t, happening one day to discover Jemima gazing down at her
gourmand child with something more than tolerance in her expression,
Kate blurted out:

"But I thought you did not believe in babies, Blossom!"

"Believe in them? Why, of course, Mother! Babies are quite indispensable
to the scheme of things--but not to me."

"Then--why--?"

"Oh," said Jemima, practically, "it seemed rather a pity that there
should be no one to inherit Aunt Jemima's money. And then--well,
intelligences such as James' and mine really ought to be perpetuated, I
suppose. As you once said--my baby isn't all Kildare!"

She gave her husband a quick, shy smile that was rather demonstrative
for Jemima.

He leaned over and took her hand. "Why not tell your mother the truth,
my dear?"

She flushed. "That is the truth, of course! Or--well, not perhaps _all_
the truth.... You see, Mother, you were so upset about poor Jacky's
baby.... Of course it's not quite the same, she is more like you than I
am. But still ... And what you said about the 'spark.' ... So, you
see--"

In her dread of sentiment, she was bungling the explanation so badly
that James Thorpe took it out of her hands.

"Kate, you may regard the young person in question" (he grinned down at
it fatuously) "as _our_ child in only the technical sense of the word.
It is, in fact, Jemima's gift to you. She came to the conclusion that
she could offer you nothing you would prefer to a grandson."

"But," choked Kate, between laughter and tears, "suppose it had been a
granddaughter?"

"Evidently you don't yet know our Jemima," remarked the husband.

* * * * *

Even Kate's grandson, however, does not keep her long away from the
mountains and Jacques.

She knows that their time together, hers and her husband's, must be
short. Neither misunderstands the significance of the little cough with
which he has fought, for years, a losing battle. But they know, too,
that it is given to few to taste the splendor of life as they have
tasted it together; the joy of dreams realized, of service shared.

Kate was right in her belief that Jacques could take no advantage of the
disclosure made by Mahaly. "The stone I threw was meant for Basil," he
said. "Nevertheless--I am glad it failed to strike him. And I think that
Basil, wherever he is, must be glad, too."

"_Wherever he is?_" repeated Kate, quickly. The subject of the hereafter
was become of poignant interest to her,