id; "and it couldn't be
any worse for him than it is. Everybody thinks he's illegitimate." He
paused, and then he said a really profound thing--for a fat, selfish
man. "Mary, I believe there isn't any _real_ welfare that's built on a
lie. If it was to do over again I'd stand up to my own cussed folly."

"You don't seem to consider me!" she said, bitterly.

But he only said, slowly, "He's the finest little chap you ever saw."

"Pretty?" she said, forgetting her bitterness.

"Oh, he's a boy, a real boy. Freckled. And when he's mad he shows his
teeth, just as your father used to; I saw him in a fight. No; of course
he's not 'pretty.'"

"I'd like to see him--if I wasn't afraid to," she said. She was
thirty-four now, a sad, idle, rich woman, with only three interests in
life: eating and shopping and keeping the Secret which made her cringe
whenever she thought of it, which, since the night she heard Johnny
laugh, was pretty much all the time. It was the shopping interest that
by and by united with the interest of the Secret; it occurred to her
that she might give "him" something. She would buy him a pair of skates!
"But you must send them to him, Carl."

"Why don't you do it yourself?"

"It would look queer. People might--think."

"Well, they 'thought' about that poor little woman."

"Idiots! She's a hundred years old!" Mary said, jealously.

"She wasn't when he was born," her husband said, wearily. He probably
loved his wife, but since that day when she had flung away the lure of
mystery, her mind had ceased to interest him. This was cruel and unjust,
but it was male human nature.

"Why don't you get acquainted with the youngster?" Carl said, yawning.

"_Carl!_ You know it wouldn't do. Besides, how could I?"

"We could take the house ourselves next summer. There's some furniture
in it still. It would come about naturally enough. And he would be at
our gates."

"Oh no--_no_! Maybe he looks like me."

"No, he doesn't. Didn't I tell you he isn't particularly good-looking?"

"Maybe he looks like you?" she objected, simply.

And he laughed, and said, "Thank you, my dear!"

But Mary didn't laugh. She got up and stood staring out of the window
into the rainy street; "You send him the skates," she said; "you've seen
him, so it wouldn't seem queer."

The skates were sent, and Johnny's mother was eager to see Johnny's
smudgy and laborious letter acknowledging "Mr. Robertson's kind
present."

"That's a very ni