he had for her a most sincere
affection.

They went into a parlor in which there had been a fire and stood talking
for a few moments. But the fire was nearly out, and the girl had only
left a candle on the table, and Lucy said, "I was sitting upstairs,
John, beside the children. Harry told me it would be late when he
returned home, so I went to the nursery. You see children are such good
company. Will you go with me to the nursery? It is the girl's night out,
but if you prefer to----"

"Let us go to the nursery, Lucy, and send the girl out. I have come
specially to have a long talk with you about Harry and her absence will
be a good thing."

Then he took her hand and they went together to a large room upstairs.
There was a bright fire burning on this hearth and a large fur rug
before it. A pretty bassinet, in which a lovely girl-baby was sleeping,
was on one side of the hearth and Lucy's low nursing-chair on the other
side, and a little round table set ready for tea in the center. A
snow-white bed in a distant corner held the two boys, Stephen and Ralph,
who were fast asleep. John stooped first to the baby, and kissed it, and
Lucy said, "I have called her Agnes. It was my mother's name when she
was on earth. Do you think they call her Agnes in heaven, John?"

_"He hath called thee by thy name_, is one of the tokens given us of
God's fatherhood, Lucy."

"Well, John, a father must care what his children are called--if he
cares for the children."

"Yes, we may be sure of that." As he spoke, he was standing by the
sleeping boys. He loved both, but he loved Stephen, the elder, with an
extraordinary affection. And as he looked at the sleeping child, the boy
opened his eyes. Then a beautiful smile illumined his face, a delightful
cry of wonder and joy parted his lips, and he held out his arms to John.
Without a moment's hesitation, John lifted him.

"Dear little Stephen!" he said. "I wish you were a man!"

"Then I would always stay with you, Uncle."

"Yes, yes! Now you must go to sleep and tomorrow I will take you to the
Hippodrome."

"And Ralph, too?"

"To be sure, Ralph goes, too." Then he tenderly laid Stephen back in bed
and watched Lucy from the fireside. She talked softly to him, as she
went about the room, attending to those details of forethought of which
mothers have the secret. He watched her putting everything in place with
silent pleasure. He noted her deft, clever ways, the exquisite neatness
of he