ed so often.

He came now, and bent over the two.

"Does--he--look--just the same to you?" she asked.

"Why, yes!" Gaston repressed the desire to laugh. "You see babies are
not much in my line. I don't think I ever saw such a little fellow
before. They look about the same for a long time, don't they?"

"Oh! no. They change every day, and many times during the day. I weighed
baby to-day," she faltered, "and do you know, he weighs _less_ than when
he was born!"

"The ungrateful little heathen!"

"I'm afraid--I'm not a good mother." The sweet face quivered. "And I
want to be that more than anything else on earth. You see if I can get
him through--through this awful time when I can't tell just what might
be the matter--it will be easy enough. But young babies are
so--so--unreal. You don't know whether you've got them to keep or not.
They seem to be kind of holding on to another life, while they clutch
this. A good mother knows how to unloose them from that other hold."

Gaston was touched by the yearning in the low voice, but the weazened
face of the child repelled him, even while it attracted him.

"Would it be so--so terrible if he did not let go that--other hold?"

It was a stupid thing to say, and Gaston despised himself for being so
brutal when he saw the look of horror on the upturned face.

"Terrible?" Joyce gasped. "Why, if--if he should leave me, I couldn't
live. You don't know how it seems to have him warm and little and soft
against your heart. The whole world would be empty--empty, until it
would kill me with the emptiness--and I'd always think, you know, he'd
found out I wasn't fit to be his mother. It's a foolish fancy, but you
know, Mr. Gaston, I think they come to try us mothers--if they find us
out--not fit--they don't stay. Such a lot of babies don't stay!"

"Why Joyce!" Gaston tried to turn his gaze from that awful baby-stare.
"Full of whim-whams and moonshine. You must get about more. You must
come up to Drew's house to-morrow. It's a palace of a place--and Filmer
had a letter from Drew to-day. He's coming before the autumn cold sets
in--he's going to bring an aunt and a sister--just get your idle fancy
on the doings, and let Master Malcolm jog along at his own pace. If he
doesn't like you for a mother, he isn't worth considering. Look at him
now--he sees the joke, the brazen little cuss, he's actually laughing in
our faces."

"Oh!" Joyce sat rigidly up, and her own face became transformed.