love them, but
many are overgrown children, as Mrs. Bill had put it, an' doin'
nothing with singular skill an' determination an' often with
appalling energy.

"Our pretty hostess had been helping a butler, as this talk went
on, an' presently one of the other ladies joined her, an' never was
any company so picturesquely an' amusingly served.

"'I've quite fallen in love with that three-year-old boy,' said
Mrs. Bill, as we rose from the table. 'I had a good romp with him
to-day.'

"'I wish you'd go over to the old farm-house with me; I want to
show you something,' I said.

"In a moment we were in wraps an' making our way across the lawn.

"'I was glad to get a rap at that Mrs. Barrow,' she whispered, as
we walked along. 'She's just got back her jewels that were stolen,
and has begun to go out again. She's the vainest, proudest fool of
a woman, and her husband is always borrowing money. Did you know
it?'

"'Some--that is, fairly well,' I said, with bitterness.

"'So does Bill, and she goes about with the airs of a grand lady
and the silliest notions. Really, it was for her benefit that I
helped the butler.'

"'If it weren't for Bill I'd call you an angel,' I said. 'You have
it in your power to redeem the skilled idlers of this community.'

"We reached the little house so unlike the big, baronial thing we
had left. It was a home. Mrs. Hammond sat by the reading-lamp in
its cozy sitting-room before an open fire. She led us into the
bedroom with the lamp in her hand. There lay the boy as I had left
him, still smiling with a lovelier, softer red in his cheeks than
that of roses.

[Illustration: She led us into the bedroom.]

"'See the color and the dimples,' I said.

"She looked from one to another, an' suddenly the strong appeal of
their faces fell upon her. She raised the boy from his bed, an' he
put his arms around her neck an' began to talk in a tender baby
treble.

"Did you ever hear the voice of a child just out of dreamland, when
it expresses, not complaint, but love an' contentment? Well, sir,
it is the sweetest, the most compelling note in all nature, I
believe. It is like a muted violin--voice of God or voice of
man--which is it? I dare not say, but I do know that the song of
the hermit-thrush is but sounding brass compared with that.

"I felt its power, an' I said to myself: 'I will waste my life no
longer. I will marry.'

"She, too, had felt it. The little captain had almost o