s ear.

"I don't know what possesses the child to whisper that way!" Lydia
said, annoyed.

"He just said that he had a nap, Lyd, I think he didn't want to
interrupt."

"Oh, he got a good nap in," Lydia admitted, pacified, "if you're really
going to take him to-night, I've laid out his clean things."

"I saw them on the bed, Lyd--you're a darling!"

"Am I going?" Teddy asked, with a bounce.

"Is Aunt Sally going to take the children?" Martie temporized. But
Teddy knew from her tone that he was safe. Indeed, his mother loved the
realization that she was his court of last appeal, that it was to her
memory of authority abused that his happiness was entrusted. It was her
joy to explain, to adjust, to reconcile, the little elements of his
life. She taught him the rules of simplicity and industry and service
as another mother might have taught him his multiplication table. Teddy
might have poverty and discouragement to face some day, but life could
never be all dark to him while his mother interpreted it.

She took him upstairs now, to dress for the great occasion of the
Sodality Christmas tree, and dressed herself, prettily, as well. But
before she turned out the gas, and followed the galloping small boy
downstairs, she opened her bureau drawer.

And again the slim book was in her hands, and again her dazzled eyes
were reading the few words that gave her new proof that John had not
forgotten.

For a few minutes she stood dreaming; dreaming of the old
boarding-house, and the little furniture clerk with his eager,
faun-like smile. And for the first time she let her fancy play with the
thought of what life might be for the woman John Dryden loved.

But she put the book and the thought quickly away, her cheeks burning,
and went down to the homely, inviting odours of supper, of Pauline's
creamed salmon and fluffy rolls. Her father sat beside the fire, in a
sort of doze, his long, lean hands idly locked, his glasses pushed up
on his lead-coloured forehead.

Martie kissed him, catching the old faint unpleasant smell of breath
and moustache as she did so, helped him to the table, and tied Teddy's
napkin under the child's round, firm chin. She talked of anything and
everything, of Christmas surprises, and Christmas duties--

And all the while her heart sang. When with Teddy on one side, and
Lydia leaning on the free arm, she was walking through the winter
darkness her feet wanted to dance on the cold, hard earth.

"It