n't ask questions.
Let mamma ask you what you want. And don't reach, ever."

Vesta agreed solemnly, but her childish mind hardly grasped the
full significance of the warning.

Lester came at seven. Jennie, who had taken great pains to array
Vesta as attractively as possible, had gone into her bedroom to give
her own toilet a last touch. Vesta was supposedly in the kitchen. As a
matter of fact, she had followed her mother to the door of the
sitting-room, where now she could be plainly seen. Lester hung up his
hat and coat, then, turning, he caught his first glimpse. The child
looked very sweet--he admitted that at a glance. She was arrayed
in a blue-dotted, white flannel dress, with a soft roll collar and
cuffs, and the costume was completed by white stockings and shoes. Her
corn-colored ringlets hung gaily about her face. Blue eyes, rosy lips,
rosy cheeks completed the picture. Lester stared, almost inclined to
say something, but restrained himself. Vesta shyly retreated.

When Jennie came out he commented on the fact that Vesta had
arrived. "Rather sweet-looking child," he said. "Do you have much
trouble in making her mind?"

"Not much," she returned.

Jennie went on to the dining-room, and Lester overheard a scrap of
their conversation.

"Who are he?" asked Vesta.

"Sh! That's your Uncle Lester. Didn't I tell you you mustn't
talk?"

"Are he your uncle?"

"No, dear. Don't talk now. Run into the kitchen."

"Are he only my uncle?"

"Yes. Now run along."

"All right."

In spite of himself Lester had to smile.

What might have followed if the child had been homely, misshapen,
peevish, or all three, can scarcely be conjectured. Had Jennie been
less tactful, even in the beginning, he might have obtained a
disagreeable impression. As it was, the natural beauty of the child,
combined with the mother's gentle diplomacy in keeping her in the
background, served to give him that fleeting glimpse of innocence and
youth which is always pleasant. The thought struck him that Jennie had
been the mother of a child all these years; she had been separated
from it for months at a time; she had never even hinted at its
existence, and yet her affection for Vesta was obviously great. "It's
queer," he said. "She's a peculiar woman."

One morning Lester was sitting in the parlor reading his paper when
he thought he heard something stir. He turned, and was surprised to
see a large blue eye fixed upon him through the crack o