ia said again, "Yes."

"Maybe Mrs. Robertson'll gimme one," Johnny said, hopefully; "she's
always giving me things!"

However, though Johnny's gratitude consisted of a lively hope of
benefits to come, he had some opinions of his own.

"She kisses me," he said to Miss Lydia, wrinkling up his nose. "I don't
like kissing ladies."

Poor Mary couldn't help kissing him. The fresh, honest, ugly young face
had become more wonderful to her than anything else on earth! But
sometimes she looked at him and then at his father, and said to herself,
"His eyes are not like Carl's, but his mouth is as Carl's used to be
before he wore a beard; but nobody would know it now."

Mr. Robertson looked pleased when she told him, anxiously, that "it
_was_ showing--the likeness. He has your mouth. And people might--"

"I wish to God I could own him," said Carl Robertson.

"Carl, he wants a pony! Buy one for him."

But Johnny didn't get his pony, because when Mr. Robertson told Miss
Lydia he was thinking of buying a horse for his boy, she said:

"No; it isn't good for him, please, to have so many things."

"The idea of her interfering!" Mary told her husband.

CHAPTER V

"I'M going to invite him to visit us next winter," Mary said.

This was at the end of the summer, and the prospect of saying good-by to
Johnny for almost a year was more than she could bear.

"My dear!" her husband protested, "if you got him under your own roof
you wouldn't be able to hold on to yourself! I could, but you couldn't.
You'd tell him."

"I wouldn't! Why, I _couldn't_. Of course he can never know. . . . But
I'm going to see--that woman, and tell her that I shall have him visit
us."

"She'll not permit it."

"'Permit'!" Mary said. "Upon my word! My own child not '_permitted_'!"

"It's hard," Carl said, briefly.

"You want him, too," she said, eagerly; "I can see you do! Think of
having him with us for a week! I could go into his room and--and pick up
his clothes when he drops them round on the floor, the way boys do."
She was breathless at the thought of such happiness. "I'll tell her I'm
going to have him come in the Christmas vacation. Oh, Carl"--her black,
heavy eyes suddenly glittered with tears--"I want my baby," she said.

The words stabbed him; for a moment he felt that there was no price too
great to pay for comfort for her. "We'll try it," he said, "but we'll
have to handle Miss Lydia just right to get her to consent to it."

"