nder the superintendence of a full Aunt. Each
girl, under the constitution of the association, could call Jacky "hers"
for two days in the week, and great, though friendly, was the rivalry
between them, as they washed, ironed, and sewed for their adored nephew.

If Mrs. Cobb had not been the most amiable woman in the world she might
have had difficulty in managing the aunts, but she always had Jacky to
herself the earlier part of the day and after dusk at night.

Meanwhile Jack-o'-lantern grew healthier and heartier and jollier as the
weeks slipped away. Uncle Jerry joined the little company of worshipers
and slaves, and one fear alone stirred in all their hearts; not, as a
sensible and practical person might imagine, the fear that the recreant
father might never return to claim his child, but, on the contrary, that
he MIGHT do so!

October came at length with its cheery days and frosty nights, its glory
of crimson leaves and its golden harvest of pumpkins and ripened corn.
Rebecca had been down by the Edgewood side of the river and had come
up across the pastures for a good-night play with Jacky. Her literary
labors had been somewhat interrupted by the joys and responsibilities of
vice-motherhood, and the thought book was less frequently drawn from its
hiding place under the old haymow in the barn chamber.

Mrs. Cobb stood behind the screen door with her face pressed against the
wire netting, and Rebecca could see that she was wiping her eyes.

All at once the child's heart gave one prophetic throb and then stood
still. She was like a harp that vibrated with every wind of emotion,
whether from another's grief or her own.

She looked down the lane, around the curve of the stone wall, red with
woodbine, the lane that would meet the stage road to the station. There,
just mounting the crown of the hill and about to disappear on the other
side, strode a stranger man, big and tall, with a crop of reddish curly
hair showing from under his straw hat. A woman walked by his side, and
perched on his shoulder, wearing his most radiant and triumphant mien,
as joyous in leaving Edgewood as he had been during every hour of his
sojourn there--rode Jack-o'-lantern!

Rebecca gave a cry in which maternal longing and helpless, hopeless
jealousy strove for supremacy. Then, with an impetuous movement she
started to run after the disappearing trio.

Mrs. Cobb opened the door hastily, calling after her, "Rebecca, Rebecca,
come back he