stairs, followed by her
husband. "Come, David," she said, as she reached the top; "it's time
little boys were asleep! Come!"

Her voice was low, and not quite steady. To David her voice sounded as
her eyes looked when there was in them the far-away something that
hurt. Very slowly he came forward into the moonlight, his gaze
searching the woman's face long and earnestly.

"And do you--want me?" he faltered.

The woman drew in her breath with a little sob. Before her stood the
slender figure in the yellow-white gown--John's gown. Into her eyes
looked those other eyes, dark and wistful,--like John's eyes. And her
arms ached with emptiness.

"Yes, yes, for my very own--and for always!" she cried with sudden
passion, clasping the little form close. "For always!"

And David sighed his content.

Simeon Holly's lips parted, but they closed again with no words said.
The man turned then, with a curiously baffled look, and stalked down
the stairs.

On the porch long minutes later, when once more David had gone to bed,
Simeon Holly said coldly to his wife:--

"I suppose you realize, Ellen, just what you've pledged yourself to, by
that absurd outburst of yours in the barn to-night--and all because
that ungodly music and the moonshine had gone to your head!"

"But I want the boy, Simeon. He--he makes me think of--John."

Harsh lines came to the man's mouth, but there was a perceptible shake
in his voice as he answered:--

"We're not talking of John, Ellen. We're talking of this irresponsible,
hardly sane boy upstairs. He can work, I suppose, if he's taught, and
in that way he won't perhaps be a dead loss. Still, he's another mouth
to feed, and that counts now. There's the note, you know,--it's due in
August."

"But you say there's money--almost enough for it--in the bank." Mrs.
Holly's voice was anxiously apologetic.

"Yes, I know" vouchsafed the man. "But almost enough is not quite
enough."

"But there's time--more than two months. It isn't due till the last of
August, Simeon."

"I know, I know. Meanwhile, there's the boy. What are you going to do
with him?"

"Why, can't you use him--on the farm--a little?"

"Perhaps. I doubt it, though," gloomed the man. "One can't hoe corn nor
pull weeds with a fiddle-bow--and that's all he seems to know how to
handle."

"But he can learn--and he does play beautifully," murmured the woman;
whenever before had Ellen Holly ventured to use words of argument with
her husban