er that evening Stephen Brice was sitting by the open windows in his
mother's room, looking on the street-lights below.

"Well, my dear," asked the lady, at length, "what do you think of it
all?"

"They are kind people," he said.

"Yes, they are kind," she assented, with a sigh. "But they are not--they
are not from among our friends, Stephen."

"I thought that one of our reasons for coming West, mother," answered
Stephen.

His mother looked pained.

"Stephen, how can you! We came West in order that you might have more
chance for the career to which you are entitled. Our friends in Boston
were more than good."

He left the window and came and stood behind her chair, his hands clasped
playfully beneath her chin.

"Have you the exact date about you, mother?"

"What date, Stephen?"

"When I shall leave St. Louis for the United States Senate. And you must
not forget that there is a youth limit in our Constitution for senators."

Then the widow smiled,--a little sadly, perhaps. But still a wonderfully
sweet smile. And it made her strong face akin to all that was human and
helpful.

"I believe that you have the subject of my first speech in that august
assembly. And, by the way, what was it?"

"It was on 'The Status of the Emigrant,'" she responded instantly,
thereby proving that she was his mother.

"And it touched the Rights of Privacy," he added, laughing, "which do not
seem to exist in St. Louis boarding-houses."

"In the eyes of your misguided profession, statesmen and authors and
emigrants and other public charges have no Rights of Privacy," said she.
"Mr. Longfellow told me once that they were to name a brand of flour for
him, and that he had no redress."

"Have you, too, been up before Miss Crane's Commission?" he asked, with
amused interest.

His mother laughed.

"Yes," she said quietly.

"They have some expert members," he continued. "This Mrs. Abner Reed
could be a shining light in any bar. I overheard a part of her
cross-examination. She--she had evidently studied our case--"

"My dear," answered Mrs. Brice, "I suppose they know all about us." She
was silent a moment, I had so hoped that they wouldn't. They lead the
same narrow life in this house that they did in their little New England
towns. They--they pity us, Stephen."

"Mother!"

"I did not expect to find so many New Englanders here--I wish that Mr.
Whipple had directed us elsewhere-"

"He probably thought that we should feel a