ay."

"When you are ready to begin, you shall have my blessing," said her
father. "I yield to the new order of things." Then as the pretty elder
daughter disappeared, a sheaf of white lavender-perfumed towels over her
arm, he said: "Now, dear, I perceive your point. Archie Vanderhoven's
accident has, however, occurred in the very best possible time for
Grace. The King's Daughters--you know what a breezy Ten they are, with
our Eva and the Raeburns' Amy among them--are going to give a lift to
Archie, not to his mother, who might take offence. All the local talent
of our young people is already enlisted. Our big dining-room is to be
the hall of ceremonies, and I believe they are to have tableaux, music,
readings and refreshments. This will come off on the first moonlight
night, and the proceeds will all go to Archie, to be kept, probably, as
a nest-egg for his college expenses. That mother of his means him to go
through college, you know, if she has to pay the fees by hard work,
washing, ironing, scrubbing, what not."

"I hope the boy's worth it," said Mrs. Wainwright, doubtfully. "Few boys
are."

"The right boy is," said the doctor, firmly. "In our medical association
there's one fellow who is on the way to be a famous surgeon. He's fine,
Jane, the most plucky, persistent man, with the eye, and the nerve, and
the hand, and the delicacy and steadiness of the surgeon born in him,
and confirmed by training. Some of his operations are perfectly
beautiful, beautiful! He'll be famous over the whole world yet. His
mother was an Irish charwoman, and she and he had a terrible tug to
carry him through his studies."

"Is he good to her? Is he grateful?" asked Mrs. Wainwright, much
impressed.

"Good! grateful! I should say so," said the doctor. "She lives like
Queen Victoria, rides in her carriage, dresses in black silk, has four
maids to wait on her. She lives like the first lady in the land, in her
son's house, and he treats her like a lover. He's a man. He was worth
all she did. They say," added the doctor, presently, "that sometimes the
old lady tires of her splendor, sends the maids away to visit their
cousins, and turns in and works for a day or two like all possessed.
She's been seen hanging out blankets on a windy day in the back yard,
with a face as happy as that of a child playing truant."

"Poor, dear old thing," said Mrs. Wainwright. "Well, to go back to our
girlie, she's to be allowed to take her own way, isn't sh