HAD sometimes wondered whether Mother noticed these things.

"That's nothing," she said, "to what--"

"I MUST get on with my work," said Mother, giving Bobbie one last
squeeze. "Don't say anything to the others."

That evening in the hour before bed-time instead of reading to the
children Mother told them stories of the games she and Father used
to have when they were children and lived near each other in the
country--tales of the adventures of Father with Mother's brothers when
they were all boys together. Very funny stories they were, and the
children laughed as they listened.

"Uncle Edward died before he was grown up, didn't he?" said Phyllis, as
Mother lighted the bedroom candles.

"Yes, dear," said Mother, "you would have loved him. He was such a
brave boy, and so adventurous. Always in mischief, and yet friends with
everybody in spite of it. And your Uncle Reggie's in Ceylon--yes, and
Father's away, too. But I think they'd all like to think we'd enjoyed
talking about the things they used to do. Don't you think so?"

"Not Uncle Edward," said Phyllis, in a shocked tone; "he's in Heaven."

"You don't suppose he's forgotten us and all the old times, because God
has taken him, any more than I forget him. Oh, no, he remembers. He's
only away for a little time. We shall see him some day."

"And Uncle Reggie--and Father, too?" said Peter.

"Yes," said Mother. "Uncle Reggie and Father, too. Good night, my
darlings."

"Good night," said everyone. Bobbie hugged her mother more closely even
than usual, and whispered in her ear, "Oh, I do love you so, Mummy--I
do--I do--"

When Bobbie came to think it all over, she tried not to wonder what
the great trouble was. But she could not always help it. Father was not
dead--like poor Uncle Edward--Mother had said so. And he was not ill, or
Mother would have been with him. Being poor wasn't the trouble. Bobbie
knew it was something nearer the heart than money could be.

"I mustn't try to think what it is," she told herself; "no, I mustn't. I
AM glad Mother noticed about us not quarrelling so much. We'll keep that
up."

And alas, that very afternoon she and Peter had what Peter called a
first-class shindy.

They had not been a week at Three Chimneys before they had asked Mother
to let them have a piece of garden each for their very own, and she had
agreed, and the south border under the peach trees had been divided into
three pieces and they were allowed to plant what