e away and never returned. Later, he used to sit on the top
step of the big Colonial porch--a fragile little figure--waiting,
through the long Summer afternoons, for the father who did not come.

Once, when his mother was so absorbed in her grief that she did not hear
him come into the room, he had laid a timid, trembling hand upon her
knee, saying: "Mother, if you will tell me where Father is, I will go
and bring him back." But, instead of accepting the offer, she had caught
him to her breast, sobbing, with a sudden rush of impassioned prayer:
"Dear God, no--not that!"

Time, as always, had done his merciful healing, which, though slow, is
divinely sure. Madame was smiling, now, at some old memory that had come
mysteriously out of the shadow, leaving all bitterness behind. She had
finished mending the lace and had laid it aside. Alden took it up,
awkwardly, and looked at it.

[Sidenote: Tired and Unhappy]

"This for the strange woman," he said, teasingly, "and plain black or
grey silk for me, though I am fain to believe that you love me best. Why
is it?"

"Because," she responded, playfully, "you know me and love me, even
without fuss and frills. For those who do not know us, we must put our
best foot forward, in order to make sure of the attention our real merit
deserves."

"But doesn't immediately command--is that it?"

"I suppose so."

"What must I wear to the train--my dress suit?"

"Don't be foolish, son. You'll have plenty of time to dress after you
get home."

"Shall I drive, or walk?"

"Take the carriage. She'll be tired. Unhappy women are always tired."

"Are they tired because they're unhappy, or unhappy because they're
tired? And do they get unhappier when they get more tired, or do they
get more tired when they get unhappier?"

[Sidenote: The Arrival]

"Don't ask me any more conundrums to-night. I'm going to bed, to get my
beauty sleep."

"You must have had a great many, judging by the results."

Madame smiled as she bent to kiss his rough cheek. "Good-night, my dear.
Think of some other pleasant things and say them to-morrow night to Mrs.
Lee."

"I'll be blest if I will," Alden muttered to himself, as his mother
lighted a candle and waved her hand prettily in farewell. "If all the
distressed daughters of all mother's old schoolmates are coming here, to
cry on her shoulder and flood the whole place with salt water, it's time
for me to put up a little tent somewhere and move into it."