ills could hold must suffice them now.
Molly exulted in sending her mother snapshots of Timmy picking roses in
December, and in heading July letters: "By our open fire--for it's
really cool to-day."

Indeed it was not all uncomfortable and unlovely. All the summer nights
were fresh and cool and fragrant; there were spring days when all the
valley seemed a ravishing compound of rain-cooled air and roses, of
buttercups in the high, sunflecked grass under the apple-trees, crossed
and recrossed by the flashing blue and brown of mating jays and larks.
It was not a long drive to the deep woods; and it was but six miles to
Emville, where there was always the pleasant stir and bustle of a small
country town; trains puffing in to disgorge a dozen travelling agents
and their bags; the wire door at the post-office banging and banging;
the maid at the Old Original Imperial Commercial Hotel coming out on
the long porch to ring a wildly clamorous dinner-bell. Molly grew to
love Emville.

Then, two or three times a year, such old friends as the Porters,
homeward bound after the Oriental trip, came their way, and there was
delicious talk at the ranch of old days, of the new theatres, and the
new hotels, and the new fashions. The Tressadys stopped playing double
Canfield and polished up their bridge game; and Big Hong, beaming in
his snowy white, served meals that were a joy to his heart. Hong was a
marvellous cook; Hong cared beautifully for all his domain; and Little
Hong took care of the horses, puttered in the garden, swept, and washed
windows. But they needed more help, for there were times when Molly was
busy or headachy or proof-reading for Jerry or riding with him. Some
one must be responsible every second of the day and night for Timmy.
And where to get that some one?

"Aren't they terrors!" said Mrs. Porter in reference to the nurse-maids
that would not come to the ranch on any terms. "What do they expect
anyway?"

"Oh, they get lonesome," Molly said in discouragement, "and of course
it is lonely! But I should think some middle-aged woman or some widow
with a child even--"

"Molly always returns to that possible widow!" said her husband. "I
think we might try two!"

"I would never think of that!" said the mistress of the ranch firmly.
"Four servants always underfoot!"

"Did you ever think of trying a regular trained nurse, Molly?" Peter
Porter asked.

"But then you have them at the table, Peter--and always in the
d