Mother: A Story Read online

  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 theflu
rry 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!" Marga
ret 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.