er; and the younger boys, returning full of the day's
great deeds, spread themselves comfortably over the lower steps.
Before long all their happy voices rose together, on "Believe me," and
"Working on the Railroad," and "Seeing Nellie Home," and a dozen more
of the old songs that young people have sung for half a century in the
summer moonlight.

And then it was time to say good-night to Professor Tenison. "Come
again, sir!" said Mr. Paget, heartily; the boys slid their hands,
still faintly suggestive of fish, cordially into his; Rebecca promised
to mail him a certain discussed variety of fern the very next day;
Bruce's voice sounded all hearty good-will as he hoped that he
wouldn't miss Doctor Tenison's next visit. Mrs. Paget, her hand in
his, raised keen, almost anxious eyes to his face.

"But surely you'll be down our way again?" said she, unsmilingly.

"Oh, surely." The professor was unable to keep his eyes from moving
toward Margaret, and the mother saw it.

"Good-bye for the present, then," she said, still very gravely.

"Good-bye, Mrs. Paget," said Doctor Tenison. "It's been an inestimable
privilege to meet you all. I haven't ever had a happier day."

Margaret, used to the extravagant speeches of another world, thought
this merely very charming politeness. But her heart sang, as they
walked away together. He liked them--he had had a nice time!

"Now I know what makes you so different from other women," said John
Tenison, when he and Margaret were alone. "It's having that wonderful
mother! She--she--well, she's one woman in a million; I don't have to
tell you that! It's something to thank God for, a mother like that;
it's a privilege to know her. I've been watching her all day, and I've
been wondering what she gets out of it,--that was what puzzled me; but
now, just now, I've found out! This morning, thinking what her life
is, I couldn't see what repaid her, do you see? What made up to her
for the unending, unending effort, and sacrifice, the pouring out of
love and sympathy and help--year after year after year...."

He hesitated, but Margaret did not speak.

"You know," he went on musingly, "in these days, when women just
serenely ignore the question of children, or at most, as a special
concession, bring up one or two,--just the one or two whose expenses
can be comfortably met!--there's something magnificent in a woman like
your mother, who begins eight destinies instead of one! She doesn't
strain and