llowed him to walk with her in the village, and she never on any
occasion took him with her when visiting the neighbors.

"Why not take Archie with you, dear?" Jane had said one morning to
Lucy, who had just announced her intention of spending a few days in
Philadelphia with Max Feilding's sister Sue, whom she had met abroad
when Max was studying in Dresden--Max was still a bachelor, and his
sister kept house for him. He was abroad at the time, but was expected
by every steamer.

"Archie isn't invited, you old goosie, and he would be as much out of
place in Max's house as Uncle Ephraim Tipple would be in Parliament."

"But they would be glad to see him if you took him. He is just the age
now when a boy gets impressions which last him through--"

"Yes, the gawky and stumble-over-things age! Piano-stools, rugs,
anything that comes in his way. And the impressions wouldn't do him a
bit of good. They might, in fact, do him harm," and she laughed merrily
and spread her fingers to the blaze. A laugh was often her best shield.
She had in her time dealt many a blow and then dodged behind a laugh to
prevent her opponent from striking back.

"But, Lucy, don't you want to do something to help him?" Jane asked in
a pleading tone.

"Yes, whatever I can, but he seems to me to be doing very well as he
is. Doctor John is devoted to him and the captain idolizes him. He's a
dear, sweet boy, of course, and does you credit, but he's not of my
world, Jane, dear, and I'd have to make him all over again before he
could fit into my atmosphere. Besides, he told me this morning that he
was going off for a week with some fisherman on the beach--some person
by the name of Fogarty, I think."

"Yes, a fine fellow; they have been friends from their boyhood." She
was not thinking of Fogarty, but of the tone of Lucy's voice when
speaking of her son.

"Yes--most estimable gentleman, no doubt, this Mr. Fogarty, but then,
dear, we don't invite that sort of people to dinner, do we?" and
another laugh rippled out.

"Yes, sometimes," answered Jane in all sincerity. "Not Fogarty, because
he would be uncomfortable if he came, but many of the others just as
humble. We really have very few of any other kind. I like them all.
Many of them love me dearly."

"Not at all strange; nobody can help loving you," and she patted Jane's
shoulder with her jewelled fingers.

"But you like them, too, don't you? You treat them as if you did."

Lucy lifted her flu