s of material and cut Mrs. Mandle
triumphed. Her lace was likely to be real where that of the other three
was imitation.

So there they sat on a park bench in the pleasant afternoon air, filling
their lives with emptiness. They had married, and brought children into
the world; sacrificed for them, managed a household, been widowed. They
represented magnificent achievement, those four old women, though they
themselves did not know it. They had come up the long hill, reached its
apex, and come down. Their journey was over and yet they sat by the
roadside. They knew that which could have helped younger travellers
over the next hill, but those fleet-footed ones pressed on, wanting none
of their wisdom. Ma Mandle alone still moved. She still queened it over
her own household; she alone still had the delightful task of making a
man comfortable. If the world passed them by as they sat there it did
not pass unscathed. Their shrewd old eyes regarded the panorama,
undeceived. They did not try to keep up with the procession, but they
derived a sly amusement and entertainment from their observation of the
modes and manners of this amazing day and age. Perhaps it was well that
this plump matron in the over-tight skirt or that miss mincing on
four-inch heels could not hear the caustic comment of the white-haired
four sitting so mildly on the bench at the side of the path.

Their talk, stray as it might, always came back to two subjects. They
seemed never to tire of them. Three talked of their daughters-in-law,
and bitterness rasped their throats. One talked of her son, and her
voice was unctuous with pride.

"My son's wife--" one of the three would begin. There was something
terribly significant in the mock respect with which she uttered the
title.

"If I had ever thought," Mrs. Brunswick would say, shaking her head, "if
I had ever thought that I would live to see the day when I had to
depend on strangers for my comfort, I would have wished myself dead."

"You wouldn't call your son a stranger, Mrs. Brunswick!" in shocked
tones from Mrs. Mandle.

"A stranger has got more consideration. I count for nothing. Less than
nothing. I'm in the way. I don't interfere in that household. I see
enough, and I hear enough, but I say nothing. My son's wife, she says it
all."

A silence, thoughtful, brooding. Then, from Mrs. Wormser: "What good do
you have of your children? They grow up, and what do you have of them?"

More shaking of head