rope was fastened. Under the tree, set against the trunk and raised on some support to the proper height, was an automobile seat. They managed to get to it and to sink down upon it. "I couldn't a-walked another step," groaned Janey. "I was just about to the end of my rope, too," Betty confessed, with a little nervous giggle. Three children had already grouped themselves before the old couple-a boy of four years, with chubby hands clasped over his round stomach, and two girls of six and eight, one on each side of him, all staring with the greatest curiosity. Betty and Janey smiled, and the children smiled back, recognizing kindred souls, as children will. "Whose little boy be you?" Betty asked, her voice unsteady with weariness. "Mama's," the boy replied. "What's your name, dearie?" "Name Buddie." "I've got a little boy, too," Betty told him. She reached out a delicate, crumply old hand and stroked the child's smooth blond head. "My name's Ruth," volunteered the younger girl. "Mine's Caroline," said the other. "And mine's Betty and this is Janey. I invited her to come down with me. I hope your ma ain't had to keep the dinner waitin' very long. Have you got your breath yet, Janey? Because, if you have, we'd better be goin' in." They struggled to their feet again, and, escorted by the children, started up the path to the house. The older girl ran ahead and in at the kitchen door, and directly Mrs. Mason, a plump, brownhaired, youngish woman with kind brown eyes and cheeks flushed from working about the kitchen fire, appeared, dusting floury fingers on her apron. She was not a little surprised at sight of the square-rigged Janey in her cutaway coat and man's cap, white bob fluttering beneath, and the slender Betty, with her full, flaring velvet basque and black-lace mitts, her mourning veil draped lightly over her narrow, bent shoulders; both radiantly smiling, Janey her toothless caved-in, moonlike smile, and Betty over her genteel upper and lower set. Both smiles were slightly vague, slightly apologetic, and plainly tired. "We've got here at last," said Betty, tremulous, not quite sure of her ground. "Janey, she's most tuckered out, but I'm all right. I hope we ain't kep' your dinner waitin'.” Mrs. Mason gasped, caught her breath, and then smiled back, putting out her hand. "Come right in," she said. "You look tired out, both of you." Together they managed the wide, low doorstep, and then Betty preceded Janey through the doorway into the kitchen, which was not as small as might have been supposed from the outside. "You're just in time," said Mrs. Mason cheerfully. "Caroline, you show 'em where to take off their things and wash up a bit, and by the time they're ready your father will be here and we'll have supper. Ruth, dear, set two more places and pull up two more chairs." The reason Janey wore a man's capa soft one-was apparent when she took it off. The top of her squarish head was as smooth and shiny as one of those paleyellow squashes that grow over, bowlshaped, and fluted around the lower edge. Her fringe of white curls fluffed out distractingly and reminded one who knew squashes of those neat fluted edges. Betty's gray locks were quite abundant and had a natural wave in them. Parted and drawn down cunningly over the tops of her ears, they gave a demure, Priscilla look to her face, in spite of the snug little wad at the back. They both looked very neat and clean. "It is chicken and biscuits," Betty whispered. "Ain't you glad now you come?" Janey nodded happily, convinced beyond a doubt that Betty was a person of family connections. "Git out your clean apron," she reminded. The children stood helpfully near, watching with delighted curiosity and commenting politely. "Did an Indian scalp you?" Caroline ventured. Janey shook her head and her smile curved upward toward her eyes, which, oddly enough, seemed to curve down a little at the outer corners. Mr. Mason came in and washed at the kitchen sink and brushed his hair at the kitchen glass, in the corner by the door. He was informed that there was company and peeped in curiously. "What kind of birds are they?" he asked his wife. "The great auk and the She put a hand over his mouth. "Hush!" she whispered. "Can't you guess where they came from? The Poor Farm. It's three miles at least, and from what I can find out the poor things have been walking all day. The old dears! They're so funny and so-so pathetic. They're going to have their supper. Oh, Bill, do you s'pose you and I will ever get to be like that? "Of course not," Bill assured her, and he kissed the back of her neck, as she stooped to take a tin of biscuit out of the oven. "Oh, you kid!" she exclaimed. "You almost made me drop them." Bill smiled. "But, Dear Heart, if we should, we'll find a chimney corner with one of our children." "It's well we can't see too far into the future," replied Dear Heart, with a gentle sigh. "Anyhow, I'm glad we're having chicken and biscuits for supper to-night. It's going to be a wonderful treat for them, and if sometime, oh in years and years Betty was tying her white apron about her trim waist, her bundle lying open on a chair, and Janey was similarly occupied before another chair, when Bill entered. Taking the cue from his wife, he greeted them like old friends. The simple ceremony being over, they turned back to their chairs. "This is brother Joe's picture," Betty said, taking a small package from among a few other little things. "I didn't like to leave it, where there's so many to pick and nose about." "It would have been very unwise," Bill agreed. Carefully she unwound the faded ribbon that wrapped it and brought to light a small daguerreotype picture, in a case, of a boy of twenty, in the blue uniform of the Civil War, standing with his rifle in his hand, the butt resting on the ground and the fixed bayonet extending above his head. Round-cheeked and pretty he was, with a softness about the eyes that indicated blue. "He was killed," said Betty quietly. "He didn't never come home." Her eyes followed the picture, as it went from hand to hand, until she got it back. "Now show 'em your cross, Janey," she said, and as Janey began to fumble among her things-"It's made out of a piece of the Monitor or the Merrimac, Janey can't remember which. Her brother made it, when he was in a hospital down South, and he made that pin, too, that she's got on her neck, with her name on it. He made it out of a bone, and the name's cut into the bone, and the place is filled with red sealin' wax. Pretty, ain't it?" "The biscuits are done," announced Mrs. Mason. "I'm going to pour the gravy over them in the tureen right now, and we'll look at the rest of your beautiful keepsakes after supper." And so, very presently, Betty and Janey found themselves occupying chairs at the table, with Bill at the head and the three children opposite, Buddy in his high-chair at the end nearest his mother. "Sometimes we begin at the bottom, but this time we're going to begin at the top," Bill said. "Now, which of you two young ladies is the oldest?" Betty looked at Janey. "I be; I'm eighty-seven," said Janey promptly, and it seemed almost proudly. "I was forty-two my last birthday," said Betty, sitting serene and Priscilla-like in the high-backed chair. Janey smiled her engaging, caved-in smile, and cast a knowing look around the table. "Janey gets in first on this, it's very evident," laughed Bill, "but Betty is a sure second, because I'm only forty and Dear Heart is somewhere between thirtyeight and eighteen. I never can remember exactly where." They all laughed at this, and Buddy said "Haw! haw! haw!" in a funny way, and then, scared at his own temerity, laid his round cheek on his mother's arm and grinned across the table at Janey. "He thinks he's funny when he does that," his mother explained. They had mashed potato and red jelly and very tender green peas fixed with cream and served in saucers, and redraspberry pie and coffee, and pink-andwhite peppermints, and it was all on the table, so you could know just what was coming. "What part of the chicken do you prefer, Janey?" Bill wanted to know, as he began to serve. "Oh, any part that's agreeable to you." Janey stammered a little over the big word and the honor of being served first. "I see some dark and some light meat -all right?" "Yes," smiled Janey. "The same as Janey, please, only-if you see a bit of the liver-don't bother, but if it's right where you can find it." "Sure, it's right here-Dear Heart, this chicken had a liver, didn't it?" "It certainly did, a big one." Dear Heart's big brown eyes scanned the heaped-up platter. "I see it!" cried Caroline excitedly, pointing-"over there by the edge." Bill pounced on the liver and transferred it to Betty's plate. "I don't know when I've had a taste of chicken liver," she said, gently apologetic. "Whose turn is it to get the wishbone?" Bill questioned hastily. Ruth claimed it and Caroline got the heart. Dear Heart dished up the peas and passed the jelly and pickles, and the dinner proceeded with delightful spirit. "Do you take cream and sugar in your coffee?" she asked her guests, and when they said they did-"Two lumps or verted from the business of eating. She three?" kept right on. "Only to think of it!" Janey looked that into Betty's eyes without speaking. "Didn't I tell you real cream?" Betty whispered in Janey's ear-" and butter in plenty?" They soon lost track of how many times the butter was passed to them, or they were urged to have another helping of something, or their coffee-cups filled again. How sad that, no matter how one tries, one can never eat but one meal ahead! "This is the best cooked chicken I ever tasted," Betty averred, "and the biscuits, too." Janey nodded, her mouth full. Having no teeth, she found it advisable to attend pretty strictly to the business in hand, in order to keep her plate down even with the rest. She did exceedingly well, considering her limitations. Even Betty, with plenty of teeth, had some difficulty when her plate was constantly being heaped with good things. "I don't think I eat more'n other folks, but I eat slower," she said. "We've got all the time in the world," Bill assured them. "I ain't half through." "Nor I," said his wife. "It's better to eat slow and long. I try to teach the children not to swallow their food whole." "Mother is always very particular about that, too," said Betty, a far-off look coming into her eyes. She had a listening look, too. The little boxed-in stairway opened down into the small dining-room, and from where she sat she could see up its carpeted length, by turning her head a little. She did this several times, and finally she leaned toward it and called: "Mother! Mother!" in an eager, enticing voice. A sudden hush fell on the little group around the table. Bill took a drink of water and choked, and his wife's eyes filled with tears, so that she dared not wink. To them it was unutterably sad to see this aged creature calling up the stairway for her mother. But little Caroline, whose soul was still a flower-bed of imaginings, understood better. "She's making believe her mother is up there," she whispered. "I guess she thinks this is her mother's house and she's glad about it." In a moment or two Betty turned back with the remark: "I guess she'll come down pretty soon. She knows it's supper-time." She glanced at Janey, hesitated a moment, and added: "When mother comes down Janey can move along and we can fix a place for her right next to me." 66 Certainly. Of course we can," Bill assented, and Betty's old face beamed. "The boys ought to be here," she went on, "but they have such a long ways to drive. I haven't seen 'em in a good while -Hiram and John and Andrew and Joseph. I hope they'll come." "We'll feed 'em if they drive in," declared Bill heartily and took another drink of water. Again Betty seemed satisfied. "Is your white hens layin' good now?" she asked. "Oh, yes; I brought in six eggs to-day," Dear Heart told her. "Betty likes white hens," Janey informed them. "They look pretty walking around on green grass, and ginerally they're good layers," Betty explained her liking for white hens. While Ruth was crumbing the table and her mother was cutting the pie, Betty got up, saying: "Will you excuse me just a minute. I want to go up-stairs and see if my little children are up there. They ought to come down to supper." She trotted to the stairway, and went nimbly up, Bill calling after her that she'd better finish her own supper first, hadn't she? "I won't be gone a minute," she called back. "Oh, does she really think her children are up there," Dear Heart murmured, "and her mother? Does she think this is her house?" Janey smiled. "She'll come back after she's called 'em. Betty dreams sometimes. I don't guess they're up there now, do you?" Dear Heart got up hastily and followed to the stairway. There were three bedrooms above, opening on the hall, and Betty went to each door and looked in and called: "Betty-little Betty-MamieCharlie-" Three times, just the same. She called softly and listened after each Janey did not permit herself to be di- call-a breathless, intent listening. "I wish they'd come, so we could play with 'em," Ruth whispered in Caroline's ear. "They can't really come. They're only 'maginations," Caroline explained, whispering in return. "I wish 'maginations came true," Ruth replied. Janey was busy tying red-and-white candies in the corner of her handkerchief, and Dear Heart ran out to the kitchen and hid her face in the roller towel for as many as ten seconds. 'The dear old thing doesn't see us hardly at all,' she thought. 'She just sees her mother and her children. I wonder-oh, I wonder where those children are. Where are the children of all the old grandmothers and grandfathers that live at the Poor Farm?' "Dear Heart, will you bring in some more biscuits?" Bill called. Betty came back down-stairs. "They're hidin' from me," she explained with a little embarrassed laugh. "They won't answer, but they'll soon get tired if I leave 'em alone, and they'll come down to their supper." "Tum to suppa!" shouted Buddy, pounding on the table with his spoon, and they all laughed again, just as one does at a picture show, when the scene changes suddenly from tragic to comic. By the time they were all through eating, it was beginning to grow dark. "My husband usually drives over to take me home, when I've been anywheres," Betty said, with an anxious glance out at the dimming road. "Mebby we'd better start along, Janey, and he can pick us up part way.' "Don't be in a hurry; stay and visit a while," Dear Heart urged, and they were persuaded. With the guileless pleasure of children they showed the rest of their little keepsakes. "All they've got left, but memories," Dear Heart whispered to Bill. Betty had a tea-caddy that was doubtless very old, as her great-grandfather, who was a sea-captain, had brought it from China, and Janey had a small picture of herself, treasured from her girlhood. Her smile was there, curving mischievously, but it didn't cave in on the VOL. LXXXII.—14 Janey blushed and smiled at Buddy, who found her fascinating, and was leaning against her knees, looking up at her in a solemn enjoyment that amounted almost to rapture. "Did God forget your teeth?" he questioned, and Janey giggled, showing her toothless gums the plainer. Presently Bill went out and brought his Lizzie round to the front, while Dear Heart buttoned the slender Betty into her brocaded velvet basque and the square Janey into her cutaway coat, and gave each a package of cookies and some lumps of sugar to tie up with her bundle. "The carriage is at the door," Bill announced, and in a minute they were off, Dear Heart watching the departure with a tear in her eye and a smile on her lip, and the children shouting cheerful goodbys. "I never rode in a easier carriage," Betty said as the Lizzie bumped cheerfully along over the fairly smooth road. "My husband always would keep good horses." "They do go nice," Janey agreed, "and the seat's easy, too." They drew up to the door of the Poor Farm at about nine o'clock, and Bill gallantly helped them out and up the steps. Holding hands again they sidled in, like two children who were not quite sure whether an escapade would be condoned or punished. But the matron smiled"Well, you've made a day of it"-and their old faces brightened. "Yes," said Betty with a happy sigh. "We've been home to mother's and seen all the folks and had a awful good visit. She keeps white hens. "And we had chicken and biscuits," Janey added, smiling her caved-in, moonlike smile over her shoulder, as the two trudged down the hall. "We'll have a good time to-morrow, tellin' the rest about it, won't we, Janey?" Betty chuckled softly, when they had closed the door on themselves, in the little room they occupied together. Janey pulled off her cap and nodded her bald head sleepily. |