her lap.

"I don't know what to do," she repeated. "For the first time in all my
existence. I--I have no precedents. You must leave me for a while
until I can think this out."

He rose. "You can't think it out. I have tried."

"You'd better lie down and get some sleep. You're looking quite badly."

"No. I'll go out and find David Junior."

"Perhaps that would be better."

He went. For an hour Aunt Clara sat alone, trying to work out the
hardest problem of life, how to raise a love from the dead. And all
she achieved was a bitter self-reproach. For the first time in all her
existence.

A ripple of childish laughter came to her through an opened window.
She rose and looked out. She saw the Davids, little and big, sitting
chummily on the lawn. Then Aunt Clara thanked God that David and
Shirley had been given a son.

"We have that much to start with--though it seems little enough just
now."

She sniffed, as a matter of necessity, and hastily reached for her
handkerchief.

When it was time for Davy Junior's dinner and nap she summoned David to
her sitting-room again.

"David," she began, very meekly for Aunt Clara, "I've been thinking it
over. I ought to blame you. But I can't. I've had all I could do
blaming myself. Are you thinking I am a selfish, meddlesome old fool?"

David shook his head wearily.

"But I am. I was lonesome alone here in this big old house and I
really thought-- But never mind that now. Does she--that other woman
know?"

"I think not."

"Is she--is she in love with you?"

"Oh, no! That is impossible. Oh, no!" he repeated. "That couldn't
be. It would be too terrible."

"It's terrible enough as it is. Are you going to tell Shirley?"

"That wouldn't help matters, would it?"

"I suppose not," she sighed. "David, you must be very gentle with her.
It isn't her fault she wanted to run away from hard times. All her
life we have spoiled her, her father and mother and Maizie and I. I
did it worst of all, as I never spoiled my own child. David, come over
here."

He went to the chair beside her and she reached for his hand very
awkwardly.

"Oh, David, it's going to be very hard for you--all because an old
fool--" Aunt Clara was crying now, noisily and unbeautifully because
she had had little practise. "And I'm afraid that when you see Shirley
you'll find it even harder than you thought." . . .

Shirley came only a little before it was time for him to start