l said: "Thank you, ma'am."

Then as the lady still stood by the playground Bessie Bell asked her:
"Are you a Lady, ma'am?"

"I have been called so," said the lady, smiling down at Bessie Bell.

"Or are you a Mama?" asked Bessie Bell.

"Ah," said the lady; "I am a Mama, too, but all my little girls have
grown up and left me."

Bessie Bell wondered how they could have done that, those little girls.
But she saw, and was so glad to see, that this lady was very wise, and
that she understood all the things that little girls wonder about.

But though there was a difference, a very great difference, between
Mamas and Ladies it was very hard to tell--unless you asked.

One day a large fat lady took Bessie Bell on her lap. That was very
strange to Bessie Bell--to sit on top of anybody.

And the lady made a rabbit, and a pony, and a preacher, all out of a
handkerchief and her nice fat fingers. And then she made with the same
handkerchief and fingers a Mama holding a Baby.

Then Bessie Bell looked up at her with her wondering eyes and asked:
"Are you a Lady--"

"Bless my soul!" cried the lady. "Do you hear this child? And now,
come to think of it, I don't know whether I am a lady or not--"

And the lady laughed until Bessie Bell felt quite shaken up.

"Or are you a Mama?" asked Bessie Bell, when it seemed that the lady
was about to stop laughing.

"So that is it?" asked the lady, and she seemed about to begin laughing
again.

"Yes, I am a Mama, and I have three little girls about as funny as you
are."

Another time a lady passed by the cabin where Bessie Bell stood leaning
against the little fluted white post of the gallery, and said:

"Good morning, Bessie Bell. I am Alice's Mama."

That made things so simple, thought Bessie Bell. This lady was a Mama.
And she was Alice's Mama.

Bessie Bell wished that all would tell in that nice way at once whether
they were Mamas or Just-Ladies.

The next lady who passed by the cabin also stopped to talk to Bessie
Bell.

And Bessie Bell asked: "Are you a Mama or Only-Just-A-Lady?"

"I am only just a lady," the lady said, patting Bessie Bell's little
tiny hand. And it was easy to see that, in Bessie Bell's mind, though
Only-Just-Ladies were kind and sweet, Mamas were far greater and more
important beings.

One night, when Sister Helen Vincula had put Bessie Bell to bed in the
small bed that was not a crib-bed, though like that she had slept in
before she had co