said Lindsay. "I shall enjoy meeting him that much more. Is there a
picture of him anywhere around?" looking about the room.

That was a lucky stroke. Mary Mooney parted the black ribbon that was
tied beneath her neat white collar and turned her face up, all pleased
smiles, to the girl, who leaned down to examine an ivory miniature set
as a brooch. It was a sunny-faced little boy, with thick straight golden
hair and fearless brown eyes--a sweet childish face very easy to admire,
and Lindsay admired it enough to satisfy even Mrs. Mooney.

"I had it for a Christmas gift the year he was nine," she said. Mary's
calendar ran from The Year of the Governor, 1. "He had whooping-cough
just after that, and was ill seven weeks. Dear me, what teeny little
feet you have!" as she put on them the dressing-slippers from the bag,
and struggled up to her own, heavily but cheerfully.

Lindsay looked at her thoughtfully. "You haven't mentioned the
Governor's wife," she said. "Isn't she at home?" and she leaned over to
pull up the furry heel of the little slipper. So that she missed seeing
Mary Mooney's face. Expression chased expression over that smiling
landscape--astonishment, perplexity, anxiety, the gleam of a new-born
idea, hesitation, and at last a glow of unselfish kindliness which often
before had transfigured it.

"No, Miss Lee," said Mary. "She's away from home just now." And then,
unblushingly, "But she's a lovely lady, and she'll be very disappointed
not to see you."

Almost the next thing Lindsay knew she was watching dreamily spots of
sunlight that danced on a pale pink wall. Then a bird began to sing at
the edge of the window; there was a delicate rustle of skirts, and she
turned her head and saw a maid--not Mary Mooney this time--moving softly
about, opening part way the outside shutters, drawing lip the shades a
bit, letting the light and shadow from tossing trees outside and the air
and the morning in with gentle slowness. She dressed with deliberation,
and, lo! it was a quarter after nine o'clock.

So that the Governor waited for his breakfast. For ten minutes, while
the paper lasted, waiting was unimportant; and then, being impatient by
nature, and not used to it, he suddenly was cross.

"Confound the girl!" soliloquized the Governor. "I'll have her indicted
too! First she breaks up a meeting, then she gets the horses out at all
hours, and now, to cap it, she makes me wait for breakfast. Why should I
wait for m