air, watched the boy in his pilgrimage after the
darting cat, and began:

"I'm glad to help with the christening robe for the Massey grandson,
Mrs. Procter," she said; "and I think 'tis a fine idea--sort of
community dress made by those who liked Miss Massey."

"I thought you'd like the idea, Mrs. Reynolds," said Mrs. Procter.
"Here, take this chair."

Mrs. Reynolds sat down. "The fine boy you have there," she said,
indicating the "baby," "he's a bit like Suzanna."

"We all think he's very much like his eldest sister," said Mrs. Procter.
She raised the small boy and held him close for a moment. When she put
him down, he wandered off toward the popular cat.

"I wanted to ask you, Mrs. Procter," said Mrs. Reynolds, "what material
you think will make up best for a Sunday dress for Margaret here." She
paused, smiled, and flashing a mischievous glance at Suzanna, finished,
"It'll have to have lace, says Margaret, and I suppose she'll want the
goods cut away from underneath."

Suzanna, perched near the oven door watching the precious cake, turned
to look at Mrs. Reynolds. A flame lit within her eyes; she had never
forgotten the anguish engendered by her mother's refusal to cut away the
goods from under the pink dress; then the expression softened. Was it
not on that occasion, too, she had learned the dearness of that same
mother?

"There, now," said Mrs. Reynolds, "I shouldn't have teased you,
Suzanna." Her eyes grew tender. "I'd never have thought seriously of
adopting my little children here, dear lamb, if you hadn't first adopted
yourself out to me."

Suzanna's face grew luminous. "Oh, do you mean that, Mrs. Reynolds?" she
cried.

"I do just that, every word, Dear Heart. Why, the night I put you to bed
and you called me 'mother' I shall never forget, never. And then the
truths you spoke to Reynolds!"

"He's happy now, isn't he?" asked Mrs. Procter.

Mrs. Reynolds paused impressively before answering: "Do you know," she
said at length, "he forgets often to remember that the children are not
his very own. The little Margaret there creeps into his lap nights,
calls him daddy, and melts the heart of him. And the boy with his
quaintness, follows him about the house on Saturdays, and Reynolds says
often enough: 'He'll be a great man, this chap, Peggy. He says some of
the things I thought when I was his age.' He's taken to calling me Peggy
since the children came to make a distinction, the little girl bearing
my na