestubborn, serene little figure. When he was finally dislodged, she satdown, still flushed from her walk and the nervousness Doctor Tenison'sarrival caused her, and tried to bring the conversation into a normalchannel. But an interruption occurred in the arrival of Harry andJulie in the runabout; the little boys swarmed down to examine it. Julie, very pretty, with a perceptible little new air of dignity, wentupstairs to freshen hair and gown, and Harry, pushing his straw hatback the better to mop his forehead, immediately engaged DoctorTenison's attention with the details of what sounded to Margaretlike a particularly uninteresting operation, which he had witnessedthe day before. 

Utterly discouraged, and acutely wretched, Margaret presently slippedaway, and went into the kitchen, to lend a hand with the dinnerreparations if help was needed. The room presented a scene if possiblea little more confused than that of the day before, and was certainlyhotter. Her mother, flushed and hurried, in a fresh but ratherunbecoming gingham, was putting up a cold supper for the younger boys, who, having duly attended to their religious duties, were to take along afternoon tramp, with a possible interval of fishing. Shebuttered each slice of the great loaf before she cut it, and lifted itcarefully on the knife before beginning the next slice. An opened potof jam stood at her elbow. A tin cup and the boys' fishing-gear lay ona chair. Theodore and Duncan themselves hung over these preparations;never apparently helping themselves to food, yet never with emptymouths. Blanche, moaning "The Palms" with the insistence of one whowishes to show her entire familiarity with a melody, was at the range. 

Roast veal, instead of the smothered chickens her mother had so often, and cooked so deliciously, a mountain of mashed potato--corn on thecob, and an enormous heavy salad mantled with mayonnaise--Margaretcould have wept over the hopelessly plebeian dinner!

"Mother, mayn't I get down the finger-bowls, " she asked; "and mayn'twe have black coffee in the silver pot, afterwards?"

Mrs. Paget looked absently at her for a dubious second. "I don't liketo ask Blanche to wash all that extra glass, " she said, in anundertone, adding briskly to Theodore, "No, no, Ted! You can't haveall that cake. Half that!" and to Blanche herself, "Don't leave thedoor open when you go in, Blanche; I just drove all the flies out ofthe dining-room. " Then she returned to Margaret with a cordial: "Why, certainly, dear! Any one who wants coffee, after tea, can have it! Dadalways wants his cup of tea. "

"Nobody but us ever serves tea with dinner!" Margaret muttered; buther mother did not hear it. She buckled the strap of the lunch-box, straightened her back with an air of relief, and pushed down herrolled-up sleeves. 

"Don't lose that napkin, Ted, " said she, and receiving the boy'sgrateful kiss haphazard between her hair and forehead, she addedaffectionately: "You're more than welcome, dear! We're all ready, Mark, --go and tell them, dear! All right, Blanche. "

Ruffled and angry, Margaret went to summon the others to dinner. Maudie had joined them on the porch now, and had been urged to stay, and was already trying her youthful wiles on the professor. 

"Well, he'll have to leave on the five o'clock!" Margaret reflected, steeled to bitter endurance until that time. For everything wentwrong, and dinner was one long nightmare for her. Professor Tenison'snapkin turned out to be a traycloth. Blanche, asked for another, disappeared for several minutes, and returned without it, to whisperin Mrs. Paget's ear. Mrs. Paget immediately sent her own fresh napkinto the guest. The incident, or something in their murmuredconversation, gave Rebecca and Maudie "the giggles. " There seemed anexhausting amount of passing and repassing of plates. The room washot, the supply of ice insufficient. Mr. Paget dwelt on his favoritegrievance--"the old man isn't needed, these days. They're getting allyoung fellows into the bank. They put young college fellows in therewho are getting pretty near the money I am--after twenty-five years!"In any pause, Mrs. Paget could be heard, patiently dissuading littleRobert from his fixed intention of accompanying the older boys ontheir walk, whether invited or uninvited. 

John Tenison behaved charmingly, eating his dinner with enjoyment, looking interestedly from one face to the other, sympathetic, alert, and amused. But Margaret writhed in spirit at what hemust be thinking. 

Finally the ice cream, in a melting condition, and the chocolate cake, very sticky, made their appearance; and although these were regularSunday treats, the boys felt called upon to cheer. Julie asked hermother in an audible undertone if she "ought" to eat cake. DoctorTenison produced an enormous box of chocolates, and Margaret wasdisgusted with the frantic scramble her brothers made to secure them. 

"If you're going for a walk, dear, " her mother said, when the meal wasover, "you'd better go. It's almost three now. "

"I don't know whether we will, it's so hot, " Margaret said, in anindifferent tone, but she could easily have broken into disheartenedtears. 

"Oh, go, " Julie urged, "it's much cooler out. " They were up inMargaret's old room, Mrs. Paget tying a big apron about Julie'sruffled frock, preparatory to an attack upon the demoralized kitchen. "We think he's lovely, " the little matron went on approvingly. "Don'tfall in love with him, Mark. "

"Why not?" Margaret said carelessly, pinning on her hat. 

"Well, I don't imagine he's a marrying man, " said the young authority, wisely. Margaret flushed, and was angry at herself for flushing. Butwhen Mrs. Paget had gone downstairs, Julie came very simply andcharmingly over to her sister, and standing close beside her withembarrassed eyes on her own hand, --very youthful in its plain ring, --asshe played with the bureau furnishing, she said:

"Mother tell you?"

Margaret looked down at the flushed face. 

"Are you sorry, Ju?"

"Sorry!" The conscious eyes flashed into view. "Sorry!" Julie echoedin astonishment. "Why, Mark, " she said dreamily, --there was noaffectation of maturity in her manner now, and it was all the moreimpressive for that. "Why, Mark, " said she, "it's--it's the mostwonderful thing that ever happened to me! I think and think, "--hervoice dropped very low, --"of holding it in my arms, --mine and Harry's, you know--and of its little face!"

Margaret, stirred, kissed the wet lashes. 

"Ju, but you're so young--you're such a baby yourself!" she said. 

"And, Mark, " Julie said, unheeding, "you know what Harry and I aregoing to call her, if it's a girl? Not for Mother, for it's soconfusing to have two Julias, but for you! Because, " her arms wentabout her sister, "you've always been such a darling to me, Mark!"

Margaret went downstairs very thoughtfully, and out into the silentSunday streets. Where they walked, or what they talked of, she did notknow. She knew that her head ached, and that the village looked verycommonplace, and that the day was very hot. She found it more painfulthan sweet to be strolling along beside the big, loose-jointed figure, and to send an occasional side glance to John Tenison's earnest face, which wore its pleasantest expression now. Ah, well, it would be allover at five o'clock, she said wearily to herself, and she could gohome and lie down with her aching head in a darkened room, and try notto think what to-day might have been. Try not to think of the daintylittle luncheon Annie would have given them at Mrs. Carr-Boldt's, ofthe luxurious choice of amusements afterward: motoring over the lovelycountry roads, rowing on the wide still water, watching the tenniscourts, or simply resting in deep chairs on the sweep of velvet lawnabove the river. 

She came out of a reverie to find Doctor Tenison glancing calmly upfrom his watch. 

"The train was five o'clock, was it?" he said. "I've missed it!"

"Missed it!" Margaret echoed blankly. Then, as the horriblepossibility dawned upon her, "Oh, no!"

"Oh, yes, --as bad as that!" he said, laughing at her. 

Poor Margaret, fighting despair, struggled to recover herself. 

"Well, I thought it might have been important to you!" she said, laughing quite naturally. "There's a seven-six, but it stopseverywhere, and a ten-thirty. The ten-thirty is best, becausesupper's apt to be a little late. "

"The ten-thirty, " Doctor Tenison echoed contentedly. Margaret's heartsank, --five more hours of the struggle! "But perhaps that's animposition, " he said. "Isn't there a tea-room--isn't there an innhere where we could have a bite?"

"We aren't in Berlin, " Margaret reminded him cheerfully. "There'sa hotel, --but Mother would never forgive me for leading any onethere! No, we'll take that little walk I told you of, and Motherwill give us something to eat later. --Perhaps if we're late enough, "she added to herself, "we can have just tea and bread and jam alone, after the others. "

Suddenly, unreasonably, she felt philosophical and gay. The littleepisode of missing the train had given her the old dear feeling ofadventure and comradeship again. Things couldn't be any worse thanthey had been at noon, anyway. The experience had been thoroughlydisenchanting. What did a few hours, more or less, matter! Let him bedisgusted if he wanted to, she couldn't help it!

It was cooler now, the level late shadows were making even Westonpretty. They went up a steep shady lane to the old graveyard, andwandered, peacefully, contentedly, among the old graves. Margaretgathered her thin gown from contact with the tangled, uncut grass;they had to disturb a flock of nibbling sheep to cross to thecrumbling wall. Leaning on the uneven stones that formed it, theylooked down at the roofs of the village, half lost in tree-tops; andlistened to the barking of dogs, and the shrill voices of children. The sun sank lower, lower. There was a feeling of dew in the air asthey went slowly home. 

When, at seven o'clock, they opened the gate, they found on theside porch only Rebecca, enchanting in something pink and dotted, Mother, and Dad. 

"Lucky we waited!" said Rebecca, rising, and signaling some wordlessmessage to Margaret that required dimples, widened eyes, compressedlips, and an expression of utter secrecy. "Supper's all ready, " sheadded casually. 

"Where are the others'" Margaret said, experiencing the most pleasantsensation she had had in twenty-four hours. 

"Ju and Harry went home, Rob's at George's, boys walking, " saidRebecca, briefly, still dimpling mysteriously with additionalinformation. She gave Margaret an eloquent side glance as she led theway into the dining-room. At the doorway Margaret stopped, astounded. 

The room was hardly recognizable now. It was cool and delightful, with the diminished table daintily set for five, The old silvercandlesticks and silver teapot presided over blue bowls of berries, and the choicest of Mother's preserved fruits. Some one had foundtime to put fresh parsley about the Canton platter of cold meats, some one had made a special trip to Mrs. O'Brien's for the creamthat filled the Wedgwood pitcher. Margaret felt tears press suddenlyagainst her eyes. 

"Oh, Beck!" she could only stammer, when the sisters went into thekitchen for hot water and tea biscuit. 

"Mother did it, " said Rebecca, returning her hug with fervor. "Shegave us all an awful talking to, after you left! She said here wasdear old Mark, who always worked herself to death for us, trying tomake a nice impression, and to have things go smoothly, and we wereall acting like Indians, and everything so confused at dinner, and hotand noisy! So, later, when Paul and I and the others were walking, wesaw you and Doctor Tenison going up toward the graveyard, and I torehome and told Mother he'd missed the five and would be back; it wasafter five then, and we just flew!"

It was all like a pleasant awakening after a troubled dream. AsMargaret took her place at the little feast, she felt an exquisitesensation of peace and content sink into her heart. Mother was sogracious and charming, behind the urn; Rebecca irresistible in heradmiration of the famous professor. Her father was his sweetest self, delightfully reminiscent of his boyhood, and his visit to the WhiteHouse in Lincoln's day, with "my uncle, the judge. " But it was to hermother's face that Margaret's eyes returned most often, she wanted--shewas vaguely conscious that she wanted--to get away from the voicesand laughter, and think about Mother. How sweet she was, just sweet, and after all, how few people were that in this world! They wereclever, and witty, and rich, --plenty of them, but how little sweetnessthere was! How few faces, like her mother's, did not show a line thatwas not all tenderness and goodness. 

They laughed over their teacups like old friends; the professor andRebecca shouting joyously together, Mr. Paget one broad twinkle, Mrs. Paget radiantly reflecting, as she always did react, the others' mood. It was a memorably happy hour. 

And after tea they sat on the porch, and the stars came out, andpresently the moon sent silver shafts through the dark foliage of thetrees. Little Rob came home, and climbed silently, contentedly, intohis father's lap. 

"Sing something, Mark, " said Dad, then; and Margaret, sitting on thesteps with her head against her mother's knee, found it very simple tobegin in the darkness one of the old songs he loved:--

 "Don't you cry, ma honey, Don't you weep no more. "

Rebecca, sitting on the rail, one slender arm flung above her headabout the pillar, joined her own young voice to Margaret's sweet andsteady one. The others hummed a little. John Tenison, sitting watchingthem, his locked hands hanging between his knees, saw in the moonlighta sudden glitter on the mother's cheek. 

Presently Bruce, tired and happy and sunburned, came through thesplashed silver-and-black of the street to sit by Margaret, and puthis arm about her; and the younger boys, returning full of the day'sgreat deeds, spread themselves comfortably over the lower steps. Before long all their happy voices rose together, on "Believe me, " and"Working on the Railroad, " and "Seeing Nellie Home, " and a dozen moreof the old songs that young people have sung for half a century in thesummer moonlight. 

And then it was time to say good-night to Professor Tenison. "Comeagain, sir!" said Mr. Paget, heartily; the boys slid their hands, still faintly suggestive of fish, cordially into his; Rebecca promisedto mail him a certain discussed variety of fern the very next day;Bruce's voice sounded all hearty good-will as he hoped that hewouldn't miss Doctor Tenison's next visit. Mrs. Paget, her hand inhis, raised keen, almost anxious eyes to his face. 

"But surely you'll be down our way again?" said she, unsmilingly. 

"Oh, surely. " The professor was unable to keep his eyes from movingtoward Margaret, and the mother saw it. 

"Good-bye for the present, then, " she said, still very gravely. 

"Good-bye, Mrs. Paget, " said Doctor Tenison. "It's been an inestimableprivilege to meet you all. I haven't ever had a happier day. "

Margaret, used to the extravagant speeches of another world, thoughtthis merely very charming politeness. But her heart sang, as theywalked away together. He liked them--he had had a nice time!

"Now I know what makes you so different from other women, " said JohnTenison, when he and Margaret were alone. "It's having that wonderfulmother! She--she--well, she's one woman in a million; I don't have totell you that! It's something to thank God for, a mother like that;it's a privilege to know her. I've been watching her all day, and I'vebeen wondering what she gets out of it, --that was what puzzled me; butnow, just now, I've found out! This morning, thinking what her lifeis, I couldn't see what repaid her, do you see? What made up to herfor the unending, unending effort, and sacrifice, the pouring out oflove and sympathy and help--year after year after year. .. . "

He hesitated, but Margaret did not speak. 

"You know, " he went on musingly, "in these days, when women justserenely ignore the question of children, or at most, as a specialconcession, bring up one or two, --just the one or two whose expensescan be comfortably met!--there's something magnificent in a woman likeyour mother, who begins eight destinies instead of one! She doesn'tstrain and chafe to express herself through the medium of poetry ormusic or the stage, but she puts her whole splendid philosophy intoher nursery--launches sound little bodies and minds that have theirfirst growth cleanly and purely about her knees. Responsibility, --that'swhat these other women say they are afraid of! But it seems tome there's no responsibility like that of decreeing that young livessimply shall not be. Why, what good is learning, or elegance ofmanner, or painfully acquired fineness of speech, and taste and pointof view, if you are not going to distil it into the growing plants, the only real hope we have in the world! You know, Miss Paget, " hissmile was very sweet, in the half darkness, "there's a higher tribunalthan the social tribunal of this world, after all; and it seems to methat a woman who stands there, as your mother will, with a forest ofnew lives about her, and a record like hers, will--will find she has aFriend at court!" he finished whimsically. 

They were at a lonely corner, and a garden fence offering Margareta convenient support, she laid her arms suddenly upon the rosevinethat covered it, and her face upon her arms, and cried as if herheart was broken. 

"Why, why--my dear girl!" the professor said, aghast. He laid his handon the shaking shoulders, but Margaret shook it off. 

"I'm not what you think I am!" she sobbed out, incoherently. "I'm notdifferent from other women; I'm just as selfish and bad and mean asthe worst of them! And I'm not worthy to t-tie my m-mother's shoes!"

"Margaret!" John Tenison said unsteadily. And in a flash her droopingbright head was close to his lips, and both his big arms were abouther. "You know I love you, don't you Margaret?" he said hoarsely, overand over, with a sort of fierce intensity. "You know that, don't you?Don't you, Margaret?"

Margaret could not speak. Emotion swept her like a rising tide fromall her familiar moorings; her heart thundered, there was a roaring inher ears. She was conscious of a wild desire to answer him, to say onehundredth part of all she felt; but she could only rest, breathless, against him, her frightened eyes held by the eyes so near, his armsabout her. 

"You do, don't you, Margaret?" he said more gently. "You love me, don't you? Don't you?"

And after a long time, or what seemed a long time, while they stoodmotionless in the summer night, with the great branches of the treesmoving a little overhead, and garden scents creeping out on the dampair, Margaret said, with a sort of breathless catch in her voice:--

"You know I do!" And with the words the fright left her eyes, andhappy tears filled them, and she raised her face to his. 

Coming back from the train half an hour later, she walked between anew heaven and a new earth! The friendly stars seemed just overhead; athousand delicious odors came from garden beds and recently wateredlawns. She moved through the confusion that always attended thesettling down of the Pagets for the night, like one in a dream, andwas glad to find herself at last lying in the darkness beside thesleeping Rebecca again. Now, now, she could think!

But it was all too wonderful for reasonable thought. Margaret claspedboth her hands against her rising heart. He loved her. She could thinkof the very words he had used in telling her, over and over again. Sheneed no longer wonder and dream and despair: he had said it. He lovedher, had loved her from the very first. His old aunt suspected it, andhis chum suspected it, and he had thought Margaret knew it. And besidehim in that brilliant career that she had followed so wistfully in herdreams, Margaret saw herself, his wife. Young and clever and good tolook upon, --yes, she was free to-night to admit herself all these goodthings for his sake!--and his wife, mounting as he mounted beside theone man in the world she had elected to admire and love. "Doctor andMrs. John Tenison "--so it would be written. "Doctor Tenison's wife"--"Thisis Mrs. Tenison"--she seemed already to hear the magical soundof it!

Love--what a wonderful thing it was! How good God was to send thisbest of all gifts to her! She thought how it belittled the other goodthings of the world. She asked no more of life, now; she was loved bya good man, and a great man, and she was to be his wife. Ah, the happyyears together that would date from to-night, --Margaret was thrillingalready to their delights. "For better or worse, " the old words cameto her with a new meaning. There would be no worse, she said toherself with sudden conviction, --how could there be? Poverty, privation, sickness might come, --but to bear them with John, --tocomfort and sustain him, to be shut away with him from all the worldbut the world of their own four walls, --why, that would be thegreatest happiness of all! What hardship could be hard that knittedtheir two hearts closer together; what road too steep if they essayedit hand in hand?

And that--her confused thoughts ran on--that was what had changed alllife for Julie. She had forgotten Europe, forgotten all the idleambitions of her girlhood, because she loved her husband; and now thenew miracle was to come to her, --the miracle of a child, the littleperfect promise of the days to come. How marvellous--how marvellousit was! The little imperative, helpless third person, bringing toradiant youth and irresponsibility the terrors of danger and anguish, and the great final joy, to share together. That was life. Julie wasliving; and although Margaret's own heart was not yet a wife's, andshe could not yet find room for the love beyond that, still she wasstrangely, deeply stirred now by a longing for all the experiencesthat life held. 

How she loved everything and everybody to-night, --how she loved justbeing alive--just being Margaret Paget, lying here in the darkdreaming and thinking. There was no one in the world with whom shewould change places to-night! Margaret found herself thinking of onewoman of her acquaintance after another, --and her own future, openingall color of rose before her, seemed to her the one enviable paththrough the world. 

In just one day, she realized with vague wonder, her slowly formedtheories had been set at naught, her whole philosophy turned upsidedown. Had these years of protest and rebellion done no more than leadher in a wide circle, past empty gain, and joyless mirth, and the deadsea fruit of riches and idleness, back to her mother's knees again? Shehad met brilliant women, rich women, courted women--but where amongthem was one whose face had ever shone as her mother's shone to-day?The overdressed, idle dowagers; the matrons, with their too-gayfrocks, their too-full days, their too-rich food; the girls, allcrudeness, artifice, all scheming openly for their own advantage, --whereamong them all was happiness? Where among them was one whomMargaret had heard say--as she had heard her mother say so many, many times, --"Children, this is a happy day, "--"Thank God foranother lovely Sunday all together, "--"Isn't it lovely to get upand find the sun shining?"--"Isn't it good to come home hungry tosuch a nice dinner!"

And what a share of happiness her mother had given the world! How shehad planned and worked for them all, --Margaret let her arm fall acrossthe sudden ache in her eyes as she thought of the Christmas mornings, and the stuffed stockings at the fireplace that proved every childishwish remembered, every little hidden hope guessed! Darling Mother--shehadn't had much money for those Christmas stockings, they must havebeen carefully planned, down to the last candy cane. And how her facewould beam, as she sat at the breakfast-table, enjoying her belatedcoffee, after the cold walk to church, and responding warmly to theonslaught of kisses and bugs that added fresh color to her cold, rosycheeks! What a mother she was, --Margaret remembered her making themall help her clear up the Christmas disorder of tissue paper andribbons; then came the inevitable bed making, then tippets andovershoes, for a long walk with Dad. They would come back to find thedining-room warm, the long table set, the house deliciously fragrantfrom the immense turkey that their mother, a fresh apron over herholiday gown, was basting at the oven. Then came the feast, and thengames until twilight, and more table-setting; and the baby, whoever hewas, was tucked away upstairs before tea, and the evening ended withsinging, gathered about Mother at the piano. 

"How happy we all were!" Margaret said; "and how she worked for us!"

And suddenly theories and speculation ended, and she knew. She knewthat faithful, self-forgetting service, and the love that spendsitself over and over, only to be renewed again and again, are thesecret of happiness. For another world, perhaps, leisure and beautyand luxury--but in this one, "Who loses his life shall gain it. "Margaret knew now that her mother was not only the truest, the finest, the most generous woman she had ever known, but the happiest as well. 

She thought of other women like her mother; she suddenly saw what madetheir lives beautiful. She could understand now why Emily Porter, herold brave little associate of school-teaching days, was always bright, why Mary Page, plodding home from the long day at the library desk toher little cottage and crippled sister, at night, always made one feelthe better and happier for meeting her. 

Mrs. Carr-Boldt's days were crowded to the last instant, it was true;but what a farce it was, after all, Margaret said to herself in allhonesty, to humor her in her little favorite belief that she was abusy woman! Milliner, manicure, butler, chef, club, card-table, teatable, --these and a thousand things like them filled her day, and theymight all be swept away in an hour, and leave no one the worse. Suppose her own summons came; there would be a little flurrythroughout the great establishment, legal matters to settle, notes ofthanks to be written for flowers. Margaret could imagine Victoria andHarriet, awed but otherwise unaffected, home from school in midweek, and to be sent back before the next Monday. Their lives would go onunchanged, their mother had never buttered bread for them, neverschemed for their boots and hats, never watched their work and play, and called them to her knees for praise and blame. Mr. Carr-Boldtwould have his club, his business, his yacht, his motor-cars, --he waswell accustomed to living in cheerful independence of family claims. 

But life without Mother--! In a sick moment of revelation, Margaretsaw it. She saw them gathering in the horrible emptiness and silenceof the house Mother had kept so warm and bright, she saw her father'sstooped shoulders and trembling hands, she saw Julie and Beck, redeyed, white-cheeked, in fresh black, --she seemed to hear the low-tonedvoices that would break over and over again so cruelly into sobs. Whatcould they do--who could take up the work she laid down, --who wouldwatch and plan and work for them all, now? Margaret thought of theempty place at the table, of the room that, after all these years, wasno longer "Mother's room--"

Oh, no--no--no!--She began to cry bitterly in the dark. No, pleaseGod, they would hold her safe with them for many years. Mother shouldlive to see some of the fruits of the long labor of love. She shouldknow that with every fresh step in life, with every deepeningexperience, her children grew to love her better, turned to her moreand more! There would be Christmases as sweet as the old ones, if notso gay; there would come a day--Margaret's whole being thrilled to thethought--when little forms would run ahead of John and herself up theworn path, and when their children would be gathered in Mother'sexperienced arms! Did life hold a more exquisite moment, she wondered, than that in which she would hear her mother praise them!

All her old castles in the air seemed cheap and tinselled to-night, beside these tender dreams that had their roots in the real truths oflife. Travel and position, gowns and motor-cars, yachts and countryhouses, these things were to be bought in all their perfection by thehighest bidder, and always would be. But love and character andservice, home and the wonderful charge of little lives, --the "purereligion breathing household laws" that guided and perfected thewhole, --these were not to be bought, they were only to be prayed for, worked for, bravely won. 

"God has been very good to me, " Margaret said to herself veryseriously; and in her old childish fashion she made some new resolves. From now on, she thought, with a fervor that made it seem halfaccomplished, she would be a very different woman. If joy came, shewould share it as far as she could; if sorrow, she would show hermother that her daughter was not all unworthy of her. To-morrow, shethought, she would go and see Julie. Dear old Ju, whose heart was sofull of the little Margaret! Margaret had a sudden tender memory ofthe days when Theodore and Duncan and Rob were all babies in turn. Hermother would gather the little daily supply of fresh clothes frombureau and chest every morning, and carry the little bath-tub into thesunny nursery window, and sit there with only a bobbing downy head andwaving pink angers visible from the great warm bundle of bathapron. .. . Ju would be doing that now. 

And she had sometimes wished, or half formed the wish, that she andBruce bad been the only ones--! Yes, came the sudden thought, but itwouldn't have been Bruce and Margaret, after all, it would have beenBruce and Charlie. 

Good God! That was what women did, then, when they denied the right oflife to the distant, unwanted, possible little person! Calmly, constantly, in all placid philosophy and self-justification, they keptfrom the world--not only the troublesome new baby, with his tears andhis illnesses, his merciless exactions, his endless claim on mind andbody and spirit--but perhaps the glowing beauty of a Rebecca, thebuoyant indomitable spirit of a Ted, the sturdy charm of a smallRobert, whose grip on life, whose energy and ambition were as strongas Margaret's own!

Margaret stirred uneasily, frowned in the dark. It seemed perfectlyincredible, it seemed perfectly impossible that if Mother had had onlythe two--and how many thousands of women didn't have that!--she, Margaret, a pronounced and separate entity, travelled, ambitious, andto be the wife of one of the world's great men, might not have beenlying here in the summer night, rich in love and youth and beautyand her dreams!

It was all puzzling, all too big for her to understand. But she coulddo what Mother did, just take the nearest duty and fulfil it, andsleep well, and rise joyfully to fresh effort. 

Margaret felt as if she would never sleep again. The summer night wascool, she was cramped and chilly; but still her thoughts raced on, andshe could not shut her eyes. She turned and pressed her faceresolutely into the pillow, and with a great sigh renounced the joysand sorrows, the lessons and the awakening that the long day had held. 

A second later there was a gentle rustle at the door. 

"Mark--" a voice whispered. "Can't you sleep?"

Margaret locked her arms tight about her mother, as the older womanknelt beside her. 

"Why, how cold you are, sweetheart!" her mother protested, tuckingcovers about her. "I thought I heard you sigh! I got up to lock thestairway door; Baby's gotten a trick of walking in his sleep when he'sovertired. It's nearly one o'clock, Mark! What have you been doing?"

"Thinking. " Margaret put her lips close to her mother's ear. "Mother-" she stammered and stopped. Mrs. Paget kissed her. 

"Daddy and I thought so, " she said simply; and further announcementwas not needed. "My darling little girl!" she added tenderly; andthen, after a silence, "He is very fine, Mark, so unaffected, sogentle and nice with the boys. I--I think I'm glad, Mark. I lose mygirl but there's no happiness like a happy marriage, dear. "

"No, you won't lose me, Mother, " Margaret said, clinging very close. "We hadn't much time to talk, but this much we did decide. You see, John--John goes to Germany for a year, next July. So we thought--inJune or July, Mother, just as Julie's was! Just a little wedding likeJu's. You see, that's better than interrupting the term, or trying tosettle down, when we'd have to move in July. And, Mother, I'm going towrite Mrs. Carr-Boldt, --she can get a thousand girls to take my place, her niece is dying to do it!--and I'm going to take my old school herefor the term. Mr. Forbes spoke to me about it after church thismorning; they want me back. I want this year at home; I want to seemore of Bruce and Ju, and sort of stand by darling little Beck! Butit's for you, most of all, Mother, " said Margaret, with difficulty. "I've always loved you, Mother, but you don't know how wonderful Ithink you are--" She broke off pitifully, "Ah, Mother!"

For her mother's arms had tightened convulsively about her, and theface against her own was wet. 

"Are you talking?" said Rebecca, rearing herself up suddenly, with aweb of bright hair falling over her shoulder. "You said your prayerson Mark last night--" said she, reproachfully, "come over and say themon me to-night, Mother. "