ther; it's a lovely recipe, and
will you tell her to take this, and see how well I succeeded?"

"And--ah--Miss Louder," said the man, as the stout woman rustled away,
"here are some _Banner of Lights;_ I think she'd be interested in some
of the articles on the true principles of the inspirational
faith----" Tilly placed the bundle of newspapers at the base of her
load--"and--and, I wish you'd tell your dear mother that, under the
angels, her mustard plaster really saved my life."

"I'll tell her," said Tilly.

She had advanced a little space before a young girl in a bright blue
silk gown flung a radiant presence between her and the door. "Oh,
Miss Tilly," she murmured, blushing, "will you just give your mother
this?--it's--it's Jim's photograph. You tell her it's ALL right; and SHE
was exactly right, and _I_ was wrong. She'll understand."

Tilly, with a look of resignation, accepted a stiff package done up in
white tissue paper. She had now only three steps to take: she took two,
only two, for--"Miss Tilly, PLEASE!" a voice pealed around the corner,
while a flushed and breathless young woman, with a large baby toppling
over her lean shoulder, staggered into view. "My!" she panted, "ain't it
tiresome lugging a child! I missed the car, of course, coming home
from ma's. Oh, say, Tilly, your mother was so good, she said she'd tend
Blossom next time I went to the doctor's, and----"

"I'll take the baby," said Tilly. She hoisted the infant on to her own
shoulder with her right arm. "Perhaps you'll be so kind's to turn the
handle of the door," said she in a slightly caustic tone, "as I haven't
got any hands left. Please shut it, too."

As the young mother opened the door, Tilly entered the parlor. For a
second she stood and stared grimly about her. The furniture of the room
was old-fashioned but in the best repair. There was a cabinet organ in
one corner. A crayon portrait of Tilly's father (killed in the civil
war) glared out of a florid gilt frame. Perhaps it was the fault of the
portrait, but he had a peevish frown. There were two other portraits of
him, large ghastly gray tintypes in oval frames of rosewood, obscurely
suggesting coffins. In these he looked distinctly sullen. He was
represented in uniform (being a lieutenant of volunteers), and the
artist had conscientiously gilded his buttons until, as Mrs. Louder
was wont to observe, "It most made you want to cut them off with the
scissors." There were other tintype