in a voice rich with amusement.
"I love to walk in the rain, Mark; I used to love it when I was
a girl. Tom and Sister are at our house, Mrs. Potter, playing with
Duncan and Baby. I'll keep them until after school, then I'll send
them over to walk home with you."

"Oh, you are an angel!" said the younger mother, gratefully. And "You
are an angel, Mother!" Margaret echoed, as Mrs. Paget opened a shabby
suitcase, and took from it a large jar of hot rich soup, a little blue
bowl of stuffed eggs, half a fragrant whole-wheat loaf in a white
napkin, a little glass full of sweet butter, and some of the spice
cakes to which Rebecca had already enthusiastically alluded.

"There!" said she, pleased with their delight, "now take your time,
you've got three-quarters of an hour. Julie devilled the eggs, and
the sweet-butter man happened to come just as I was starting."

"Delicious!--You've saved our lives," Margaret said, busy with cups
and spoons. "You'll stay, Mother?" she broke off suddenly, as Mrs.
Paget closed the suitcase.

"I can't, dear! I must go back to the children," her mother said
cheerfully. No coaxing proving of any avail, Margaret went with her
to the top of the hall stairs.

"What's my girl worrying about?" Mrs. Paget asked, with a keen glance
at Margaret's face.

"Oh, nothing!" Margaret used both hands to button the top button of
her mother's coat. "I was hungry and cold, and I didn't want to walk
home in the rain!" she confessed, raising her eyes to the eyes so
near her own.

"Well, go back to your lunch," Mrs. Paget urged, after a brief pause,
not quite satisfied with the explanation. Margaret kissed her again,
watched her descend the stairs, and leaning over the banister called
down to her softly:

"Don't worry about me, Mother!"

"No--no--no!" her mother called back brightly. Indeed, Margaret
reflected, going back to the much-cheered Emily, it was not in her
nature to worry.

No, Mother never worried, or if she did, nobody ever knew it. Care,
fatigue, responsibility, hard long years of busy days and broken
nights had left their mark on her face; the old beauty that had been
hers was chiselled to a mere pure outline now; but there was a
contagious serenity in Mrs. Paget's smile, a clear steadiness in
her calm eyes, and her forehead, beneath an unfashionably plain
sweep of hair, was untroubled and smooth.

The children's mother was a simple woman; so absorbed in the hourly
problems attendant upon