s impassive features; but he could read ardent approval,
succeeded by indignation, on Alma's countenance, at his first glance.
The indignation came when Tilly spoke. She said: "Thank you, Mr.
Lossing, you're very kind, I'm sure"--Harry softly kicked the
wastebasket under the desk--"but I guess it's best for us to go. I've
been thinking about it for six months, and I know it will be a hard
struggle for mother to go; but in a little while she will be glad
she went. It's only for her sake I am doing it; it ain't an easy or a
pleasant thing for me to do, either----" As Tilly stopped her voice was
unsteady, and the rare tears shone in her eyes.

"What's best for her is the only question, of course," said Alma,
helping Harry off the field.

In a few days Tilly received a long letter from her mother. Mr. Ferguson
was doing wonders for the Russians; the family were all very kind to her
and "nice folks" and easily pleased. ("Of COURSE they're pleased with
mother's cooking; what would they be made of if they weren't!" cried
Tilly.) It was wonderful how much help Mrs. Higbee was about the house,
and how happy it made her. Mrs. Ferguson had seemed real glad to see
her, and that made her happy. And then, maybe it helped a little, her
(Jane Louder's) telling Mrs. Ferguson ("accidental like") how Tilly
treated her, never trying to boss her, and letting her travel alone.
Perhaps, if Mrs. Ferguson kept on improving, they might let her come
home next week. And the letter ended:

"I will be so glad if they do, for I want to see you so bad, dear
daughter, and I want to see the old home once more before we leave. I
guess the house you tell me about will be very nice and convenient. I
do thank you, dear daughter, for being so nice and considerate about the
Russians. Give my love to Mrs. Carleton and all of them; and if little
Bobby Green hasn't missed school since I left, give him a nickel,
please; and please give that medical student on the fifth floor--I
forget his name--the stockings I mended. They are in the first drawer of
the walnut bureau. Good-by, my dear, good daughter.

"MOTHER, JANE M. LOUDER."

When Tilly read the letter she was surrounded by wall-paper and carpet
samples. Her eyes grew moist before she laid it down; but she set her
mouth more firmly.

"It is an awful short time, but I've just got to hurry and have it over
before she comes," said she.

Next week Jane returned. She was on the train, waiting in her seat