"You don't take it for granted yet?"

"No. I want you to say it every time I see you."

"Good night--an' happy dreams."

"Will!" Mavis' voice was full of reproach. "Are you going without
kissing the baby?"

Then Dale came back from the doorway, stooped again, and making his
lips as light as a butterfly's wings, kissed his first-born.

Before September was over Mavis had not only recovered her ordinary
health, but had entered into such stores of new energy that nothing
could hinder her from getting back into harness. She herself was
astonished by her physical sensations. Languors that had seemed an
essential part of her temperament ever since girlhood were now only
memories; she felt more alive when passive now than during extreme
excitement in the past; her whole body, from the surface to the bones,
appeared to be larger and yet more compact. Even the muscles of her
back and legs, which ought to have been relaxed and feeble after weeks
of bed, had the tone and hardness that only exercise is supposed to
induce; so that when standing or walking she experienced a curiously
stimulating sense of solidity and power, as if her hold upon the
ground was heavier and firmer than it had ever been, although she
could move about from place to place with incredibly more lightness
and ease.

These new sensations were strong in her one morning when, Dale having
risen at dawn, she determined to take a ramble or tour of inspection
before the day's work began; and with the mere bodily well-being there
was a mental vigorousness that made the notion of all future effort,
whether casual or persistent, seem equally pleasurable.

She came out through the front garden, and pausing a moment thought of
all the things that ought to be done at the very first opportunity.
This neglected garden was a mere tangle of untrimmed shrub and
luxuriant weed, with just a few dahlias and hollyhocks fighting
through the ruin of what had been pretty flower borders; and she
thought how nice it would all look again when sufficient work had been
put into it. Some of the broken flagstones of the path wanted
replacing by sound ones; the orchard trees were full of dead wood; and
the door and casements of the house sadly needed painting. Her
thoughts flew about more strenuously than the belated bees that were
searching high and low for non-existent pollen. This front of their
house would look lovely with its casements and deep eaves painted
white instead of gra