ears.

"We put a potato in the oven for you," said Ina. She had never learned
quite how to treat these periodic refusals of her mother to eat, but
she never had ceased to resent them.

"No, thank you," said Mrs. Bett. Evidently she rather enjoyed the
situation, creating for herself a spot-light much in the manner of
Monona.

"Mother," said Lulu, "let me make you some toast and tea."

Mrs. Bett turned her gentle, bloodless face toward her daughter, and her
eyes warmed.

"After a little, maybe," she said. "I think I'll run over to see Grandma
Gates now," she added, and went toward the door.

"Tell her," cried Dwight, "tell her she's my best girl."

Grandma Gates was a rheumatic cripple who lived next door, and whenever
the Deacons or Mrs. Bett were angry or hurt or wished to escape the
house for some reason, they stalked over to Grandma Gates--in lieu of,
say, slamming a door. These visits radiated an almost daily friendliness
which lifted and tempered the old invalid's lot and life.

Di flashed out at the door again, on some trivial permission.

"A good many of mamma's stitches in that dress to keep clean," Ina
called after.

"Early, darling, early!" her father reminded her. A faint regurgitation
of his was somehow invested with the paternal.

"What's this?" cried Dwight Herbert Deacon abruptly.

On the clock shelf lay a letter.

"Oh, Dwight!" Ina was all compunction. "It came this morning. I forgot."

"I forgot it too! And I laid it up there." Lulu was eager for her share
of the blame.

"Isn't it understood that my mail can't wait like this?"

Dwight's sense of importance was now being fed in gulps.

"I know. I'm awfully sorry," Lulu said, "but you hardly ever get a
letter----"

This might have made things worse, but it provided Dwight with a
greater importance.

"Of course, pressing matter goes to my office," he admitted it. "Still,
my mail should have more careful----"

He read, frowning. He replaced the letter, and they hung upon his
motions as he tapped the envelope and regarded them.

"Now!" said he. "What do you think I have to tell you?"

"Something nice," Ina was sure.

"Something surprising," Dwight said portentously.

"But, Dwight--is it _nice?_" from his Ina.

"That depends. I like it. So'll Lulu." He leered at her. "It's company."

"Oh, Dwight," said Ina. "Who?"

"From Oregon," he said, toying with his suspense.

"Your brother!" cried Ina. "Is he coming?"

"Yes. Ninian's