KAf.Hl 
 
 L-Jtl 
 
 MORRIS 
 
OOK ON THE 
 OTHER SIDE 
 
 this wrapper for a list of 
 >re than 4-00 titles of the best 
 :ent copyright fiction 
 pular Priced Editions. 
 
 in 
 
 MOTHER 
 
 ir KATHLEEN NORRIS 
 
 \ girl's story, serving 
 dnly to throw light upon 
 big mother heart that 
 ats in the background, 
 irgaret Paget is a teacher, 
 ed of her humdrum school 
 periencesandall that goes 
 make up her colorless life 
 a little New York town. 
 DW the sky of her dreams 
 ddenly becomes rosy, 
 ly to precede the dawn 
 a "coming true" that 
 ects her whole life, lends 
 fairy-story touch that is 
 unterbalanced by the 
 irdy reality of struggle, 
 crifice and resulting peace 
 d power that are the 
 rtion of the mother who 
 inches eight bodies and 
 nds wholesomely upon 
 e serious business of 
 'ing. 
 
 
 California Berkeley 
 
 fift of 
 
 E. KIEBERT 
 
MOTHER 
 
BY THE AUTHOR OF 
 
 Poor, Dear Margaret Kirby 
 The Rich Mrs. Burgoyne 
 
 Saturday s Child 
 
 The Story of Julia Page 
 
 The Treasure 
 
Oh, Mother!" sobbed Margaret. "Do you want me to go?" 
 
MOTHER 
 
 A STORY 
 
 BY 
 
 KATHLEEN NORRIS 
 
 Illustrations by 
 F. C. YOHN 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 GROSSET & DUNLAP 
 
 PUBLISHERS 
 
Copyright, 1911, by 
 DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY 
 
 All rights reserved, including that of 
 
 translation into foreign languages , 
 
 including the Scandinavian 
 
To 
 
 J. E. T. AND J. A. T. 
 
 As years ago we carried to your knees 
 
 The tales and treasures of eventful days, 
 
 Knowing no deed too humble for your praise, 
 
 Nor any gift too trivial to please, 
 
 So still we bring, with older smiles and tears, 
 
 What gifts we may, to claim the old, dear right; 
 
 Your faith, beyond the silence and the night, 
 
 Your love still close and watching through the years. 
 
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 " Oh, Mother! " sobbed Margaret. " Do you 
 
 want me to go?" Frontispiece 
 
 FACING PAGE 
 
 With notes and invitations, account books 
 and cheque books, dinner lists and inter 
 views with caterers, decorators and florists, 
 Margaret's time was full. 76 
 
 Like a pair of joyous and irresponsible chil 
 dren . . . too happy even to pause 
 and ask themselves whither they were going 1 06 
 
 " Well, there's my girl! Bless her heart! " . 134 
 
 Leaning on the uneven stones . . . they 
 
 looked down at the roofs of the village . 172 
 
MOTHER 
 
MOTHER 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 WELL, we couldn't have much worse 
 weather than this for the last week 
 of school, could we?" Margaret 
 Paget said in discouragement. She stood at 
 one of the school windows, her hands thrust 
 deep in her coat pockets for warmth, her 
 eyes following the whirling course of the 
 storm that howled outside. The day had 
 commenced with snow, but now, at twelve 
 o'clock, the rain was falling in sheets, and 
 the barren schoolhouse yard and the play- 
 shed roof ran muddy streams of water. 
 
 Margaret had taught in this schoolroom 
 for nearly four years now, ever since her 
 seventeenth birthday, and she knew every 
 feature of the big bare room by heart, and 
 
 3 
 
4 MOTHER 
 
 every detail of the length of village street 
 that the high, uncurtained windows com 
 manded. She had stood at this window in 
 all weathers: when locust and lilac made 
 even ugly little Weston enchanting, and all 
 the windows were open to floods of sweet 
 spring air; when the dry heat of autumn 
 burned over the world; when the common 
 little houses and barns, and the bare trees, 
 lay dazzling and transfigured under the first 
 snowfall, and the wood crackled in the 
 schoolroom stove; and when, as to-day, 
 mid-winter rains swept drearily past the 
 windows, and the children must have the 
 lights lighted for their writing lesson. She 
 was tired of it all, with an utter and hopeless 
 weariness. Tired of the bells, and the 
 whispering, and the shuffling feet, of the 
 books that smelled of pencil-dust and ink 
 and little dusty fingers; tired of the black 
 boards, cleaned in great irregular scallops 
 by small and zealous arms; of the clear- 
 ticking big clock; of little girls who sulked, 
 
MOTHER 5 
 
 and little girls who cried after hours in the 
 hall because they had lost their lunch bas 
 kets or their overshoes, and little girls who 
 had colds in their heads, and no handker 
 chiefs. Looking out into the gray day and 
 the rain, Margaret 'said to herself that she 
 was sick of it all ! 
 
 There were no little girls in the school 
 room now. They were for the most part 
 downstairs in the big pfayroom, discussing 
 cold lunches, and planning, presumably, the 
 joys of the closely approaching holidays. 
 One or two windows had been partially 
 opened to air the room in their absence, and 
 Margaret's only companion was another 
 teacher, Emily Porter, a cheerful little widow, 
 whose plain rosy face was in marked contrast 
 to the younger woman's unusual beauty. 
 
 Mrs. Porter loved Margaret and admired 
 her very much, but she herself loved teach 
 ing. She had had a hard fight to secure this 
 position a few years ago; it meant comfort 
 to her and her children, and it still seemed 
 
6 MOTHER 
 
 to her a miracle of God's working, after her 
 years of struggle and worry. She could not 
 understand why Margaret wanted anything 
 better; what better thing indeed could life 
 hold! Sometimes, looking admiringly at 
 her associate's crown of tawny braids, at 
 the dark eyes and the exquisite lines of mouth 
 and forehead, Mrs. Porter would find her 
 self sympathetic with the girl's vague dis 
 content and longings, to the extent of wish 
 ing that some larger social circle than that 
 of Weston might have a chance to appre 
 ciate Margaret Paget's beauty, that "some 
 of those painters who go crazy over girls 
 not half as pretty" might see her. But, 
 after all, sensible little Mrs. Porter would 
 say to herself, Weston was a "nice" town, 
 only four hours from New York, absolutely 
 up-to-date; and Weston's best people were 
 all "nice," and the Paget girls were very 
 popular, and "went everywhere," young 
 people were just discontented and exacting, 
 that was all ! 
 
MOTHER 7 
 
 She came to Margaret's side now, but 
 toned snugly into her own storm coat, and 
 they looked out at the rain together. Noth 
 ing alive was in sight. The bare trees 
 tossed in the wind, and a garden gate half 
 way down the row of little shabby cottages 
 banged and banged. 
 
 "Shame this is the worst yet!" Mrs. 
 Porter said. "You aren't going home to 
 lunch in all this, Margaret?" 
 
 "Oh, I don't know," Margaret said 
 despondently. "I'm so dead that I'd make 
 a cup of tea here if I didn't think Mother 
 would worry and send Julie over with lunch." 
 
 "I brought some bread and butter but 
 not much. I hoped it would hold up. I 
 hate to leave Tom and Sister alone all 
 day," Mrs. Porter said dubiously. "There's 
 tea and some of those bouillon cubes and 
 some crackers left. But you're so tired, I 
 don't know but what you ought to have a 
 hearty lunch." 
 
 "Oh, I'm not hungry." Margaret dropped 
 
8 MOTHER 
 
 into a desk, put her elbows on it, pushed 
 her hair off her forehead. The other woman 
 saw a tear slip by the lowered, long lashes. 
 
 "You're exhausted, aren't you, Mar 
 garet?" she said suddenly. 
 
 The little tenderness was too much. 
 Margaret's lip shook. 
 
 "Dead!" she said unsteadily. Presently 
 she added, with an effort at cheerfulness, 
 "I'm just cross, I guess, Emily; don't mind 
 me! I'm tired out with examinations and"- 
 her eyes filled again "and I'm sick of wet 
 cold weather and rain and snow," she added 
 childishly. "Our house is full of muddy 
 rubbers and wet clothes! Other people go 
 places and do pleasant things," said Mar 
 garet, her breast rising and falling stormily; 
 "but nothing ever happens to us except bro 
 ken arms, and bills, and boilers bursting, and 
 chicken-pox! It's drudge, drudge, drudge, 
 from morning until night!" 
 
 With a sudden little gesture of abandon 
 ment she found a handkerchief in her belt, 
 
MOTHER 9 
 
 and pressed it, still folded, against her eyes. 
 Mrs. Porter watched her solicitously but 
 silently. Outside the schoolroom windows 
 the wind battered furiously, and rain 
 slapped steadily against the panes. 
 
 "Well!" the girl said resolutely and sud 
 denly. And after a moment she added 
 frankly, "I think the real trouble to-day, 
 Emily, is that we just heard of Betty For- 
 sythe's engagement she was my brother's 
 girl, you know; he's admired her ever since 
 she got into High School, and of course 
 Bruce is going to feel awfully bad." 
 
 " Betty engaged ? Who to ?" Mrs. Porter 
 was interested. 
 
 "To that man boy, rather, he's only 
 twenty-one who's been visiting the Red 
 mans," Margaret said. "She's only known 
 him two weeks." 
 
 " Gracious ! And she's only eighteen " 
 
 "Not quite eighteen. She and my sis 
 ter, Julie, were in my first class four years 
 ago; they're the same age," Margaret said. 
 
io MOTHER 
 
 "She came fluttering over to tell us last 
 night, wearing a diamond the size of a 
 marble! Of course" Margaret was loyal 
 
 "I don't think there's a jealous bone in 
 Julie's body; still, it's pretty hard! Here's 
 Julie plugging away to get through the 
 Normal School, so that she can teach all the 
 rest of her life, and Betty's been to Cali 
 fornia, and been to Europe, and now is 
 going to marry a rich New York man! 
 Betty's the only child, you know, so, of 
 course, she has everything. It seems so 
 unfair, for Mr. Forsythe's salary is exactly 
 what Dad's is; yet they can travel, and keep 
 two maids, and entertain all the time! 
 And as for family, why, Mother's family 
 is one of the finest in the country, and Dad's 
 had two uncles who were judges and what 
 were the Forsythes ! However " Margaret 
 dried her eyes and put away her handker 
 chief "however, it's for Bruce I mind 
 most!" 
 
 " Bruce is only three years older than you 
 
MOTHER ii 
 
 are, twenty-three or four," Mrs. Porter 
 smiled. 
 
 "Yes, but he's not the kind that forgets!" 
 Margaret's flush was a little resentful. "Oh, 
 of course, you can laugh, Emily. I know 
 that there are plenty of people who don't 
 mind dragging along day after day, working 
 and eating and sleeping but I'm not that 
 kind!" she went on moodily. "I used to 
 hope that things would be different; it 
 makes me sick to think how brave I was; 
 but now here's Ju coming along and Ted 
 growing up, and Bruce's girl throwing him 
 over it's all so unfair ! I look at the Cutter 
 girls, nearly fifty, and running the post- 
 office for thirty years, and Mary Page in 
 the Library, and the Norberrys painting 
 pillows and I could scream!" 
 
 "Things will take a turn for the better 
 some day, Margaret," said the other woman, 
 soothingly; "and as time goes on you'll 
 find yourself getting more and more pleasure 
 out of your work, as I do. Why, I've never 
 
12 MOTHER 
 
 been so securely happy in my life as I am 
 now. You'll feel differently some day." 
 
 "Maybe," Margaret assented unenthusi 
 astically. There was a pause. Perhaps 
 the girl was thinking that to teach school, 
 live in a plain little cottage on the unfash 
 ionable Bridge Road, take two roomers, and 
 cook and sew and plan for Tom and little 
 Emily, as Mrs. Porter did, was not quite an 
 ideal existence. 
 
 " You're an angel, anyway, Emily," said 
 she, affectionately, a little shamefacedly. 
 "Don't mind my growling. I don't do it 
 very often. But I look about at other 
 people, and then realize how my mother's 
 slaved for twenty years and how my father's 
 been tied down, and I've come to the con 
 clusion that while there may have been a 
 time when a woman could keep a house, 
 tend a garden, sew and spin and raise twelve 
 children, things are different now; life is 
 more complicated. You owe your husband 
 something, you owe yourself something. I 
 
MOTHER 13 
 
 want to get on, to study and travel, to be a 
 companion to my husband. I don't want 
 to be a mere upper servant!" 
 
 "No, of course not," assented Mrs. Por 
 ter, vaguely, soothingly. 
 
 "Well, if we are going to stay here, I'll 
 light the stove," Margaret said after a 
 pause. "B-r-r-r! this room gets cold with 
 the windows open! I wonder why Kelly 
 doesn't bring us more wood?" 
 
 "I guess I'll stay!" Mrs. Porter said 
 uncertainly, following her to the big book 
 closet off the schoolroom, where a little gas 
 stove and a small china closet occupied one 
 wide shelf. The water for the tea and 
 bouillon was put over the flame in a tiny 
 enamelled saucepan; they set forth on a 
 fringed napkin crackers and sugar and 
 spoons. 
 
 At this point a small girl of eleven with a 
 brilliant, tawny head, and a wide and tooth 
 less smile, opened the door cautiously, and 
 said, blinking rapidly with excitement 
 
i 4 MOTHER 
 
 "Mark, Mother theth pleath may thee 
 come in?" 
 
 This was Rebecca, one of Margaret's five 
 younger brothers and sisters, and a pupil of 
 the school herself. Margaret smiled at the 
 eager little face. 
 
 "Hello, darling! Is Mother here? Cer 
 tainly she can! I believe" she said, turn 
 ing, suddenly radiant, to Mrs. Potter 
 "I'll just bet you she's brought us some 
 lunch!" 
 
 "Thee brought uth our luncheth eggth 
 and thpith caketh and everything!" exulted 
 Rebecca, vanishing, and a moment later 
 Mrs. Paget appeared. 
 
 She was a tall woman, slender but large 
 of build, and showing, under a shabby rain 
 coat and well pinned-up skirt, the gracious 
 generous lines of shoulders and hips, the 
 deep-bosomed erect figure that is rarely 
 seen except in old daguerreotypes, or the 
 ideal of some artist two generations ago. 
 The storm to-day had blown an unusual 
 
MOTHER 15 
 
 color into her thin cheeks, her bright, deep 
 eyes were like Margaret's, but the hair that 
 once had shown an equally golden lustre 
 was dull and smooth now, and touched with 
 gray. She came in smiling, and a little 
 breathless. 
 
 "Mother, you didn't come out in all this 
 rain just to bring us our lunches!" Margaret 
 protested, kissing the cold, fresh face. 
 
 "Well, look at the lunch you silly girls 
 were going to eat!" Mrs. Paget protested 
 in turn, 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. Porter, playing with 
 Duncan and Baby. Pll 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 
 
16 MOTHER 
 
 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 sud 
 denly, 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 Mar 
 garet's face. 
 
 "Oh, nothing!" Margaret used both 
 hands to button the top button of her 
 
MOTHER 17 
 
 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, go 
 ing 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, re 
 sponsibility, 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 
 
i 8 MOTHER 
 
 eyes, and her forehead, beneath an unfash- 
 ionably plain sweep of hair, was untroubled 
 and smooth. 
 
 The children's mother was a simple 
 woman; so absorbed in the hourly problems 
 attendant upon the housing and feeding of 
 her husband and family that her own per 
 sonal ambitions, if she had any, were quite 
 lost sight of, and the actual outlines of her 
 character were forgotten by every one, her 
 self included. If her busy day marched 
 successfully to nightfall; if darkness found 
 her husband reading in his big chair, the 
 younger children sprawled safe and asleep 
 in the shabby nursery, the older ones con 
 tented with books or games, the clothes 
 sprinkled, the bread set, the kitchen dark 
 and clean; Mrs. Paget asked no more of 
 life. She would sit, her overflowing work- 
 basket beside her, looking from one absorbed 
 face to another, thinking perhaps of Julie's 
 new school dress, of Ted's impending siege 
 with the dentist, or of the old bureau up attic 
 
MOTHER 19 
 
 that might be mended for Bruce's room. 
 "Thank God we have all warm beds," she 
 would say, when they all went upstairs, 
 yawning and chilly. 
 
 She had married,, at twenty, the man she 
 loved, and had found him better than her 
 dreams in many ways, and perhaps dis 
 appointing in some few others, but "the 
 best man in the world" for all that. That 
 for more than twenty years he had been sat 
 isfied to stand for nine hours daily behind 
 one dingy desk, and to carry home to her 
 his unopened salary envelope twice a month, 
 she found only admirable. Daddy was 
 "steady," he was "so gentle with the 
 children," he was "the easiest man in the 
 world to cook for." "Bless his heart, no 
 woman ever had less to worry over in her 
 husband!" she would say, looking from her 
 kitchen window to the garden where he 
 trained the pea-vines, with the children's 
 yellow heads bobbing about him. She 
 never analyzed his character, much less 
 
20 MOTHER 
 
 criticised him. Good and bad, he was 
 taken for granted ; she was much more leni 
 ent to him than to any of the children. She 
 welcomed the fast-coming babies as gifts 
 from God, marvelled over their tiny perfect- 
 ness, dreamed over the soft relaxed little 
 forms with a heart almost too full for prayer. 
 She was, in a word, old-fashioned, hope 
 lessly out of the modern current of thoughts 
 and events. She secretly regarded her 
 children as marvellous, even while she 
 laughed down their youthful conceit and 
 punished their naughtiness. 
 
 Thinking a little of all these things, as a 
 girl with her own wifehood and motherhood 
 all before her does think, Margaret went 
 back to her hot luncheon. One o'clock 
 found her at her desk, refreshed in spirit 
 by her little outburst, and much fortified 
 in body. The room was well aired, and a 
 reinforced fire roared in the little stove. 
 One of the children had brought her a spray 
 
MOTHER 21 
 
 of pine, and the spicy fragrance of it re 
 minded her that Christmas and the Christ 
 mas vacation were near; her mind was pleas 
 antly busy with anticipation of the play that 
 the Pagets always wrote and performed 
 some time during the holidays, and with the 
 New Year's costume dance at the Hall, and 
 a dozen lesser festivities. 
 
 Suddenly, in the midst of a droning spell 
 ing lesson, there was a jarring interruption. 
 From the world outside came a child's shrill 
 screaming, which was instantly drowned 
 in a chorus of frightened voices, and in the 
 schoolroom below her own Margaret heard 
 a thundering rush of feet, and answering 
 screams. With a suffocating terror at her 
 heart she ran to the window, followed by 
 every child in the room. 
 
 The rain had stopped now, and the sky 
 showed a pale, cold, yellow light low in the 
 west. At the schoolhouse gate an immense 
 limousine car had come to a stop. The 
 driver, his face alone visible between a great 
 
22 MOTHER 
 
 leather coat and visored leather cap, was 
 talking unheard above the din. A tall 
 woman, completely enveloped in sealskins, 
 had evidently jumped from the limousine, 
 and now held in her arms what made Mar 
 garet's heart turn sick and cold, the limp 
 figure of a small girl. 
 
 About these central figures there surged 
 the terrified crying small children of the 
 just-dismissed primer class, and in the half 
 moment that Margaret watched, Mrs. Por 
 ter, white and shaking, and another teacher, 
 Ethel Elliot, an always excitable girl, who was 
 now sobbing and chattering hysterically, ran 
 out from the school, each followed by her own 
 class of crowding and excited boys and girls. 
 
 With one horrified exclamation, Mar 
 garet ran downstairs, and out to the gate. 
 Mrs. Porter caught at her arm as she passed 
 her in the path. 
 
 "Oh, my God, Margaret! It's poor little 
 Dorothy Scott !" she said. "They've killed 
 her. The car went completely over her!" 
 
MOTHER 23 
 
 "Oh, Margaret, don't go near, oh, how 
 can you!" screamed Miss Elliot. "Oh, and 
 she's all they have ! Who'll tell her mother ! " 
 
 With astonishing ease, for the children 
 gladly recognized authority, Margaret 
 pushed through the group to the motor-car. 
 
 "Stop screaming stop that shouting at 
 once keep still, every one of you!" she 
 said angrily, shaking various shoulders as 
 she went with such good effect that the 
 voice of the woman in sealskins could be 
 heard by the time Margaret reached her. 
 
 "I don't think she's badly hurt!" said 
 this woman, nervously and eagerly. She 
 was evidently badly shaken, and was very 
 white. "Do quiet them, can't you?" she 
 said, with a sort of apprehensive impatience. 
 "Can't we take her somewhere, and get a 
 doctor? Can't we get out of this ?" 
 
 Margaret took the child in her own arms. 
 Little Dorothy roared afresh, but to Mar 
 garet's unspeakable relief she twisted about 
 and locked her arms tightly about the loved 
 
24 MOTHER 
 
 teacher's neck. The other woman watched 
 them anxiously. 
 
 "That blood on her frock's just nose 
 bleed/' she said; "but I think the car went 
 over her! I assure you we were running 
 
 very slowly. How it happened ! But 
 
 I don't think she was struck." 
 
 "Nosebleed!" Margaret echoed, with a 
 great breath. "No," she said quietly, over 
 the agitated little head; "I don't think she's 
 much hurt. We'll take her in. Now, look 
 here, children," she added loudly to the as 
 sembled pupils of the Weston Grammar 
 School, whom mere curiosity had somewhat 
 quieted, "I want every one of you children 
 to go back to your schoolrooms; do you 
 understand? Dorothy's had a bad scare, 
 but she's got no bones broken, and we're 
 going to have a doctor see that she's all 
 right. I want you to see how quiet you can 
 be. Mrs. Porter, may my class go into 
 your room a little while?" 
 
 "Certainly," said Mrs. Porter, eager to 
 
MOTHER 25 
 
 cooperate, and much relieved to have her 
 share of the episode take this form. " Form 
 lines, children," she added calmly. 
 
 "Ted," said Margaret to her own small 
 brother, who was one of Mrs. Porter's 
 pupils, and who had edged closer to her than 
 any boy unprivileged by relationship dared, 
 "will you go down the street, and ask old 
 Doctor Potts to come here? And then go 
 tell Dorothy's mother that Dorothy has had 
 a little bump, and that Miss Paget says 
 she's all right, but that she'd like her mother 
 to come for her." 
 
 "Sure I will, Mark!" Theodore responded 
 enthusiastically, departing on a run. 
 
 "Mama!" sobbed the little sufferer at 
 this point, hearing a familiar word. 
 
 "Yes, darling, you want Mama, don't 
 you?" Margaret said soothingly, as she 
 started with her burden up the schoolhouse 
 steps. "What were you doing, Dorothy," 
 she went on pleasantly, "to get under that 
 big car?" 
 
26 MOTHER 
 
 "I dropped my ball!" wailed the small 
 girl, her tears beginning afresh, "and it 
 rolled and rolled. And I didn't see the 
 automobile, and I didn't see it! And I fell 
 down and b-b-bumped my nose!" 
 
 "Well, I should think you did!" Mar 
 garet said, laughing. " Mother won't know 
 you at all with such a muddy face and such 
 a muddy apron!" 
 
 Dorothy laughed shakily at this, and 
 several other little girls, passing in orderly 
 file, laughed heartily. Margaret crossed 
 the lines of children to the room where they 
 played and ate their lunches on wet days. 
 She shut herself in with the child and the 
 fur-clad lady. 
 
 "Now you're all right!" said Margaret, 
 gayly. And Dorothy was presently com 
 fortable in a big chair, wrapped in a rug 
 from the motor-car, with her face washed, 
 and her head dropped languidly back 
 against her chair, as became an interesting 
 invalid. The Irish janitor was facetious 
 
MOTHER 27 
 
 as he replenished the fire, and made her 
 laugh again. Margaret gave her a numeri 
 cal chart to play with, and saw with satis 
 faction that the little head was bent inter 
 estedly over it. 
 
 Quiet fell upon the school; the muffled 
 sound of lessons recited in concert presently 
 reached them. Theodore returned, report 
 ing that the doctor would come as soon as 
 he could and that Dorothy's mother was 
 away at a card-party, but that Dorothy's 
 "girl" would come for her as soon as the 
 bread was out of the oven. There was 
 nothing to do but wait. 
 
 "It seems a miracle," said the strange 
 lady, in a low tone, when she and Margaret 
 were alone again with the child. "But I 
 don't believe she was scratched!" 
 
 "I don't think so," Margaret agreed. 
 "Mother says no child who can cry is very 
 badly hurt." 
 
 "They made such a horrible noise," said 
 the other, sighing wearily. She passed a 
 
28 MOTHER 
 
 white hand, with one or two blazing great 
 stones upon it, across her forehead. Mar 
 garet had leisure now to notice that by all 
 signs this was a very great lady indeed. 
 The quality of her furs, the glimpse of her 
 gown that the loosened coat showed, her 
 rings, and most of all the tones of her voice, 
 the authority of her manner, the well- 
 groomed hair and skin and hands, all 
 marked the thoroughbred. 
 
 "Do you know that you managed that 
 situation very cleverly just now?" said the 
 lady, with a keen glance that made Margaret 
 color. "One has such a dread of the crowd, 
 just public sentiment, you know. Some 
 officious bystander calls the police, they 
 crowd against your driver, perhaps a brick 
 gets thrown. We had an experience in 
 England once She paused, then in 
 terrupted herself. " But I don't know your 
 name?" she said brightly. 
 
 Margaret supplied it, was led to talk a 
 little of her own people. 
 
MOTHER 29 
 
 "Seven of you, eh? Seven's too many," 
 said the visitor, with the assurance that 
 Margaret was to learn characterized her. 
 "I've two myself, two girls," she went on. 
 "I wanted a boy, but they're nice girls. 
 And you've six brothers and sisters? Are 
 they all as handsome as you and this Teddy 
 of yours? And why do you like teaching?" 
 
 "Why do I like it?" Margaret said, en 
 joying these confidences and the unusual 
 experience of sitting idle in mid-afternoon. 
 "I don't, I hate it." 
 
 "I see. But then why don't you come 
 down to New York, and do something else?" 
 the other woman asked. 
 
 "I'm needed at home, and I don't know 
 any one there," Margaret said simply. 
 
 "I see," the lady said again thoughtfully. 
 There was a pause. Then the same speaker 
 said reminiscently, "I taught school once 
 for three months when I was a girl, to show 
 my father I could support myself." 
 
 " I've taught for four years," Margaret said. 
 
3 o MOTHER 
 
 "Well, if you ever want to try something 
 else there are such lots of fascinating 
 things a girl can do now be sure you come 
 and see me about it," the stranger said. 
 "I am Mrs. Carr-Boldt, of New York." 
 
 Margaret's amazed eyes flashed to Mrs. 
 Carr-Boldt's face; her cheeks crimsoned. 
 
 "Mrs. Carr-Boldt!" she echoed blankly. 
 
 "Why not?" smiled the lady, not at all 
 displeased. 
 
 "Why," stammered Margaret, laughing 
 and rosy, "why, nothing only I never 
 dreamed who you were!" she finished, a 
 little confused. 
 
 And indeed it never afterward seemed to 
 her anything short of a miracle that brought 
 the New York society woman famed on 
 two continents and from ocean to ocean for 
 her jewels, her entertainments, her gowns, 
 her establishments into a Weston school 
 room, and into Margaret Paget's life. 
 
 "I was on my way to New York now," 
 said Mrs. Carr-Boldt. 
 
MOTHER 31 
 
 "I don't see why you should be delayed," 
 Margaret said, glad to be able to speak 
 normally, with such a fast-beating and 
 pleasantly excited heart. "I'm sure Dor 
 othy's all right." 
 
 "Oh, I'd rather wait. I like my com 
 pany," said the other. And Margaret 
 decided in that instant that there never was 
 a more deservedly admired and copied and 
 quoted woman. 
 
 Presently their chat was interrupted by 
 the tramp of the departing school schildren; 
 the other teachers peeped in, were reassured, 
 and went their ways. Then came the doc 
 tor, to pronounce the entirely cheerful Dor 
 othy unhurt, and to bestow upon her some 
 hoarhound drops. Mrs. Carr-Boldt settled 
 at once with the doctor, and when Margaret 
 saw the size of the bill that was pressed 
 into his hand, she realized that she had done 
 her old friend a good turn. 
 
 "Use it up on your poor people," said 
 Mrs. Carr-Boldt, to his protestations; and 
 
32 MOTHER 
 
 when he had gone, and Dorothy's "girl" ap 
 peared, she tipped that worthy and amazed 
 Teuton, and after promising Dorothy a big 
 doll from a New York shop, sent the child 
 and maid home in the motor-car. 
 
 "I hope this hasn't upset your plans," 
 Margaret said, as they stood waiting in the 
 doorway. It was nearly five o'clock, the 
 school was empty and silent. 
 
 "No, not exactly. I had hoped to get 
 home for dinner. But I think I'll get Wool- 
 cock to take me back to Dayton; I've some 
 very dear friends there who'll give me a cup 
 of tea. Then I'll come back this way and 
 get home, by ten, I should think, for a late 
 supper." Then, as the limousine appeared, 
 Mrs. Carr-Boldt took both Margaret's hands 
 in hers, and said, "And now good-bye, my 
 dear girl. I've got your address, and I'm go 
 ing to send you something pretty to remem 
 ber me by. You saved me from I don't know 
 what annoyance and publicity. And don't 
 forget that when you come to New York 
 
MOTHER 33 
 
 I'm going to help you meet the people 
 you want to, and give you a start if I can. 
 You're far too clever and good-look 
 ing to waste your life down here. Good 
 bye!" 
 
 "Good-bye!" Margaret said, her cheeks 
 brilliant, her head awhirl. 
 
 She stood unmindful of the chilly evening 
 air, watching the great motor-car wheel and 
 slip into the gloom. The rain was over; a 
 dying wind moaned mysteriously through 
 the dusk. Margaret went slowly upstairs, 
 pinned on her hat, buttoned her long coat 
 snugly about her. She locked the school 
 room door, and, turning the corner, plunged 
 her hands into her pockets, and faced the 
 wind bravely. Deepening darkness and 
 coldness were about her, but she felt sur 
 rounded by the warmth and brightness of 
 her dreams. She saw the brilliant streets 
 of a big city, the carriages and motor-cars 
 coming and going, the idle, lovely women 
 in their sumptuous gowns and hats. These 
 
34 MOTHER 
 
 things were real, near almost attainable 
 to-night. 
 
 "Mrs. Carr-Boldt!" Margaret said, "the 
 darling! I wonder if I'll ever see her 
 again!" 
 
CHAPTER II 
 
 EE in the shabby, commonplace house 
 that sheltered the Paget family 
 sometimes really did seem to pro 
 ceed, as Margaret had suggested, in a long 
 chain of violent shocks, narrow escapes, and 
 closely averted catastrophes. No sooner 
 was Duncan's rash pronounced not to be 
 scarlet fever than Robert swallowed a penny, 
 or Beck set fire to the dining-room waste- 
 basket, or Dad foresaw the immediate failure 
 of the Weston Home Savings Bank, and 
 the inevitable loss of his position there. 
 Sometimes there was a paternal explosion 
 because Bruce liked to murmur vaguely of 
 "dandy chances in Manila," or because 
 Julie, pretty, excitable, and sixteen, had an 
 occasional dose of stage fever, and would 
 stammer desperately between convulsive 
 
 35 
 
36 MOTHER 
 
 sobs that she wasn't half as much afraid of 
 "the terrible temptations of the life" as she 
 was afraid of dying a poky old maid in 
 Weston. In short, the home was crowded, 
 the Pagets were poor, and every one of the 
 seven possessed a spirited and distinct en 
 tity. All the mother's effort could not keep 
 them always contented. Growing ambi 
 tions made the Weston horizon seem nar 
 row and mean, and the young eyes that 
 could not see beyond to-morrow were often 
 wet with rebellious tears. 
 
 Through it all they loved each other; 
 sometimes whole weeks went by in utter 
 harmony; the children contented over 
 "Parches" on the hearthrug in the winter 
 evenings, Julie singing in the morning sun 
 light, as she filled the vases from the shabby 
 marguerite bushes on the lawn. But there 
 were other times when to the dreamy 
 studious Margaret the home circle seemed 
 all discord, all ugly dinginess and thread- 
 bareness; the struggle for ease and beauty 
 
MOTHER 3; 
 
 and refinement seemed hopeless and over 
 whelming. In these times she would find 
 herself staring thoughtfully at her mother's 
 face, bent over the mending basket, or her 
 eyes would leave the chessboard that held 
 her father's attention so closely, and move 
 from his bald spot, with its encircling crown 
 of fluffy gray, to his rosy face, with its 
 kind, intent blue eyes and the little lines 
 about his mouth that his moustache didn't 
 hide with a half-formed question in her 
 heart. What hadn't they done, these dear 
 est people, to be always struggling, always 
 tired, always "behind the game?" Why 
 should they be eternally harassed by plum 
 ber's bills, and dentists' bills, and shoes 
 that would wear out, and school-books that 
 must be bought? Why weren't they hold 
 ing their place in Weston society, the place 
 to which they were entitled by right of the 
 Quincy grandfather, and the uncles who 
 were judges? 
 
 And in answer Margaret came despond- 
 
3 8 MOTHER 
 
 ently to the decision, " If you have children, 
 you never have anything else ! " How could 
 Mother keep up with her friends, when for 
 some fifteen years she had been far too busy 
 to put on a dainty gown in the afternoon, 
 and serve a hospitable cup of tea on the east 
 porch? Mother was buttering bread for 
 supper, then; opening little beds and laying 
 out little nightgowns, starting Ted off for 
 the milk, washing small hands and faces, 
 soothing bumps and binding cuts, admonish 
 ing, praising, directing. Mother was only 
 too glad to sink wearily into her rocker after 
 dinner, and, after a few spirited visits to the 
 rampant nursery upstairs, express the hope 
 that nobody would come in to-night. Grad 
 ually the friends dropped away, and the 
 social life of Weston flowed smoothly on 
 without the Pagets. 
 
 But when Margaret began to grow up, 
 she grasped the situation with all the keen 
 ness of a restless and ambitious nature. 
 Weston, detested Weston, it must appar- 
 
MOTHER 39 
 
 ently be. Very well, she would make the 
 best of Weston. Margaret called on her 
 mother's old friends; she was tireless in 
 charming little attentions. Her own first 
 dances had not been successful; she and 
 Bruce were not good dancers, Margaret had 
 not been satisfied with her gowns, they both 
 felt out of place. When Julie's dancing 
 days came along, Margaret saw to it that 
 everything was made much easier. She 
 planned social evenings at home, and ex 
 hausted herself preparing for them, that 
 Julie might know the "right people." To 
 her mother all people were alike, if they 
 were kind and not vulgar; Margaret felt 
 very differently. It was a matter of the 
 greatest satisfaction to her when Julie blos 
 somed into a fluffy-haired butterfly, tre 
 mendously in demand, in spite of much- 
 cleaned slippers and often-pressed frocks. 
 Margaret arranged Christmas theatricals, 
 May picnics, Fourth of July gatherings. 
 She never failed Bruce when this dearest 
 
40 MOTHER 
 
 brother wanted her company; she was, as 
 Mrs. Paget told her over and over, "the 
 sweetest daughter any woman ever had." 
 But deep in her heart she knew moods of 
 bitter distaste and restlessness. The strug 
 gle did not seem worth the making; the odds 
 against her seemed too great. 
 
 Still dreaming in the winter dark, she 
 went through the home gate, and up the 
 porch steps of a roomy, cheap house that 
 had been built in the era of scalloped and 
 pointed shingles, of colored glass embellish 
 ments around the window-panes, of perfo 
 rated scroll work and wooden railings in 
 Grecian designs. A mass of wet over 
 shoes lay on the porch, and two or three of 
 the weather-stained porch rockers swayed 
 under the weight of spread wet raincoats. 
 Two opened umbrellas wheeled in the cur 
 rent of air that came around the house; the 
 porch ran water. While Margaret was 
 adding her own rainy-day equipment to the 
 
MOTHER 41 
 
 others, a golden-brown setter, one ecstatic 
 wriggle from nose to tail, flashed into view, 
 and came fawning to her feet. 
 
 "Hello, Bran!" Margaret said, propping 
 herself against the house with one hand, 
 while she pulled at a tight overshoe. " Hello, 
 old fellow ! Well, did they lock him out ? " 
 
 She let herself and a freezing gust of air 
 into the dark hall, groping to the hat-rack 
 for matches. While she was lighting the 
 gas, a very pretty girl of sixteen, with crim 
 son cheeks and tumbled soft dark hair, 
 came to the dining-room door. This was 
 her sister Julie, Margaret's roommate and 
 warmest admirer, and for the last year or 
 two her inseparable companion. Julie had 
 her finger in a book, but now she closed it, 
 and said affectionately between her yawns: 
 "Come in here, darling! You must be 
 dead." 
 
 " Don't let Bran in," cried some one from 
 upstairs. 
 
 "He is in, Mother!" Margaret called 
 
42 MOTHER 
 
 back, and Rebecca and the three small 
 boys Theodore, the four-year-old baby, 
 Robert, and Duncan, a grave little lad of 
 seven all rushed out of the dining-room 
 together, shouting, as they fell on the de 
 lighted dog: 
 
 "Aw, leave him in! Aw, leave the poor 
 little feller in! Come on, Bran, come on, 
 old feller! Leave him in, Mark, can't we?" 
 
 Kissing and hugging the dog, and stum 
 bling over each other and over him, they 
 went back to the dining-room, which was 
 warm and stuffy. A coal fire was burning 
 low in the grate, the window-panes were 
 beaded, and the little boys had marked their 
 initials in the steam. They had also pushed 
 the fringed table-cover almost off, and scat 
 tered the contents of a box of "Lotto" over 
 the scarred walnut top. The room was 
 shabby, ugly, comfortable. Julie and Mar 
 garet had established a tea-table in the bay 
 window, had embroidered a cover for the 
 wide couch, had burned the big wooden 
 
MOTHER 43 
 
 bowl that was supposedly always full of 
 nuts or grapes or red apples. But these 
 touches were lost in the mass of less pleasing 
 detail. The "body Brussels" carpet was 
 worn, the wall paper depressing, the wood 
 work was painted dark brown, with an 
 imitation burl smeared in by the painter's 
 thumb. The chairs were of several differ 
 ent woods and patterns, the old black wal 
 nut sideboard clumsy and battered. About 
 the fire stood some comfortable worn chairs. 
 Margaret dropped wearily into one of these, 
 and the dark-eyed Julie hung over her with 
 little affectionate attentions. The children 
 returned to their game. 
 
 "Well, what a time you had with little 
 Dolly Scott!" said Julie, sympathetically. 
 "Ted's been getting it all mixed up! Tell 
 us about it. Poor old Mark, you're all in, 
 aren't you? Mark, would you like a cup 
 of tea?" 
 
 "Love it!" Margaret said, a little sur 
 prised, for this luxury was not common. 
 
44 MOTHER 
 
 "And toast we'll toast it!" said Theo 
 dore, enthusiastically. 
 
 "No, no no tea!" said Mrs. Paget, 
 coming in at this point with some sewing in 
 her hands. " Don't spoil your dinner, now, 
 Mark dear; tea doesn't do you any good. 
 And I think Blanche is saving the cream for 
 an apple tapioca. Theodore, Mother wants 
 you to go right downstairs for some coal, 
 dear. And, Julie, you'd better start your 
 table; it's close to six. Put up the game, 
 Rebecca!" 
 
 There was general protest. Duncan, it 
 seemed, needed only "two more" to win. 
 Little Robert, who was benevolently al 
 lowed by the other children to play the 
 game exactly as he pleased, screamed de 
 lightedly that he needed only one more, and 
 showed a card upon which even the blank 
 spaces were lavishly covered with glass. 
 He was generously conceded the victory, 
 and kissed by Rebecca and Julie as he made 
 his way to his mother's lap. 
 
MOTHER 45 
 
 "Why, this can't be Robert Paget!" said 
 Mrs. Paget, putting aside her sewing to 
 gather him in her arms. "Not this great, 
 big boy!" 
 
 "Yes, I am!" the little fellow asserted 
 joyously, dodging her kisses. 
 
 "Good to get home!" Margaret said luxu 
 riously. 
 
 " You must sleep late in the morning," her 
 mother commanded affectionately. 
 
 "Yes, because you have to be fresh for 
 the party Monday!" exulted Julie. She 
 had flung a white cloth over the long table, 
 and was putting the ringed napkins down 
 with rapid bangs. "And New Year's Eve's 
 the dance!" she went on buoyantly. "I 
 just love Christmas, anyway!" 
 
 "Rebecca, ask Blanche if she needs me," 
 that was Mother. 
 
 " You'd go perfectly crazy about her, Ju, 
 she's the most fascinating, and the most 
 unaffected woman!" Margaret was full of 
 the day's real event. 
 
46 MOTHER 
 
 "And Mother theth that Ted and Dune 
 and I can have our friendth in on the day 
 after Chrithmath to thee the Chrithmath 
 tree!" That was Rebecca, who added, 
 "Blanche theth no, Mother, unleth you 
 want to make thorn cream gravy for the 
 chopth!" 
 
 "And, Mark, Eleanor asked if Bruce 
 and you and I weren't going as Pierrot and 
 Pierettes; she's simply crazy to find out!" 
 This was Julie again; and then Margaret, 
 coaxingly, "Do make cream gravy for 
 Bruce, Mother. Give Baby to me!" and 
 little Robert's elated "I know three things 
 Becky's going to get for Christmas, Mark!" 
 
 "Well, I think I will, there's milk," Mrs. 
 Paget conceded, rising. "Put Bran out, 
 Teddy; or put him in the laundry if you 
 want to, while we have dinner." Mar 
 garet presently followed her mother into 
 the kitchen, stopping in a crowded pas 
 sageway to tie an apron over her school 
 gown. 
 
MOTHER 47 
 
 "Bruce come in yet?" she said in a low 
 voice. 
 
 Her mother flashed her a sympathetic look. 
 
 "I don't believe he's coming, Mark." 
 
 " Isn't I Oh, Mother ! Oh, Mother, does 
 he feel so badly about Betty?" 
 
 "I suppose so!" Mrs. Paget went on 
 with her bread cutting. 
 
 " But, Mother, surely he didn't expect to 
 marry Betty Forsythe?" 
 
 "I don't know why not, Mark. She's a 
 sweet little thing." 
 
 "But, Mother " Margaret was a 
 
 little at a loss. "We don't seem old enough 
 to really be getting married!" she said, a 
 little lamely. 
 
 " Brucie came in about half-past five, and 
 said he was going over to Richie's," Mrs. 
 Paget said, with a sigh. 
 
 "In all this rain that long walk!" Mar 
 garet ejaculated, as she filled a long wicker 
 basket with sliced bread. 
 
 "I think an evening of work with Richie 
 
48 MOTHER 
 
 will do him a world of good," said his 
 mother. There was a pause. "There's 
 Dad. I'll go in," she said, suddenly ending 
 it, as the front door slammed. 
 
 Margaret went in, too, to kiss her father, 
 a tired-looking, gray-haired man close to 
 fifty, who had taken her chair by the fire. 
 Mrs. Paget was anxious to be assured that 
 his shoulders and shoes were not damp. 
 
 "But your hands are icy, Daddy," said 
 she, as she sat down behind a smoking tureen 
 at the head of the table. "Come, have 
 your nice hot soup, dear. Pass that to 
 Dad, Becky, and light the other gas. What 
 sort of a day?" 
 
 "A hard day," said Mr. Paget, heavily. 
 "Here, one of you girls put Baby into his 
 chair. Let go, Bob I'm too tired to-night 
 for monkey-shines!" He sat down stiffly. 
 "Where's Bruce? Can't that boy remem 
 ber what time we have dinner?" 
 
 "Bruce is going to have supper with 
 Richie Williams, Dad," said Mrs. Paget, 
 
MOTHER 49 
 
 serenely. "They'll get out their blue prints 
 afterward and have a good evening's work. 
 Fill the glasses before you sit down, Ju. 
 Come, Ted put that back on the mantel. 
 Come, Becky! Tell Daddy about what 
 
 happened to-day, Mark 
 
 They all drew up their chairs. Robert, 
 recently graduated from a high chair, was 
 propped upon "The Officers of the Civil 
 War" and "The Household Book of Verse." 
 Julie tied on his bib, and kissed the back of 
 his fat little neck before she slipped into her 
 own seat. The mother sat between Ted 
 and Duncan, for reasons that immediately 
 became obvious. Margaret sat by her 
 father, and attended to his needs, telling 
 him all about the day, and laying her pretty 
 slim hand over his as it rested beside his 
 plate. The chops and cream gravy, as 
 well as a mountain of baked potatoes, and 
 various vegetables, were under discussion, 
 when every one stopped short in surprise 
 at hearing the doorbell ring. 
 
So MOTHER 
 
 "Who ?" said Margaret, turning puz 
 zled brows to her mother, and "I'm sure 
 I ' her mother answered, shaking her 
 head. Ted was heard to mutter uneasily 
 that, gee, maybe it was old Pembroke, mad 
 because the fellers had soaked his old 
 skate with snowballs; Julie dimpled and 
 said, " Maybe it's flowers ! " Robert shouted 
 "Bakeryman!" more because he had re 
 cently acquired the word than because of 
 any conviction on the subject. In the end 
 Julie went to the door, with the four chil 
 dren in her wake. When she came back, 
 she looked bewildered, and the children a 
 little alarmed. 
 
 "It's it's Mrs. Carr-Boldt, Mother," 
 said Julie. 
 
 "Well, don't leave her standing there in 
 the cold, dear!" Mrs. Paget said, rising 
 quickly, to go into the hall. Margaret, her 
 heart thumping with an unanalyzed prem 
 onition of something pleasant, and ner 
 vous, too, for the hospitality of the Pagets, 
 
MOTHER 51 
 
 followed her. So they were all presently 
 crowded into the hall, Mrs. Paget all hos 
 pitality, Margaret full of a fear she would 
 have denied that her mother would not be 
 equal to the occasion, the children curious, 
 Julie a little embarrassed. 
 
 The visitor, fur-clad, rain-spattered for 
 it was raining again and beaming, stretched 
 a hand to Mrs. Paget. 
 
 "You're Mrs. Paget, of course this is an 
 awful hour to interrupt you," she said in 
 her big, easy way, "and there's my Miss 
 Paget how do you do? But you see I 
 must get up to town to-night in this door? 
 I can see perfectly, thank you and I did 
 want a little talk with you first. Now, 
 what a shame!" for the gas, lighted by 
 Theodore at this point, revealed Duncan's 
 bib, and the napkins some of the others 
 were still carrying. "I've interrupted your 
 dinner! Won't you let me wait here un 
 til " 
 
 "Perhaps if you haven't had your sup- 
 
52 MOTHER 
 
 per you will have some with us," said Mrs. 
 Paget, a little uncertainly. Margaret in 
 wardly shuddered, but Mrs. Carr-Boldt was 
 gracious. 
 
 "Mrs. Paget, that's charming of you," 
 she said. "But I had tea at Dayton, and 
 mustn't lose another moment. I shan't 
 dine until I get home. I'm the busiest 
 woman in the world, you know. Now, it 
 won't take me two minutes " 
 
 She was seated now, her hands still deep 
 in her muff, for the parlor was freezing cold. 
 Mrs. Paget, with a rather bewildered look, 
 sat down, too. 
 
 " You can run back to your dinners," said 
 she to the children. "Take them, Julie. 
 Mark, dear, will you help the pudding?" 
 They all filed dutifully out of the room, and 
 Margaret, excited and curious, continued 
 a meal that might have been of sawdust and 
 sand for all she knew. The strain did not 
 last long; in about ten minutes Mrs. Paget 
 looked into the room, with a rather worried 
 
MOTHER 53 
 
 expression, and said, a little breathlessly: 
 " Daddy, can you come here a moment? 
 You're all right, dear," she added, as Mr. 
 Paget indicated with an embarrassed ges 
 ture his well-worn house-coat. They went 
 out together. The young people sat almost 
 without speaking, listening to the indis 
 tinguishable murmur from the adjoining 
 room, and smiling mysteriously at each 
 other. Then Margaret was called, and 
 went as far as the dining-room door, and 
 came back to put her napkin uncertainly 
 down at her place, hesitated, arranged her 
 gown carefully, and finally went out again. 
 They heard her voice with the others in the 
 parlor . . . questioning . . . laugh 
 ing . . 
 
 Presently the low murmur broke into 
 audible farewells; chairs were pushed back, 
 feet scraped in the hall. 
 
 "Good-night, then!" said Mrs. Carr- 
 Boldt's clear tones, " and so sorry to have 
 Good-night, Mr. Paget ! Oh, thank you but 
 
54 MOTHER 
 
 I'm well wrapped. Thank you! Good-night, 
 dear! I'll see you again soon I'll write." 
 
 And then came the honking of the motor 
 car, and a great swish where it grazed a wet 
 bush near the house. Somebody lowered 
 the gas in the hall, and Mrs. Paget's voice 
 said regretfully, "I wish we had had a fire 
 in the parlor just one of the times! but 
 there's no help for it." They all came in, 
 Margaret flushed, starry-eyed; her father 
 and mother a little serious. The three 
 blinked at the brighter light, and fell upon 
 the cooling chops as if eating were the im 
 portant business of the moment. 
 
 "We waited the pudding," said Julie. 
 "Whatsit?" 
 
 "Why- -" Mrs. Paget began, hesitat 
 ingly. Mr. Paget briskly took the matter 
 out of her hands. 
 
 "This lady," he said, with an air of mak 
 ing any further talk unnecessary, "needs a 
 secretary, and she has offered your sister 
 Margaret the position. That's the whole 
 
MOTHER 55 
 
 affair in a nutshell. I'm not at all sure 
 that your mother and I think it a wise offer 
 for Margaret to accept, and I want to say 
 here and now that I don't want any child 
 of mine to speak of this matter, or make it a 
 matter of general gossip in the neighbor 
 hood. Mother, I'd like very much to have 
 Blanche make me a fresh cup of tea." 
 
 "Wants Margaret!" gasped Julie, un 
 affected so astonishing was the news by 
 her father's unusual sternness. " Oh, Mother ! 
 Oh, Mark! Oh, you lucky thing! When is 
 she coming down here?" 
 
 " She isn't coming down here she wants 
 Mark to go to her that's it," said her 
 mother. 
 
 "Mark in New York!" shrilled Theo 
 dore. Julie got up to rush around the table 
 and kiss her sister; the younger children 
 laughed and shouted. 
 
 "There is no occasion for all this," said 
 Mr. Paget, but mildly, for the fresh tea had 
 arrived. " Just quiet them down, will you, 
 
56 MOTHER 
 
 Mother? I see nothing very extraordinary 
 in the matter. This Mrs. Mrs. Carr- 
 Boldt is it? needs a secretary and com 
 panion; and she offers the position to Mark/' 
 
 "But but she never even saw Mark 
 until to-day!" marvelled Julie. 
 
 "I hardly see how that affects it, my 
 dear!" her father observed unenthusias 
 tically. 
 
 "Why, I think it makes it simply extraor 
 dinary!" exulted the generous little sister. 
 "Oh, Mark, isn't this just the sort of thing 
 you would have wished to happen! Secre 
 tary work just what you love to do! And 
 you, with your beautiful handwriting, you'll 
 just be invaluable to her ! And your German 
 and I'll bet you'll just have them all 
 adoring you !" 
 
 "Oh, Ju, if I only can do it!" burst from 
 Margaret, with a little childish gasp. She 
 was sitting back from the table, twisted 
 about so that she sat sideways, her hands 
 clasped about the top bar of her chair-back. 
 
MOTHER 57 
 
 Her tawny soft hair was loosened about 
 her face, her dark eyes aflame. "Lenox, 
 she said/' Margaret went on dazedly; "and 
 Europe, and travelling everywhere! And 
 a hundred dollars a month, and nothing to 
 spend it on, so I can still help out here ! Why, 
 it I can't believe it!" she looked from 
 one smiling interested face to another, and 
 suddenly her radiance underwent a quick 
 eclipse. Her lip trembled, and she tried to 
 laugh as she pushed her chair back, and ran 
 to the arms her mother opened. "Oh, 
 Mother!" sobbed Margaret, clinging there, 
 "do you want me to go shall I go? I've 
 always been so happy here, and I feel so 
 ashamed of being discontented and I don't 
 deserve a thing like this to happen to me!'* 
 
 "Why, God bless her heart!" said Mrs. 
 Paget, tenderly; "of course you'll go!" 
 
 "Oh, you silly! I'll never speak to you 
 again if you don't!" laughed Julie, through 
 sympathetic tears. 
 
 Theodore and Duncan immediately burst 
 
58 MOTHER 
 
 into a radiant reminiscence of their one 
 brief visit to New York; Rebecca was heard 
 to murmur that she would "vithet Mark 
 thome day"; and the baby, tugging at his 
 mother's elbow, asked sympathetically if 
 Mark was naughty, and was caught be 
 tween his sister's and his mother's arms and 
 kissed by them both. Mr. Paget, picking 
 his paper from the floor beside his chair, 
 took an armchair by the fire, stirred the 
 coals noisily, and while cleaning his glasses, 
 observed rather huskily that the little girl 
 always knew she could come back again if 
 anything went wrong. 
 
 "But suppose / don't suit?" suggested 
 Margaret, sitting back on her heels, re 
 freshed by tears, and with her arms laid 
 across her mother's lap. 
 
 "Oh, you'll suit" said Julie, confidently; 
 and Mrs. Paget smoothed the girl's hair 
 back and said affectionately, " I don't think 
 she'll find many girls like you for the asking, 
 Mark!" 
 
MOTHER 59 
 
 " Reading English with the two little girls," 
 said Margaret, dreamily, "and answering notes 
 and invitations. And keeping books 
 
 "You can do that anyway," said her 
 father, over his paper. 
 
 "And dinner lists, you know, Mother 
 doesn't it sound like an English story!" 
 Margaret stopped in the middle of an ecsta 
 tic wriggle. "Mother, will you pray I 
 succeed?" she said solemnly. 
 
 "Just be your own dear simple self, 
 Mark," her mother advised. "January!" 
 she added, with a great sigh. "It's the 
 first break, isn't it, Dad ? Think of trying 
 to get along without our Mark!" 
 
 "January!" Julie was instantly alert, 
 "Why, but you'll need all sorts of clothes!" 
 
 "Oh, she says there's a sewing woman 
 always in the house," Margaret said, almost 
 embarrassed by the still-unfolding advan 
 tages of the proposition. " I can have her do 
 whatever's left over." Her father lowered 
 his paper to give her a shrewd glance. 
 
60 MOTHER 
 
 "I suppose somebody knows something 
 about this Mrs. Carr-Boldt, Mother?" 
 asked he. "She's all right, I suppose?" 
 
 "Oh, Dad, her name's always in the 
 papers," Julie burst out; and the mother 
 smiled as she said, "We'll be pretty sure of 
 everything before we let our Mark go!" 
 Later, when the children had been dismissed 
 and he himself was going, rather stiffly, 
 toward the stairs, Mr. Paget again voiced 
 a mild doubt. 
 
 "There was a perfectly good reason for 
 her hurry, I suppose? Old secretary de 
 serted got married ? She had good 
 
 reason for wanting Mark in all this 
 hurry?" 
 
 Mrs. Paget and her daughters had settled 
 about the fire for an hour's delicious dis 
 cussion, but she interrupted it to say sooth 
 ingly, "It was her cousin, Dad, who's going 
 to be married, and she's been trying to get 
 hold of just the right person she says she's 
 fearfully behindhand " 
 
MOTHER 6r 
 
 "Well, you know best/' said Mr. Paget, 
 departing a little discontentedly. 
 
 Left to the dying fire, the others talked, 
 yawned, made a pretence of breaking up, 
 talked and yawned again. The room grew 
 chilly. Bruce oldest of the children 
 dark, undemonstrative, weary presently 
 came in, and was given the news, and mar 
 velled in his turn. Bruce and Margaret 
 had talked of their ambitions a hundred 
 times: of the day when he might enter 
 college and when she might find the leisure 
 and beauty in life for which her soul hun 
 gered. Now, as he sat with his arm about 
 her, and her head on his shoulder, he said 
 with generous satisfaction over and over: 
 
 "It was coming to you, Mark; you've 
 earned it!" 
 
 At midnight, loitering upstairs, cold and 
 yawning, Margaret kissed her mother and 
 brother quietly, with whispered brief good- 
 nights. But Julie, lying warm and snug in 
 bed half an hour later, had a last word: 
 
62 MOTHER 
 
 "You know, Mark, I think I'm as happy 
 as you are no, I'm not generous at all! It's 
 just that it makes me feel that things do 
 come your way finally, if you wait long 
 enough, and that we aren't the only family 
 in town that never has anything decent 
 happen to it! . . . Til miss you awfully, 
 Mark, darling! . . . Mark, do you sup 
 pose Mother'd let me take this bed out, and 
 just have a big couch in here? It would 
 make the room seem so much bigger. And 
 then I could have the girls come up here, 
 don't you know when they came over. 
 . . . Think of you you going abroad ! 
 I'd simply die! I can't wait to tell Betty! 
 . . . I hope to goodness Mother won't 
 put Beck in here! . . . We've had this 
 room a long time together, haven't we? 
 Ever since Grandma died. Do you remem 
 ber her canary, that Teddy hit with a 
 plate? . . . I'm going to miss you 
 terribly, Mark. But we'll write. . . ." 
 
CHAPTER III 
 
 IN THE days that followed, the mira 
 cle came to be accepted by all Wes- 
 ton, which was much excited for a 
 day or two over this honor done a favorite 
 daughter, and by all the Pagets except 
 Margaret. Margaret went through the 
 hours in her old, quiet manner, a little more 
 tender and gentle perhaps than she had 
 been; but her heart never beat normally, 
 and she lay awake late at night, and early 
 in the morning, thinking, thinking, think 
 ing. She tried to realize that it was in her 
 honor that a farewell tea was planned at 
 the club, it was for her that her fellow- 
 teachers were planning a good-bye luncheon ; 
 it was really she Margaret Pagct whose 
 voice said at the telephone a dozen times a 
 day, "On the fourteenth. Oh, do I? I 
 
 63 
 
64 MOTHER 
 
 don't feel calm! Can't you try to come in 
 I do want to see you before I go!" She 
 dutifully repeated Bruce's careful direc 
 tions; she was to give her check to an ex 
 pressman, and her suitcase to a red-cap ; the 
 expressman would probably charge fifty 
 cents, the red-cap was to have no more than 
 fifteen. And she was to tell the latter to 
 put her into a taxicab. 
 
 "I'll remember/' Margaret assured him 
 gratefully, but with a sense of unreality 
 pressing almost painfully upon her. One 
 of a million ordinary school teachers, in a 
 million little towns and this marvel had 
 befallen her! 
 
 The night of the Pagets' Christmas play 
 came, a night full of laughter and triumph; 
 and marked for Margaret by the little part 
 ing gifts that were slipped into her hands, 
 and by the warm good wishes that were 
 murmured, not always steadily, by this old 
 friend and that. When the time came to 
 distribute plates and paper napkins, and 
 
MOTHER 65 
 
 great saucers of ice cream and sliced cake, 
 Margaret was toasted in cold sweet lemon 
 ade; and drawing close together to "har 
 monize" more perfectly, the circle about 
 her touched their glasses while they sang, 
 "For she's a jolly good fellow/' Later, 
 when the little supper was almost over, 
 Ethel Elliot, leaning over to lay her hand on 
 Margaret's, began in her rich contralto: 
 
 "When other Hps and other hearts . . ." 
 
 and as they all went seriously through the 
 two verses, they stood up, one by one, and 
 linked arms; the little circle, affectionate 
 and admiring, that had bounded Margaret's 
 friendships until now. 
 
 Then Christmas came, with a dark, 
 freezing walk to the pine-spiced and candle- 
 lighted early service in the little church, and 
 a quicker walk home, chilled and happy and 
 hungry, to a riotous Christmas breakfast 
 and a littered breakfast table. The new 
 year came, with a dance and revel, and the 
 
66 MOTHER 
 
 Pagets took one of their long tramps through 
 the snowy afternoon, and came back hungry 
 for a big dinner. Then there was dress 
 making Mrs. Schmidt in command, Mrs. 
 Paget tireless at the machine, Julie all eager 
 interest. Margaret, patiently standing to 
 be fitted, conscious of the icy, wet touch of 
 Mrs. Schmidt's red fingers on her bare arms, 
 dreamily acquiescent as to buttons or hooks, 
 was totally absent in spirit. 
 
 A trunk came, Mr. Paget very anxious 
 that the keys should not be "fooled with" 
 by the children. Margaret's mother packed 
 this trunk scientifically. "No, now the 
 shoes, Mark now that heavy skirt," she 
 would say. "Run get mother some more 
 tissue paper, Beck. You'll have to leave 
 the big cape, dear, and you can send for it 
 if you need it. Now the blue dress, Ju. I 
 think that dyed so prettily, just the thing 
 for mornings. And here's your prayer 
 book in the tray, dear; if you go Saturday 
 you'll want it the first thing in the morn- 
 
MOTHER 67 
 
 ing. See, I'll put a fresh handkerchief in 
 
 it- 
 
 Margaret, relaxed and idle, in a rocker, 
 with Duncan in her lap busily working at 
 her locket, would say over and over: 
 
 "You're all such angels I'll never for 
 get it!" and wish that, knowing how sin 
 cerely she meant it, she could feel it a little 
 more. Conversation languished in these 
 days; mother and daughters feeling that 
 time was too precious to waste speech of 
 little things, and that their hearts were too full 
 to touch upon the great change impending. 
 
 A night came when the Pagets went early 
 upstairs, saying that, after all, it was not 
 like people marrying and going to Russia; it 
 was not like a real parting; it wasn't as if 
 Mark couldn't come home again in four 
 hours if anything went wrong at either end 
 of the line. Margaret's heart was beating 
 high and quick now; she tried to show some 
 of the love and sorrow she knew she should 
 have felt, she knew that she did feel under 
 
68 MOTHER 
 
 the hurry of her blood that made speech 
 impossible. She went to her mother's door, 
 slender and girlish in her white nightgown, 
 to kiss her good-night again. Mrs. Paget's 
 big arms went about her daughter. Mar 
 garet laid her head childishly on her mother's 
 shoulder. Nothing of significance was said. 
 Margaret whispered, "Mother, I love you!" 
 Her mother said, "You were such a little 
 thing, Mark, when I kissed you one day, 
 without hugging you, and you said, ' Please 
 don't love me just with your face, Mother, 
 love me with your heart !' ' Then she added, 
 "Did you and Julie get that extra blanket 
 down to-day, dear? it's going to be very 
 cold." Margaret nodded. "Good-night, 
 
 little girl " "Good-night, Mother " 
 
 That was the real farewell, for the next 
 morning was all confusion. They dressed 
 hurriedly, by chilly gas-light; clocks were 
 compared, Rebecca's back buttoned; Dun 
 can's overcoat jerked on; coffee drunk 
 scalding hot as they stood about the kitchen 
 
MOTHER 69 
 
 table; bread barely tasted. They walked 
 to the railway station on wet sidewalks, 
 under a broken sky, Bruce, with Margaret's 
 suitcase, in the lead. Weston was asleep 
 in the gray morning, after the storm. Far 
 and near belated cocks were crowing. 
 
 A score of old friends met Margaret at the 
 train; there were gifts, promises, good wishes. 
 There came a moment when it was generally 
 felt that the Pagets should be left alone, 
 now the far whistle of the train beyond 
 the bridge the beginning of good-byes a 
 sudden filling of the mother's eyes that was 
 belied by her smile. "Good-bye, sweetest 
 don't knock my hat off, baby dear! Beck, 
 darling Oh, Ju, do ! don't just say it start 
 me a letter to-night! ALL write to me! 
 Good-bye, Dad, darling all right, Bruce, 
 I'll get right in! good-bye! Good-bye!" 
 
 Then for the Pagets there was a walk back 
 to the empty disorder of the house: Julie 
 very talkative, at her father's side; Bruce 
 walking far behind the others with his 
 
70 MOTHER 
 
 mother and the day's familiar routine to 
 be somehow gone through without Mar 
 garet. 
 
 But for Margaret, settling herself com 
 fortably in the grateful warmth of the train, 
 and watching the uncertain early sunshine 
 brighten unfamiliar fields and farmhouses, 
 every brilliant possibility in life seemed to 
 be waiting. She tried to read, to think, to 
 pray, to stare steadily out of the window; 
 she could do nothing for more than a mo 
 ment at a time. Her thoughts went back 
 ward and forward like a weaving shuttle: 
 "How good they've all been to me! How 
 grateful I am! Now if only, only, I can 
 make good!" 
 
 " Look out for the servants ! " Julie, from 
 the depth of her sixteen-years-old wisdom 
 had warned her sister. "The governess 
 will hate you because she'll be afraid you'll 
 cut her out, and Mrs. Carr-Boldt's maid 
 will be a cat! They always are, in books." 
 
 Margaret had laughed at this advice, but 
 
MOTHER 71 
 
 in her heart she rather believed it. Her new 
 work seemed so enchanting to her that it 
 was not easy to believe that she did not 
 stand in somebody's light. She was glad 
 that by a last-moment arrangement she was 
 to arrive at the Grand Central Station at 
 almost the same moment as Mrs. Carr- 
 Boldt herself, who was coming home from a 
 three-weeks' visit in the Middle West. Mar 
 garet gave only half her attention to the 
 flying country that was beginning to shape 
 itself into streets and rows of houses; all the 
 last half-hour of the trip was clouded by the 
 nervous fear that she would somehow fail to 
 find Mrs. Carr-Boldt in the confusion at the 
 railroad terminal. 
 
 But happily enough the lady was found 
 without trouble, or rather Margaret was 
 found, felt an authoritative tap on her 
 shoulder, caught a breath of fresh violets 
 and a glimpse of her patron's clear-skinned, 
 resolute face. They whirled through wet, 
 deserted streets; Mrs. Carr-Boldt gracious 
 
72 MOTHER 
 
 and talkative, Margaret nervously inter 
 ested and amused. 
 
 Their wheels presently grated against a 
 curb, a man in livery opened the limousine 
 door. Margaret saw an immense stone 
 mansion facing the park, climbed a dazzling 
 flight of wide steps, and was in a great hall 
 that faced an interior court, where there 
 were Florentine marble benches, and the 
 great lifted leaves of palms. She was a 
 little dazed by crowded impressions: im 
 pressions of height and spaciousness and 
 richness, and opening vistas ; a great marble 
 stairway, and a landing where there was an 
 immense designed window in clear leaded 
 glass; rugs, tapestries, mirrors, polished 
 wood and great chairs with brocaded seats 
 and carved dark backs. Two little girls, 
 heavy, well-groomed little girls one spec 
 tacled and good-natured looking, the other 
 rather pretty, with a mass of fair hair 
 were coming down the stairs with an eager 
 little German woman. They kissed their 
 
MOTHER 73 
 
 mother, much diverted by the mad rushes 
 and leaps of the two white poodles who 
 accompanied them. 
 
 "These are my babies, Miss Paget," said 
 Mrs. Carr-Boldt. "This is Victoria, who's 
 eleven, and Harriet, who's six. And these 
 are Monsieur " 
 
 "Monsieur Patou and Monsieur Mouche," 
 said Victoria, introducing the dogs with en 
 tire ease of manner. The German woman 
 said something forcibly, and Margaret un 
 derstood the child's reply in that tongue: 
 "Mamma won't blame you, Fraulein; Har 
 riet and I wished them to come down!" 
 
 Presently they all went up in a luxu 
 riously fitted little lift, Margaret being car 
 ried to the fourth floor to her own rooms, 
 to which a little maid escorted her. 
 
 When the maid had gone Margaret 
 walked to the door and tried it, for no rea 
 son whatever; it was shut. Her heart was 
 beating violently. She walked into the 
 middle of the room and looked at herself 
 
74 MOTHER 
 
 in the mirror, and laughed a little breath 
 less laugh. Then she took off her hat care 
 fully and went into the bedroom that was 
 beyond her sitting-room, and hung her hat 
 in a fragrant white closet that was entirely 
 and delightfully empty, and put her coat on 
 a hanger, and her gloves and bag in the 
 empty big top drawer of a great mahogany 
 bureau. Then she went back to the mirror 
 and looked hard at her own beauty re 
 flected in it; and laughed her little laugh 
 again. 
 
 "It's too good it's too much!" she whis 
 pered. 
 
 She investigated her domain, after quell 
 ing a wild desire to sit down at the beauti 
 ful desk and try the new pens, the crystal 
 ink-well, and the heavy paper, with its 
 severely engraved address, in a long letter 
 to Mother. 
 
 There was a tiny upright piano in the 
 sitting-room, and at the fireplace a deep 
 thick rug, and an immense leather arm- 
 
MOTHER 75 
 
 chair. A clock in crystal and gold flanked 
 by two crystal candlesticks had the centre of 
 the mantelpiece. On the little round ma 
 hogany centre table was a lamp with a won 
 derful mosaic shade; a little bookcase was 
 filled with books and magazines. Mar 
 garet went to one of the three windows, and 
 looked down upon the bare trees and the 
 snow in the park, and upon the rumbling 
 green omnibuses, all bathed in bright chilly 
 sunlight. 
 
 A mahogany door with a crystal knob 
 opened into the bedroom, where there was a 
 polished floor, and more rugs, and a gay 
 rosy wall paper, and a great bed with a lace 
 cover. Beyond was a bathroom, all enamel, 
 marble, glass, and nickel-plate, with heavy 
 monogrammed towels on the rack, three 
 new little wash-cloths sealed in glazed paper, 
 three new toothbrushes in paper cases, and 
 a cake of famous English soap just out of 
 its wrapper. 
 
 Over the whole little suite there brooded 
 
76 MOTHER 
 
 an exquisite order. Not a particle of dust 
 broke the shining surfaces of the mahogany, 
 not a fallen leaf lay under the great bowl 
 of roses on the desk. Now and then the 
 radiator clanked in the stillness; it was hard 
 to believe in that warmth and silence that a 
 cold winter wind was blowing outside, and 
 that snow still lay on the ground. 
 
 Margaret, resting luxuriously in the big 
 chair, became thoughtful; presently she 
 went into the bedroom, and knelt down 
 beside the bed. 
 
 "O Lord, let me stay here," she prayed, 
 her face in her hands. " I want so to stay 
 make me a success!" 
 
 Never was a prayer more generously 
 answered. Miss Paget was an instant suc 
 cess. In something less than two months 
 she became indispensable to Mrs. Carr- 
 Boldt, and was a favorite with every one, 
 from the rather stolid, silent head of the 
 house down to the least of the maids. She 
 
"With notes and invitations, account books and cheque 
 books, dinner lists and interviews with caterers, decorators 
 and florists, Margaret's time was full." 
 
MOTHER 77 
 
 was so busy, so unaffected, so sympathetic, 
 that her sudden rise in favor was resented 
 by no one. The butler told her his troubles,, 
 the French maid darkly declared that but 
 for Miss Paget she would not for one sec 
 ond r-r-remain! The children went cheer 
 fully even to the dentist with their adored 
 Miss Peggy; they soon preferred her escort 
 to matinee or zoo to that of any other per 
 son. Margaret also escorted Mrs. Carr- 
 Boldt's mother, a magnificent old lady, on 
 shopping expeditions, and attended the 
 meetings of charity boards for Mrs. Carr- 
 Boldt. With notes and invitations, account 
 books and cheque books, dinner lists, and 
 interviews with caterers, decorators, and 
 florists, Margaret's time was full, but she 
 loved every moment of her work, and gloried 
 in her increasing usefulness. 
 
 At first there were some dark days; not 
 ably the dreadful one upon which Mar 
 garet somehow somewhere dropped the 
 box containing the new hat she was bringing 
 
78 MOTHER 
 
 home for Harriet, and kept the little girl 
 out in the cold afternoon air while the 
 motor made a fruitless trip back to the 
 milliner's. Harriet contracted a cold, and 
 Harriet's mother for the first time spoke 
 severely to Margaret. There was another 
 bad day when Margaret artlessly admitted 
 to Mrs. Pierre Polk at the telephone that 
 Mrs. Carr-Boldt was not engaged for dinner 
 that evening, thus obliging her employer 
 to snub the lady, or accept a distasteful 
 invitation to dine. And there was a most 
 uncomfortable occasion when Mr. Carr- 
 Boldt, not at all at his best, stumbled in 
 upon his wife with some angry observations 
 meant for her ear alone; and Margaret, busy 
 with accounts in a window recess, was, un 
 known to them both, a distressed witness. 
 
 "Another time, Miss Paget," said Mrs. 
 Carr-Boldt, coldly, upon Margaret's ap 
 pearing scarlet-cheeked between the cur 
 tains, "don't oblige me to ascertain that you 
 are not within hearing before feeling sure of 
 
MOTHER 79 
 
 privacy. Will you finish those bills up 
 stairs, if you please?" 
 
 Margaret went upstairs with a burning 
 heart, cast her bills haphazard on her own 
 desk, and flung herself, dry-eyed and furi 
 ous, on the bed. She was far too angry to 
 think, but lay there for perhaps twenty 
 minutes with her brain whirling. Finally 
 rising, she brushed up her hair, straight 
 ened her collar, and, full of tremendous 
 resolves, stepped into her little sitting- 
 room, to find Mrs. Carr-Boldt in the big 
 chair, serenely eying her. 
 
 "I'm so sorry I spoke so, Peggy," said 
 her employer, generously. "But the truth 
 is, I am not myself when when Mr. Carr- 
 Boldt " The little hesitating appeal in 
 
 her voice completely disarmed Margaret. 
 In the end the little episode cemented the 
 rapidly growing friendship between the two 
 women, Mrs. Carr-Boldt seeming to enjoy 
 the relief of speaking rather freely of what 
 was the one real trial in her life. 
 
So MOTHER 
 
 "My husband has always had too much 
 money," she said, in her positive way. 
 "At one time we were afraid that he would 
 absolutely ruin his health by this habit of 
 his. His physician and I took him around 
 the world I left Victoria, just a baby, with 
 mother and for two years he was never 
 out of my sight. It has never been so bad 
 since. You know yourself how reliable he 
 usually is," she finished cheerfully, "unless 
 some of the other men get hold of him! 5 ' 
 
 As the months went on Margaret came to 
 admire her employer more and more. 
 There was not an indolent impulse in Mrs. 
 Carr-Boldt's entire composition. Smooth- 
 haired, fresh-skinned, in spotless linen, she 
 began the day at eight o'clock, full of energy 
 and interest. She had daily sessions with 
 butler and housekeeper, shopped with Mar 
 garet and the children, walked about her 
 greenhouse or her country garden with her 
 skirts pinned up, and had tulips potted and 
 stone work continued. She was prominent 
 
MOTHER 8 1 
 
 in several clubs, a famous dinner-giver, she 
 took a personal interest in all her servants, 
 loved to settle their quarrels and have three 
 or four of them up on the carpet at once, 
 tearful and explanatory. Margaret kept 
 for her a list of some two hundred friends, 
 whose birthdays were to be marked with 
 carefully selected gifts. She pleased Mrs. 
 Carr-Boldt by her open amazement at the 
 latter's vitality. The girl observed that her 
 employer could not visit any institution 
 without making a few vigorous suggestions 
 as she went about; she accompanied her 
 cheques to the organized charities and her 
 charity flowed only through absolutely 
 reliable channels with little friendly, ad 
 visory letters. She liked the democratic 
 attitude for herself even while promptly 
 snubbing any such tendency in children or 
 friends and told Margaret that she only 
 used her coat of arms on house linen, sta 
 tionery, and livery, because her husband 
 and mother liked it. "It's of course rather 
 
82 MOTHER 
 
 nice to realize that one comes from one 
 of the oldest of the Colonial families," she 
 would say. "The Carterets of Maryland, 
 you know. But it's all such bosh!" 
 
 And she urged Margaret to claim her own 
 right to family honors: "You're a Quincy, 
 my dear! Don't let that woman intimidate 
 you she didn't remember that her grand 
 father was a captain until her husband made 
 his money. And where the family portraits 
 came from I don't know, but I think there's 
 a man on Fourth Avenue who does 'em!" 
 she would say, or, "I know all about Lilly 
 Reynolds, Peggy. Her father was as rich 
 as she says, and I daresay the crest is theirs. 
 But ask her what her maternal grandmother 
 did for a living, if you want to shut her up !" 
 Other people she would condemn with a 
 mere whispered "Coal!" or "Patent bath 
 tubs!" behind her fan, and it pleased her to 
 tell people that her treasure of a secretary 
 had the finest blood in the world in her veins. 
 Margaret was much admired, and Mar- 
 
MOTHER 83 
 
 garet was her discovery, and she liked to 
 emphasize her find. 
 
 Mrs. Carr-Boldt's mother, a tremulous, 
 pompous old lady, unwittingly aided the 
 impression by taking an immense fancy to 
 Margaret, and by telling her few intimates 
 and the older women among her daughter's 
 friends that the girl was a perfect little thor 
 oughbred. When the Carr-Boldts filled 
 their house with the reckless and noisy 
 company they occasionally affected, Mrs. 
 Carteret would say majestically to Mar 
 garet: 
 
 " You and I have nothing in common with 
 this riff-raff, my dear!" 
 
 Summer came, and Margaret headed a 
 happy letter "Bar Harbor." Two months 
 later all Weston knew that Margaret Paget 
 was going abroad for a year with those rich 
 people, and had written her mother from the 
 Lusitania. Letters from London, from Ger 
 many, from Holland, from Russia, fol- 
 
84 MOTHER 
 
 lowed. "We are going to put the girls at 
 school in Switzerland, and (ahem!) winter 
 on the Riviera, and then Rome for Holy 
 Week!" she wrote. 
 
 She was presently home again, chattering 
 French and German to amuse her father, 
 teaching Becky a little Italian song to 
 match her little Italian costume. 
 
 "It's wonderful to me how you get along 
 with all these rich people, Mark," said 
 her mother, admiringly, during Margaret's 
 home visit. Mrs. Paget was watering the 
 dejected-looking side garden with a strag 
 gling length of hose; Margaret and Julie 
 shelling peas on the side steps. Margaret 
 laughed, coloring a little. 
 
 "Why, we're just as good as they are, 
 Mother!" 
 
 Mrs. Paget drenched a dried little clump 
 of carnations. 
 
 "We're as good" she admitted; "but we're 
 not as rich or as, travelled we haven't the 
 same ideas ; we belong to a different class." 
 
MOTHER 85 
 
 "Oh, no, we don't, Mother/' Margaret 
 said quickly. "Who are the Carr-Boldts, 
 except for their money? Why, Mrs. Car- 
 teret for all her family! isn't half the 
 aristocrat Grandma was! And you you 
 could be a Daughter of The Officers of the 
 Revolution, Mother!" 
 
 "Why, Mark, I never heard that!" her 
 mother protested, cleaning the sprinkler 
 with a hairpin. 
 
 "Mother!" Julie said eagerly, "Great 
 grandfather Quincy!" 
 
 "Oh, Grandpa," said Mrs. Paget. "Yes, 
 Grandpa was a paymaster. He was on 
 Governor Hancock's staff. They used to 
 call him 'Major.' But Mark -" she 
 turned off the water, holding her skirts 
 away from the combination of mud and dust 
 underfoot, "that's a very silly way to talk, 
 dear! Money does make a difference; it 
 does no good to go back into the past and 
 say that this one was a judge and that one a 
 major; we must live our lives where we are /" 
 
86 MOTHER 
 
 Margaret had not lost a wholesome respect 
 for her mother's opinion in the two years she 
 had been away, but she had lived in a very 
 different world, and was full of new ideas. 
 
 "Mother, do you mean to tell me that if 
 you and Dad hadn't had a perfect pack of 
 children, and moved so much, and if Dad 
 say had been in that oil deal that he said 
 he wished he had the money for, and we 
 still lived in the brick house, that you 
 wouldn't be in every way the equal of Mrs. 
 Carr-Boldt?" 
 
 "If you mean as far as money goes, Mark 
 no. We might have been well-to-do as 
 country people go, I suppose " 
 
 "Exactly!" said Margaret; "and you 
 would have been as well off as dozens of the 
 people who are going about in society this 
 minute! It's the merest chance that we 
 aren't rich. Just for instance: father's 
 father had twelve children, didn't he? and 
 left them how much was it ? about three 
 thousand dollars apiece " 
 
MOTHER 87 
 
 "And a Godsend it was, too/' said her 
 mother, reflectively. 
 
 "But suppose Dad had been the only 
 child, Mother," Margaret persisted, "he 
 would have had " 
 
 "He would have had the whole thirty-six 
 thousand dollars, I suppose, Mark." 
 
 "Or more," said Margaret, "for Grand 
 father Paget was presumably spending 
 money on them all the time." 
 
 "Well, but Mark," said Mrs. Paget, 
 laughing as at the vagaries of a small child, 
 "Father Paget did have twelve children 
 and Daddy and I eight " she sighed, as 
 always, at the thought of the little son who 
 was gone "and there you are! You can't 
 get away from that, dear." 
 
 Margaret did not answer. But she thought 
 to herself that very few people held Mother's 
 views of this subject. 
 
 Mrs. Carr-Boldt's friends, for example, 
 did not accept increasing cares in this re 
 signed fashion; their lives were ideally 
 
88 MOTHER 
 
 pleasant and harmonious without the com 
 plicated responsibilities of large families. 
 They drifted from season to season without 
 care, always free, always gay, always ir 
 reproachably gowned. In winter there were 
 daily meetings, for shopping, for luncheon, 
 bridge, or tea; summer was filled with a 
 score of country visits. There were motor- 
 trips for week-ends, dinners, theatre, and 
 the opera to fill the evenings, German or 
 singing lessons, manicure, masseuse, and 
 dressmaker to crowd the morning hours all 
 the year round. Margaret learned from 
 these exquisite, fragrant creatures the art 
 of being perpetually fresh and charming, 
 learned their methods of caring for their 
 own beauty, learned to love rare toilet 
 waters and powders, fine embroidered linen 
 and silk stockings. There was no particular 
 strain upon her wardrobe now, nor upon 
 her purse; she could be as dainty as she 
 liked. She listened to the conversations 
 that went on about her sometimes critical 
 
MOTHER 89 
 
 or unconvinced; more often admiring; and 
 as she listened she found slowly but cer 
 tainly her own viewpoint. She was not 
 mercenary. She would not marry a man 
 just for his money, she decided, but just as 
 certainly she would not marry a man who 
 could not give her a comfortable establish 
 ment, a position in society. 
 
 The man seemed in no hurry to appear; 
 as a matter of fact, the men whom Margaret 
 met were openly anxious to evade marriage, 
 even with the wealthy girls of their own set. 
 Margaret was not concerned; she was too 
 happy to miss the love-making element; 
 the men she saw were not of a type to inspire 
 a sensible, busy, happy girl with any very 
 deep feeling. And it was with generous 
 and perfect satisfaction that she presently 
 had news of Julie's happy engagement. 
 Julie was to marry a young and popular 
 doctor, the only child of one of Weston's 
 most prominent families. The little sister's 
 letter bubbled joyously with news. 
 
90 MOTHER 
 
 "Harry's father is going to build us a 
 little house on the big place, the darling," 
 wrote Julie; "and we will stay with them 
 until it is done. But in five years Harry 
 says we will have a real honeymoon, in 
 Europe! Think of going to Europe as a 
 married woman. Mark, I wish you could 
 see my ring; it is a beauty, but don't tell 
 Mother I was silly enough to write about 
 it!" 
 
 Margaret delightedly selected a little 
 collection of things for Julie's trousseau. A 
 pair of silk stockings, a scarf she never had 
 worn, a lace petticoat, pink silk for a waist. 
 Mrs. Carr-Boldt, coming in in the midst of 
 these preparations, insisted upon adding so 
 many other things, from trunks and closets, 
 that Margaret was speechless with delight. 
 Scarves, cobwebby silks in uncut lengths, 
 embroidered lingerie still in the tissue paper 
 of Paris shops, parasols, gloves, and lengths 
 of lace she piled all of them into Mar 
 garet's arms. Julie's trousseau was conse- 
 
MOTHER 91 
 
 quently quite the most beautiful Weston 
 had ever seen; and the little sister's cloud 
 less joy made the fortnight Margaret spent 
 at home at the time of the wedding a very 
 happy one. It was a time of rush and 
 flurry, laughter and tears, of roses, and girls 
 in white gowns. But some ten days before 
 the wedding Julie and Margaret happened 
 to be alone for a peaceful hour over their 
 sewing, and fell to talking seriously. 
 
 "You see, our house will be small/' said 
 Julie; "but I don't care we don't intend 
 to stay in Weston all our lives. Don't 
 breathe this to any one, Mark, but if Harry 
 does as well as he's doing now for two years, 
 we'll rent the little house, and we're going 
 to Baltimore for a year for a special course. 
 Then you know he's devoted to Doctor 
 McKim, he always calls him 'the chief 
 then he thinks maybe McKim will work 
 him into his practice he's getting old, you 
 know, and that means New York!" 
 
 "Oh,Ju r folly!" 
 
92 MOTHER 
 
 "I don't see why not," Julie said, dim 
 pling. "Harry's crazy to do it. He says 
 he doesn't propose to live and die in Weston. 
 McKim could throw any amount of hospital 
 practice his way, to begin with. And you 
 know Harry'll have something and the 
 house will rent. I'm crazy," said Julie, 
 enthusiastically, " to take one of those lovely 
 old apartments on Washington Square, and 
 meet a few nice people, you know, and really 
 make something of my life!" 
 
 "Mrs. Carr-Boldt and I will spin down 
 for you every few days," Margaret said, 
 falling readily in with the plan. "I'm glad 
 you're not going to simply get into a rut the 
 way some of the other girls have, cooking 
 and babies and nothing else!" she said. 
 
 "I think that's an awful mistake," Julie 
 said placidly. "Starting in right is so im 
 portant. I don't want to be a mere drudge 
 like Ethel or Louise they may like it. I 
 don't ! Of course, this isn't a matter to talk 
 of," she went on, coloring a little. "I'd 
 
MOTHER 93 
 
 never breathe this to Mother! But it's 
 perfectly absurd to pretend that girls don't 
 discuss these things. I've talked to Betty 
 and Louise we all talk about it, you know. 
 And Louise says they haven't had one free 
 second since Buddy came. She can't keep 
 one maid, and she says the idea of two maids 
 eating their three meals a day, whether 
 she's home or not, makes her perfectly 
 sick! Some one's got to be with him every 
 single second, even now, when he's four 
 to see that he doesn't fall off something or 
 put things in his mouth. And as Louise 
 says it means no more week-end trips; 
 you can't go visiting overnight, you can't 
 even go for a day's drive or a day on the 
 beach, without extra clothes for the baby, 
 a mosquito-net and an umbrella for the 
 baby milk packed in ice for the baby 
 somebody trying to get the baby to take his 
 nap it's awful! It would end our Balti 
 more plan, and that means New York, and 
 New York means everything to Harry and 
 
94 MOTHER 
 
 me!" finished Julie, contentedly, flattening 
 a finished bit of embroidery on her knee, and 
 regarding it complacently. 
 
 "Well, I think you're right," Margaret 
 approved. "Things are different now from 
 what they were in Mother's day." 
 
 "And look at Mother," Julie said. "One 
 long slavery! Life's too short to wear 
 yourself out that way!" 
 
 Mrs. Paget's sunny cheerfulness was 
 sadly shaken when the actual moment of 
 parting with the exquisite, rose-hatted, 
 gray-frocked Julie came; her face worked 
 pitifully in its effort to smile; her tall figure, 
 awkward in an ill-made, unbecoming new 
 silk, seemed to droop tenderly over the little 
 clinging wife. Margaret, stirred by the 
 sight of tears on her mother's face, stood with 
 an arm about her, when the bride and groom 
 drove away in the afternoon sunshine. 
 
 "I'm going to stay with you until she 
 gets back!" she reminded her mother. 
 
MOTHER 95 
 
 "And you know you've always said you 
 wanted the girls to marry, Mother," urged 
 Mr. Paget. Rebecca felt this a felicitous 
 moment to ask if she and the boys could 
 have the rest of the ice cream. 
 
 "Divide it evenly," said Mrs. Paget, wip 
 ing her eyes and smiling. "Yes, I know, 
 Daddy dear, I'm an ungrateful woman! I 
 suppose your turn will come next, Mark, and 
 then I don't know what I will do!" 
 
CHAPTER IV 
 
 BUT Margaret's turn did not come for 
 nearly a year. Then in Germany 
 again, and lingering at a great 
 Berlin hotel because the spring was so beau 
 tiful, and the city so sweet with linden 
 bloom, and especially because there were 
 two Americans at the hotel whose game of 
 bridge it pleased Mr. and Mrs. Carr-Boldt 
 daily to hope they could match then Mar 
 garet transformed within a few hours from 
 a merely pretty, very dignified, perfectly 
 contented secretary, entirely satisfied with 
 what she wore as long as it was suitable 
 and fresh, into a living woman whose 
 cheeks paled and flushed at nothing but 
 her thoughts, who laughed at herself in 
 her mirror, loitered over her toilet try 
 ing one gown after another, and walked 
 96 
 
MOTHER 97 
 
 half-smiling through a succession of rosy 
 dreams. 
 
 It all came about very simply. One of 
 the aforementioned bridge players won 
 dered if Mrs. Carr-Boldt and her niece 
 oh, wasn't it? her secretary then would 
 like to hear a very interesting young Amer 
 ican professor lecture this morning? won 
 dered, when they were fanning themselves 
 in the airy lecture-room, if they would care 
 to meet Professor Tenison? 
 
 Margaret looked into a pair of keen, 
 humorous eyes, answered with her own smile 
 Professor Tenison's sudden charming one, 
 lost her small hand in his big firm one. 
 Then she listened to him talk, as he strode 
 about the platform, boyishly shaking back 
 the hair that fell across his forehead. After 
 that he walked to the hotel with them, 
 through dazzling seas of perfume, and of 
 flowers, under the enchanted shifting green 
 of great trees or so Margaret thought. 
 There was a plunge from the hot street into 
 
98 MOTHER 
 
 the awninged cool gloom of the hotel, and 
 then a luncheon, when the happy steady 
 murmur from their own table seemed echoed 
 by the murmurous clink and stir and 
 laughter all about them, and accented by the 
 not-too-close music from the band. 
 
 Doctor Tenison was everything charm 
 ing, Margaret thought, instantly drawn by 
 the unaffected, friendly manner, and watch 
 ing the interested gleam of his blue eyes and 
 the white flash of his teeth. He was a 
 gentleman, to begin with; distinguished at 
 thirty-two in his chosen work; big and well- 
 built, without suggesting the athlete, of an 
 old and honored American family, and the 
 only son of a rich and eccentric old doc 
 tor whom Mrs. Carr-Boldt chanced to know. 
 
 He was frankly delighted at the chance 
 that had brought him in contact with these 
 charming people; and as Mrs. Carr-Boldt 
 took an instant fancy to him, and as he was 
 staying at their own hotel, they saw him 
 after that every day, and several times a 
 
MOTHER 99 
 
 day. Margaret would come down the great 
 sun-bathed stairway in the morning to find 
 him patiently waiting in a porch chair. 
 Her heart would give a great leap half 
 joy, half new strange pain, as she recognized 
 him. There would be time for a chat over 
 their fruit and eggs before Mr. Carr-Boldt 
 came down, all ready for a motor-trip, or 
 Mrs. Carr-Boldt, swathed in cream-colored 
 coat and flying veils, joined them with an 
 approving "Good-morning." 
 
 Margaret would remember these break 
 fasts all her life: the sun-splashed little 
 table in a corner of the great dining-room, 
 the rosy fatherly waiter who was so much 
 delighted with her German, the busy pic 
 turesque traffic in the street just below the 
 wide-open window. She would always re 
 member a certain filmy silk striped gown, a 
 wide hat loaded with daisies; always love 
 the odor of linden trees in the spring. 
 
 Sometimes the professor went with them 
 on their morning drive, to be dropped at the 
 
ioo MOTHER 
 
 lecture-hall with Margaret and Mrs. Carr- 
 Boldt. The latter was pleased to take the 
 course of lectures very seriously, and carried 
 a handsome Russian leather note-book, and 
 a gold pencil. Sometimes after luncheon 
 they all went on an expedition together, and 
 now and then Margaret and Doctor Tenison 
 went off alone on foot, to explore the city. 
 They would end the afternoon with coffee 
 and little cakes in some tea-room, and come 
 home tired and merry in the long shadows of 
 the spring sunset, with wilted flowers from 
 the street markets in their hands. 
 
 There was one glorious tramp in the rain, 
 when the professor's great laugh rang out 
 like a boy's for sheer high spirits, and when 
 Margaret was an enchanting vision in her 
 long coat, with her cheeks glowing through 
 the blown wet tendrils of her hair. That 
 day they had tea in the deserted charming 
 little parlor of a tiny inn, and drank it toast 
 ing their feet over a glowing fire. 
 
 "Is Mrs. Carr-Boldt your mother's or 
 
MOTHER 101 
 
 your father's sister?" John Tenison asked, 
 watching his companion with approval. 
 
 "Oh, good gracious!" said Margaret, 
 laughing over her teacup. "Haven't I told 
 you yet that I'm only her secretary ? I never 
 saw Mrs. Carr-Boldt until five years ago." 
 
 "Perhaps you did tell me. But I got it 
 into my head, that first day, that you were 
 aunt and niece " 
 
 "People do, I think," Margaret said 
 thoughtfully, "because we're both fair." 
 She did not say that but for Mrs. Carr- 
 Boldt's invaluable maid the likeness would 
 have been less marked, on this score at 
 least. "I taught school," she went on 
 simply, "and Mrs. Carr-Boldt happened 
 to come to my school, and she asked me to 
 come to her." 
 
 "You're all alone in the world, Miss 
 Paget?" He was eying her musingly; the 
 direct question came quite naturally. 
 
 "Oh, dear me, no ! My father and mother 
 are living"; and feeling, as she always did, 
 
102 MOTHER 
 
 a little claim on her loyalty, she added: 
 "We are, or were, rather, Southern people 
 but my father settled in a very small New 
 York town " 
 
 "Mrs. Carr-Boldt told me that I'd for 
 gotten " said Professor Tenison, and he 
 
 carried the matter entirely out of Margar 
 et's hands much, much further indeed 
 than she would have carried it, by contin 
 uing, "She tells me that Quincyport was 
 named for your mother's grandfather, and 
 that Judge Paget was your father's father." 
 
 "Father's uncle," Margaret corrected, 
 although as a matter of fact Judge Paget 
 had been no nearer than her father's second 
 cousin. "But father always called him 
 uncle," Margaret assured herself inwardly. 
 To the Quincyport claim she said nothing. 
 Quincyport was in the county that Mother's 
 people had come from; Quincy was a very 
 unusual name, and the original Quincy had 
 been a Charles, which certainly was one of 
 Mother's family names. Margaret and 
 
MOTHER 103 
 
 Julie, browsing about among the colonial 
 histories and genealogies of the Weston Pub 
 lic Library years before, had come to a 
 jubilant certainty that Mother's grand 
 father must have been the same man. But 
 she did not feel quite so positive now. 
 
 "Your people aren't still in the South, 
 you said?" 
 
 "Oh, no!" Margaret cleared her throat. 
 "They're in Weston Weston, New York." 
 
 "Weston ! Not near Dayton?" 
 
 "Why, yes! Do you know Dayton?" 
 
 "Do I know Dayton?" He was like an 
 eager child. "Why, my Aunt Pamela lives 
 there; the only mother I ever knew! I 
 knew Weston, too, a little. Lovely homes 
 there, some of them old colonial houses. 
 And your mother lives there? Is she fond 
 of flowers?" 
 
 "She loves them," Margaret said, vaguely 
 uncomfortable. 
 
 "Well, she must know Aunt Pamela," 
 said John Tenison, enthusiastically. "I 
 
104 MOTHER 
 
 expect they'd be great friends. And you 
 must know Aunt Pam. She's like a dainty 
 old piece of china, or a I don't know, a 
 tea rose! She's never married, and she 
 lives in the most charming brick house, 
 with brick walls and hollyhocks all about 
 it, and such an atmosphere inside! She 
 has an old maid and an old gardener, and 
 don't you know she's the sort of woman 
 who likes to sit down under a portrait of 
 your great-grandfather, in a dim parlor full 
 of mahogany and rose jars, with her black 
 silk skirts spreading about her, and an Old 
 Blue cup in her hand, and talk family how 
 cousin this married a man whose people 
 aren't anybody, and cousin that is outraging 
 precedent by naming her child for her 
 husband's side of the house. She's a funny, 
 dear old lady! You know, Miss Paget," 
 the professor went on, with his eager, im 
 personal air, "when I met you, I thought you 
 didn't quite seem like a New Yorker and a 
 Bar Harborer if that's the word! Aunt 
 
MOTHER 105 
 
 Pam you know she's my only mother, I got 
 all my early knowledge from her! Aunt 
 Pam detests the usual New York girl, and 
 the minute I met you I knew she'd like you. 
 You'd sort of fit into the Dayton picture, 
 with your braids, and those ruffly things you 
 wear!" 
 
 Margaret said simply, "I would love to 
 meet her," and began slowly to draw on her 
 gloves. It surely was not requisite that 
 she should add, " But you must not confuse 
 my home with any such exquisitely ordered 
 existence as that. We are poor people, 
 our house is crowded, our days a severe and 
 endless struggle with the ugly things of life. 
 We have good blood in our veins, but not 
 more than hundreds of thousands of other 
 American families. My mother would not 
 understand one tenth of your aunt's con 
 versation; your aunt would find very un 
 interesting the things that are vital to my 
 mother." 
 
 No, she couldn't say that. She picked 
 
106 MOTHER 
 
 up her dashing little hat, and pinned it 
 over her loosened soft mass of yellow hair, 
 and buttoned up her storm coat, and 
 plunged her hands deep in her pockets. 
 No, the professor would call on her at 
 Bar Harbor, take a yachting trip with the 
 Carr-Boldts perhaps, and then and then, 
 when they were really good friends, some 
 day she would ask Mother to have a simple 
 little luncheon, and Mrs. Carr-Boldt would 
 let her bring Doctor Tenison down in the 
 motor from New York. And meantime no 
 need to be too explicit. 
 
 For just two happy weeks Margaret 
 lived in Wonderland. The fourteen days 
 were a revelation to her. Life seemed to 
 grow warmer, more rosy-colored. Little 
 things became significant; every moment 
 carried its freight of joy. Her beauty, 
 always notable, became almost startling; 
 there was a new glow in her cheeks and lips, 
 new fire in the dark-lashed eyes that were 
 so charming a contrast to her bright hair. 
 

 2 
 
 4> 
 
 O 3 
 SS S, 
 
 a 
 
MOTHER 107 
 
 Like a pair of joyous and irresponsible 
 children she and John Tenison walked 
 through the days, too happy ever to pause 
 and ask themselves whither they were going. 
 
 Then abruptly it ended. Victoria, brought 
 down from school in Switzerland with 
 various indications of something wrong, was 
 in a flash a sick child; a child who must be 
 hurried home to the only surgeon in whom 
 Mrs. Carr-Boldt placed the least trust. 
 There was hurried packing, telephoning, 
 wiring; it was only a few hours after the 
 great German physician's diagnosis that 
 they were all at the railway station, breath 
 less, nervous, eager to get started. 
 
 Doctor Tenison accompanied them to the 
 station, and in the five minutes' wait before 
 their train left, a little incident occurred, 
 the memory of which clouded Margaret's 
 dreams for many a day to come. Arriving, 
 as they were departing, were the St. George 
 Aliens, noisy, rich, arrogant New Yorkers, 
 for whom Margaret had a special dislike. 
 
io8 MOTHER 
 
 The Aliens fell joyously upon the Carr- 
 Boldt party, with a confusion of greetings. 
 "And Jack Tenison!" shouted Lily Allen, 
 delightedly. "Well, what fun! What are 
 you doing here?" 
 
 "I'm feeling a little lonely," said the 
 professor, smiling at Mrs. Carr-Boldt. 
 
 "Nothing like that; unsay them woyds," 
 said Maude Allen, cheerfully. "Mamma, 
 make him dine with us ! Say you will." 
 
 "I assure you I was dreading the lonely 
 evening," John Tenison said gratefully. 
 Margaret's last glimpse of his face was be 
 tween Lily's pink and cherry hat and 
 Maude's astonishing headgear of yellow 
 straw, gold braid, spangled quills, and calla 
 lilies. She carried a secret heartache through 
 the worried fortnight of Victoria's illness 
 and the busy days that followed; for Mrs. 
 Carr-Boldt had one of many nervous break 
 downs, and took her turn at the hospital 
 when Victoria came home. For the first 
 time in five happy years Margaret drooped, 
 
MOTHER 109 
 
 and for the first time a longing for money 
 and power of her own gnawed at the girl's 
 heart. If she had but her share of these 
 things, she could hold her own against a 
 hundred Maude and Lily Aliens. 
 
 As it was, she told herself a little bitterly, 
 she was only a secretary, one of the hundred 
 paid dependents of a rich woman. She was 
 only, after all, a little middle-class country 
 school teacher. 
 
CHAPTER V 
 
 SO YOU'RE going home to your 
 own people for the week-end, Peggy? 
 And how many of you are there, 
 I always forget?" said young Mrs. George 
 Crawford, negligently. She tipped back in 
 her chair, half shut her novel, half shut her 
 eyes, and looked critically at her finger 
 nails. 
 
 Outside the big country house summer 
 sunshine flooded the smooth lawns, sparkled 
 on the falling diamonds and still pool of the 
 fountain, glowed over acres of matchless 
 wood and garden. But deep awnings made 
 a clear cool shade indoors, and the wide 
 rooms were delightfully breezy. 
 
 Margaret, busy with a ledger and cheque 
 book, smiled absently, finished a long column, 
 made an orderly entry, and wiped her pen. 
 
 no 
 
MOTHER in 
 
 "Seven," said she, smiling. 
 
 "Seven !" echoed Mrs. Potter, lazily. 
 "My heaven seven children! How early 
 Victorian!" 
 
 "Isn't it?" said a third woman, a very 
 beautiful woman, Mrs. Watts Watson, who 
 was also idling and reading in the white-and- 
 gray morning-room. "Well," she added, 
 dropping her magazine, and locking her 
 hands about her head, "my grandmother had 
 ten. Fancy trying to raise ten children!" 
 
 "Oh, everything's different now," the 
 first speaker said indifferently. "Every 
 thing's more expensive, life is more com 
 plicated. People used to have roomier 
 houses, aunts and cousins and grandmothers 
 living with them; there was always some 
 one at home with the children. Nowadays 
 we don't do that." 
 
 "And thank the saints we don't!" said 
 Mrs. Watson, piously. "If there's one 
 thing I can't stand, it's a houseful of things- 
 in-law!" 
 
ii2 MOTHER 
 
 " Of course; but I mean it made the family 
 problem simpler/' Mrs. Crawford pursued. 
 "Oh and I don't know! Everything was 
 so simple. All this business of sterilizing, 
 and fumigating, and pasteurizing, and vac 
 cinating, and boiling in boracic acid wasn't 
 done in those days," she finished vaguely. 
 
 "Now there you are now there you are!" 
 said Mrs. Carr-Boldt, entering into the 
 conversation with sudden force. Entirely 
 recovered after her nervous collapse, as 
 brisk as ever in her crisp linen gown, she 
 was signing the cheques that Margaret 
 handed her, frowningly busy and absorbed 
 with her accounts. Now she leaned back 
 in her chair, glanced at the watch at her 
 wrist, and relaxed the cramped muscles of 
 her body. "That's exactly it, Rose," said 
 she to Mrs. Crawford. "Life is more com 
 plicated. People the very people who 
 ought to have children simply cannot 
 afford it! And who's to blame? Can you 
 blame a woman whose life is packed full of 
 
MOTHER 113 
 
 other things she simply cannot avoid, if she 
 declines to complicate things any further? 
 Our grandmothers didn't have telephones, 
 or motor-cars, or week-end affairs, or 
 even for that matter manicures and 
 hair-dressers! A good heavy silk was full 
 dress all the year 'round. They washed 
 their own hair. The * upstairs girl ' answered 
 the door-bell why, they didn't even have 
 talcum powder and nursery refrigerators, 
 and sanitary rugs that have to be washed 
 every day! Do you suppose my grand 
 mother ever took a baby's temperature, or 
 had its eyes and nose examined, or its ade 
 noids cut? They had more children, and 
 they lost more children without any reason 
 or logic whatever. Poor things, they never 
 thought of doing anything else, I suppose ! 
 A fat old darky nurse brought up the whole 
 crowd it makes one shudder to think of 
 it ! Why, I had always a trained nurse, and 
 the regular nurse used to take two baths a 
 day. I insisted on that^ and both nurseries 
 
n 4 MOTHER 
 
 were washed out every day with chloride of 
 potash solution, and the iron beds washed 
 every week! And even then Vic had this 
 mastoid trouble, and Harriet got every 
 thing, almost." 
 
 "Exactly," said Mrs. Watson. "That's 
 you, Hattie, with all the money in the world. 
 Now do you wonder that some of the rest 
 of us, who have to think of money in 
 short," she finished decidedly, "do you 
 wonder that people are not having children ? 
 At first, naturally, one doesn't want them 
 for three or four years, I'm sure, the thought 
 doesn't come into one's head. But then, 
 afterward you see, I've been married fif 
 teen years now! afterward, I think it would 
 be awfully nice to have one or two little 
 kiddies, if it was a possible thing. But it 
 
 isn't." 
 
 "No, it isn't," Mrs. Crawford agreed. 
 "You don't want to have them unless you're 
 able to do everything in the world for them. 
 If I were Hat here, I'd have a dozen." 
 
MOTHER 115 
 
 "Oh, no, you wouldn't," Mrs. Carr-Boldt 
 assured her promptly. "No, you wouldn't ! 
 You can't leave everything to servants 
 there are clothes to think of, and dentists, 
 and special teachers, and it's frightfully 
 hard to get a nursery governess. And then 
 you've got to see that they know the right 
 people don't you know? and give them 
 parties I tell you it's a strain." 
 
 "Well, I don't believe my mother with 
 her seven ever worked any harder than you 
 do!" said Margaret, with the admiration 
 in her eyes that was so sweet to the older 
 woman. "Look at this morning did you 
 sit down before you came in here twenty 
 minutes ago?" 
 
 "I? Indeed I didn't!" Mrs. Carr-Boldt 
 said. "I had my breakfast and letters at 
 seven, bath at eight, straightened out that 
 squabble between Swann and the cook I 
 think Paul is still simmering, but that's 
 neither here nor there! then I went down 
 with the vet to see the mare. Joe'll never 
 
ii6 MOTHER 
 
 forgive me if I've really broken the crea 
 ture's knees! then I telephoned mother, 
 and saw Harriet's violin man, and talked 
 to that Italian Joe sent up to clean the oils 
 he's in the gallery now, and let's see " 
 
 "Italian lesson," Margaret prompted. 
 
 "Italian lesson," the other echoed, "and 
 then came in here to sign my cheques." 
 
 'You're so executive, Harriet!" said 
 Mrs. Crawford, languidly. 
 
 "Apropos of Swann," Margaret said, "he 
 confided to me that he has seven children 
 on a little farm down on Long Island." 
 
 "The butler oh, I dare say!" Mrs. Wat 
 son agreed. "They can, because they've 
 no standard to maintain seven, or seven 
 teen the only difference in expense is the 
 actual amount of bread and butter con 
 sumed." 
 
 "It's too bad," said Mrs. Crawford. 
 "But you've got to handle the question 
 sanely and reasonably, like any other. 
 Now, I love children," she went on. "I'm 
 
MOTHER 117 
 
 perfectly crazy about my sister's little girl. 
 She's eleven now, and the cutest thing alive. 
 But when I think of all Mabel's been 
 through, since she was born I realize that 
 it's a little too much to expect of any woman. 
 Now, look at us there are thousands of 
 people fixed as we are. We're in an apart 
 ment hotel, with one maid. There's no 
 room for a second maid, no porch and no 
 backyard. Well, the baby comes one 
 loses, before and after the event, just about 
 six months of everything, and of course the 
 expense is frightful, but no matter! the 
 baby comes. We take a house. That 
 means three indoor maids, George's chauf 
 feur, a man for lawn and furnace that's 
 five " 
 
 "Doubling expenses," said Mrs. Carr- 
 Boldt, thoughtfully. 
 
 "Doubling ! Trebling, or more. But 
 
 that's not all. Baby must be out from 
 eleven to three every day. So you've got 
 to go sit by the carriage in the park while 
 
n8 MOTHER 
 
 nurse goes home for her lunch. Or, if 
 you're out for luncheon, or giving a lunch 
 eon, she brings baby home, bumps the car 
 nage into the basement, carries the baby 
 upstairs, eats her lunch in snatches the 
 maids don't like it, and I don't blame them ! 
 I know how it was with Mabel; she had to 
 give up that wonderful old apartment of 
 theirs on Gramercy Park. Sid had his 
 studio on the top floor, and she had such a 
 lovely flat on the next floor, but there was no 
 lift, and no laundry, and the kitchen was 
 small a baby takes so much fussing! And 
 then she lost that splendid cook of hers, 
 Germaine. She wouldn't stand it. Up to 
 that time she'd been cooking and waiting, 
 too, but the baby ended that. Mabel took 
 a house, and Sid paid studio rent besides, and 
 they had two maids, and then three maids 
 and what with their fighting, and their days 
 off, and eternally changing, Mabel was a 
 wreck. I've seen her trying to play a bridge 
 hand with Dorothy bobbing about on her 
 
MOTHER 119 
 
 arm poor girl! Finally they went to a 
 hotel, and of course the child got older, and 
 was less trouble. But to this day Mabel 
 doesn't dare leave her alone for one second. 
 And when they go out to dinner, and leave 
 her alone in the hotel, of course the child 
 
 cries !" 
 
 "That's the worst of a kiddie," Mrs. 
 Watson said. "You can't ever turn 'em 
 off, as it were, or make it spades ! They're 
 always right on the job. I'll never forget 
 Elsie Clay. She was the best friend I had 
 my bridesmaid, too. She married, and 
 after a while they took a house in Jersey 
 because of the baby. I went out there to 
 lunch one day. There she was in a house 
 perfectly buried in trees, with the rain sop 
 ping down outside, and smoke blowing out 
 of the fireplace, and the drawing-room as 
 dark as pitch at two o'clock. Elsie said 
 she used to nearly die of loneliness, sitting 
 there all afternoon long listening to the 
 trains whistling, and the maid thumping 
 
120 MOTHER 
 
 irons in the kitchen, and picking up the 
 baby's blocks. And they quarrelled, you 
 know, she and her husband that was the 
 beginning of the trouble. Finally the boy 
 went to his grandmother, and now I believe 
 Elsie's married again, and living in Cali 
 fornia somewhere." 
 
 Margaret, hanging over the back of her 
 chair, was an attentive listener. 
 
 "But people people in town have chil 
 dren!" she said. "The Blankenships have 
 one, and haven't the de Normandys?" 
 
 "The Blankenship boy is in college," said 
 Mrs. Carr-Boldt; "and the little de Nor 
 mandys lived with their grandmother until 
 they were old enough for boarding-school." 
 
 "Well, the Deanes have three!" Mar 
 garet said triumphantly. 
 
 "Ah, well, my dear! Harry Deane's a 
 rich man, and she was a Pell of Philadel 
 phia," Mrs. Crawford supplied promptly. 
 "Now the Eastmans have three, too, with a 
 trained nurse apiece." 
 
MOTHER 121 
 
 "I see/' Margaret admitted slowly. 
 
 "Far wiser to have none at all," said 
 Mrs. Carr-Boldt, in her decisive way, "than 
 to handicap them from the start by letting 
 them see other children enjoying pleasures 
 and advantages they can't afford. And 
 now, girls, let's stop wasting time. It's 
 half-past eleven. Why can't we have a 
 game of auction right here and now?" 
 
 Margaret returned to her cheque-book 
 with speed. The other two, glad to be 
 aroused, heartily approved the idea. 
 
 "Well, what does this very businesslike 
 aspect imply?" Mrs. Carr-Boldt asked her 
 secretary. 
 
 "It means that I can't play cards, and 
 you oughtn't," Margaret said, laughing. 
 
 "Oh? Why not?" 
 
 " Because you've lots of things to do, and 
 I've got to finish these notes, and I have to sit 
 with Harriet while she does her German " 
 
 " Where's Fraulein?" 
 
 "Fraulein's going to drive Vic over to 
 
122 MOTHER 
 
 the Partridges' for luncheon, and I promised 
 Swann I'd talk to him about favors and 
 things for to-morrow night/' 
 
 "Well busy Lizzie! And what have I 
 to do?" 
 
 Margaret reached for a well-filled date- 
 book. 
 
 "You were to decide about those altera 
 tions, the porch and dining-room, you 
 know," said she. "There are some archi 
 tect's sketches around here; the man's going 
 to be here early in the morning. You said 
 you'd drive to the yacht club, to see about 
 the stage for the children's play; you were 
 to stop on the way back and see old Mrs. 
 McNab a moment. You wanted to write 
 Mrs. Polk a note to catch the Kaiserin 
 Augusta, and luncheon's early because of 
 the Kellogg bridge." She shut the book. 
 "And call Mr. Carr-Boldt at the club at 
 one," she added. 
 
 "All that, now fancy!" said her employer, 
 admiringly. 
 
MOTHER 123 
 
 She had swept some scattered magazines 
 from a small table, and was now seated 
 there, negligently shuffling a pack of cards 
 in her fine white hands. 
 
 "Ring, will you, Peggy?" said she. 
 
 "And the boat races are to-day, and you 
 dine at Oaks-in-the-Field," Margaret sup 
 plemented inflexibly. 
 
 "Yes? Well, come and beat the seven 
 of clubs," said Mrs. Carr-Boldt, spreading 
 the deck for the draw. 
 
 "Fraulein," she said sweetly, a moment 
 later, when a maid had summoned that 
 worthy and earnest governess, "tell Miss 
 Harriet that Mother doesn't want her to do 
 her German to-day, it's too warm. Tell 
 her that she's to go with you and Miss 
 Victoria for a drive. Thank you. And, 
 Fraulein, will you telephone old Mrs. Me- 
 Nab, and say that Mrs. Carr-Boldt is lying 
 down with a severe headache, and she won't 
 be able to come in this morning? Thank 
 you. And, Fraulein, telephone the yacht 
 
I2 4 MOTHER 
 
 club, will you ? And tell Mr. Mathews that 
 Mrs. Carr-Boldt is indisposed and he'll 
 have to come back this afternoon. I'll talk 
 to him before the children's races. And 
 one thing more ! Will you tell Swann Miss 
 Paget will see him about to-morrow's dinner 
 when she comes back from the yacht club 
 to-day? And tell him to send us something 
 cool to drink now. Thank you so much. 
 No, shut it. Thank you. Have a nice 
 drive!" 
 
 They all drew up their chairs to the 
 table. 
 
 "You and I, Rose," said Mrs. Watson. 
 "I'm so glad you suggested this, Hattie. 
 I am dying to play." 
 
 "It really rests me more than anything 
 else," said Mrs. Carr-Boldt. "Two spades." 
 
CHAPTER VI 
 
 A" CHERTON, a blur of flying trees 
 and houses, bright in the late sun 
 light, Pottsville, with children wad 
 ing and shouting, under the bridge, Hunt's 
 Crossing, then the next would be Weston 
 and home. 
 
 Margaret, beginning to gather wraps and 
 small possessions together, sighed. She 
 sighed partly because her head ached, partly 
 because the hot trip had mussed her usual 
 fresh trimness, largely because she was 
 going home. 
 
 This was August ; her last trip home had 
 been between Christmas and the New Year. 
 She had sent a box from Germany at Easter, 
 ties for the boys, silk scarves for Rebecca, 
 books for Dad ; and she had written Mother 
 for her birthday in June, and enclosed an 
 125 
 
126 MOTHER 
 
 exquisite bit of lace in the letter; but al 
 though Victoria's illness had brought her to 
 America nearly three months ago, it had 
 somehow been impossible, she wrote them, 
 to come home until now. Margaret had 
 paid a great deal for the lace, as a sort of 
 salve for her conscience not that Mother 
 would ever wear it ! 
 
 Here was Weston. Weston looking its 
 very ugliest in the level pitiless rays of the 
 afternoon sun. The town, like most of its 
 inhabitants, was wilted and grimed after 
 the burden and heat of the long summer day. 
 Margaret carried her heavy suitcase slowly 
 up Main Street. Shop windows were spot 
 ted and dusty, and shopkeepers, standing 
 idle in their doorways, looked spotted and 
 dusty, too. A cloud of flies fought and 
 surged about the closely guarded door of the 
 butcher shop; a delivery cart was at the 
 curb, the discouraged horse switching an 
 ineffectual tail. 
 
 As Margaret passed this cart, a tall boy of 
 
MOTHER 127 
 
 fourteen came out of the shop with a bang 
 of the wire-netting door, and slid a basket 
 into the back of the cart. 
 
 " Teddy!" said Margaret, irritation evi 
 dent in her voice in spite of herself. 
 
 "Hello, Mark!" said her brother, de 
 lightedly. "Say, great to see you! Get 
 in on the four-ten?" 
 
 "Ted," said Margaret, kissing him, as the 
 Pagets always quite simply kissed each 
 other when they met, "what are you driving 
 Costello's cart for?" 
 
 "Like to," said Theodore, simply. 
 "Mother doesn't care. Say, you look swell, 
 Mark!" 
 
 "What makes you want to drive this 
 horrid cart, Ted?" protested Margaret. 
 "What does Costello pay you?" 
 
 "Pay me?" scowled her brother, gather 
 ing up the reins. "Oh, come out of it, 
 Marg'ret! He doesn't pay me anything. 
 Don't you make Mother stop me, either, 
 will you ?" he ended anxiously. 
 
128 MOTHER 
 
 "Of course I won't!" Margaret said im 
 patiently. 
 
 "Giddap, Ruth!" said Theodore; but 
 departing, he pulled up to add cheerfully, 
 "Say, Dad didn't get his raise." 
 
 "Did?" said Margaret, brightening. 
 
 "Didn't!" He grinned affectionately 
 upon her as with a dislocating jerk the 
 cart started a ricochetting career down the 
 street with that abandon known only to 
 butchers' carts. Margaret, changing her 
 heavy suitcase to the rested arm, was still 
 vexedly watching it, when two girls, laugh 
 ing in the open doorway of the express 
 company's office across the street, caught 
 sight of her. One of them, a little vision of 
 pink hat and ruffles, and dark eyes and hair, 
 came running to join her. 
 
 Rebecca was now sixteen, and of all the 
 handsome Pagets the best to look upon. 
 She was dressed according to her youthful 
 lights; every separate article of her apparel 
 to-day, from her rowdyish little hat to her 
 
MOTHER 129 
 
 openwork hose, represented a battle with 
 Mrs. Paget's preconceived ideas as to pro 
 priety in dress, with the honors largely for 
 Rebecca. Rebecca had grown up, in eight 
 months, her sister thought, confusedly; 
 she was no longer the adorable, un-self- 
 conscious tomboy who fought and skated 
 and toboganned with the boys. 
 
 "Hello, darling dear!" said Rebecca. 
 "Too bad no one met you! We all thought 
 you were coming on the six. Crazy about 
 your suit ! Here's Maudie Pratt. You know 
 Maudie, don't you, Mark?" 
 
 Margaret knew Maudie. Rebecca's in 
 fatuation for plain, heavy-featured, com 
 placent Miss Pratt was a standing mystery 
 in the Paget family. Margaret smiled, 
 bowed. 
 
 "I think we stumbled upon a pretty little 
 secret of yours to-day, Miss Margaret," 
 said Maudie, with her best company man 
 ner, as they walked along. Margaret raised 
 her eyebrows. "Rebel and I," Maudie 
 
i 3 o MOTHER 
 
 went on Rebecca was at the age that seeks 
 a piquant substitute for an unpoetical family 
 name "Rebel and I are wondering if we 
 may ask you who Mr. John Tenison is?" 
 
 John Tenison! Margaret's heart stood 
 still with a shock almost sickening, then 
 beat furiously. What how who on earth 
 had told them anything of John Tenison ? 
 Coloring high, she looked sharply at Re 
 becca. 
 
 "Cheer up, angel," said Rebecca, "he's 
 not dead. He sent a telegram to-day, and 
 Mother opened it " 
 
 "Naturally," said Margaret, concealing 
 an agony of impatience, as Rebecca paused 
 apologetically. 
 
 "He's with his aunt, at Dayton, up the 
 road here," continued Rebecca ; " and wants 
 you to wire him if he may come down and 
 spend to-morrow here." 
 
 Margaret drew a relieved breath. There 
 was time to turn around, at least. 
 
 "Who is he, sis?" asked Rebecca. 
 
MOTHER 131 
 
 "Why, he's an awfully clever professor, 
 honey," Margaret answered serenely. "We 
 heard him lecture in Germany this spring, 
 and met him afterward. I liked him very 
 much. He's tremendously interesting." She 
 tried to keep out of her voice the thrill 
 that shook her at the mere thought of him. 
 Confused pain and pleasure stirred her to 
 the very heart. He wanted to come to see 
 her, he must have telephoned Mrs. Carr- 
 Boldt and asked to call, or he would not have 
 known that she was at home this week-end 
 surely that was significant, surely that 
 meant something! The thought was all 
 pleasure, so great a joy and pride indeed 
 that Margaret was conscious of wanting to 
 lay it aside, to think of, dream of, ponder 
 over, when she was alone. But, on the 
 other hand, there was instantly the miser 
 able conviction that he mustn't be allowed 
 to come to Weston, no no she couldn't 
 have him see her home and her people on a 
 crowded hot summer Sunday, when the 
 
i 3 2 MOTHER 
 
 town looked its ugliest, and the children 
 were home from school, and when the 
 scramble to get to church and to safely 
 accomplish the one o'clock dinner exhausted 
 the women of the family. And how could 
 she keep him from coming, what excuse 
 could she give? 
 
 " Don't you want him to come is he old 
 and fussy?" asked Rebecca, interestedly. 
 
 "I'll see," Margaret answered vaguely. 
 "No, he's only thirty-two or four." 
 
 "And charming!" said Maudie archly. 
 Margaret eyed her with a coolness worthy 
 of Mrs. Carr-Boldt herself, and then turned 
 rather pointedly to Rebecca. 
 
 "How's Mother, Becky?" 
 
 "Oh, she's fine!" Rebecca said, absently 
 in her turn. When Maudie left them at 
 the next corner, she said quickly: 
 
 "Mark, did you see where we were when 
 I saw you?" 
 
 "At the express office ? Yes," Mar 
 garet said, surprised. 
 
MOTHER 133 
 
 "Well, listen," said Rebecca, reddening. 
 "Don't say anything to Mother about it, 
 will you? She thinks those boys are fresh 
 in there she don't like me to go in!" 
 
 "Oh, Beck then you oughtn't!" Mar 
 garet protested. 
 
 "Well, I wasn't !" Rebecca said uncomfort 
 ably. "We went to see if Maudie's racket 
 had come. You won't will you, Mark?" 
 
 "Tell Mother no, I won't," Margaret 
 said, with a long sigh. She looked sideways 
 at Rebecca the dainty, fast-forming little 
 figure, the even ripple and curl of her plaited 
 hair, the assured pose of the pretty head. 
 Victoria Carr-Boldt, just Rebecca's age, was 
 a big schoolgirl still, self-conscious and 
 inarticulate, her well-groomed hair in an 
 unbecoming "club," her well-hung skirts 
 unbecomingly short. Margaret had half 
 expected to find Rebecca at the same stage 
 of development. 
 
 Rebecca was cheerful now, the promise 
 exacted, and cheerfully observed: 
 
134 MOTHER 
 
 "Dad didn't get his raise isn't that the 
 limit?" 
 
 Margaret sighed again, shrugged wearily. 
 They were in their own quiet side street 
 now, a street lined with ugly, shabby houses 
 and beautified by magnificent old elms and 
 maples. The Pagets' own particular gate 
 was weather-peeled, the lawn trampled and 
 bare. A bulging wire-netting door gave on 
 the shabby old hall Margaret knew so well ; 
 she went on into the familiar rooms, acutely 
 conscious, as she always was for the first 
 hour or two at home, of the bareness and 
 ugliness everywhere the old sofa that 
 sagged in the seat, the scratched rockers, the 
 bookcases overflowing with coverless maga 
 zines, and the old square piano half-buried 
 under loose sheets of music. 
 
 Duncan sat on the piano bench gloom 
 ily sawing at a violoncello. Robert nine 
 now, with all his pretty baby roundness 
 gone, a lean little burned, peeling face, and 
 big teeth missing when he smiled, stood in 
 
Tj 
 'Eb 
 
MOTHER 135 
 
 the bay window, twisting the already limp 
 net curtains into a tight rope. Each boy 
 gave Margaret a kiss that seemed curiously 
 to taste of dust, sunburn, and freckles, 
 before she followed a noise of hissing and 
 voices to the kitchen to find Mother. 
 
 The kitchen, at five o'clock on Saturday 
 afternoon, was in wild confusion, and insuf 
 ferably hot. Margaret had a distinct im 
 pression that not a movable article therein 
 was in place, and not an available inch of 
 tables or chairs unused, before her eyes 
 reached the tall figure of the woman in a 
 gown of chocolate percale, who was frying 
 cutlets at the big littered range. Her face 
 was dark with heat and streaked with 
 perspiration. She turned as Margaret en 
 tered, and gave a delighted cry. 
 
 "Well, there's my girl! Bless her heart! 
 Look out for this spoon, lovey," she added 
 immediately, giving the girl a guarded em 
 brace. Tears of joy stood frankly in her 
 fine eyes. 
 
136 MOTHER 
 
 "I meant to have all of this out of the 
 way, dear/' apologized Mrs. Paget, with 
 a gesture that included cakes in the process 
 of frosting, salad vegetables in the process 
 of cooling, soup in the process of getting 
 strained, great loaves of bread that sent a 
 delicious fragrance over all the other odors. 
 " But we didn't look for you until six." 
 
 "Oh, no matter!" Margaret said bravely. 
 
 "Rebecca tell you Dad didn't get his 
 raise?" called Mrs. Paget, in a voice that 
 rose above the various noises of the kitchen. 
 "Blanche!" she protested, "can't that 
 wait?" for the old negress had begun to 
 crack ice with deafening smashes. But 
 Blanche did not hear, so Mrs. Paget contin 
 ued loudly: "Dad saw Redman himself; 
 he'll tell you about it! Don't stay in the 
 kitchen in that pretty dress, dear! I'm 
 coming right upstairs." 
 
 It was very hot upstairs; the bedrooms 
 smelled faintly of matting, the soap in the 
 bathroom was shrivelled in its saucer. In 
 
MOTHER 137 
 
 Margaret's old room the week's washing 
 had been piled high on the bed. She took 
 off her hat and linen coat, brushed her hair 
 back from her face, flinging her head back 
 and shutting her eyes the better to fight 
 tears as she did so, and began to assort the 
 collars and shirts and put them away. For 
 Dad's bureau for Bruce's bureau for the 
 boys' bureau, tablecloths to go downstairs, 
 towels for the shelves in the bathroom. 
 Two little shirtwaists for Rebecca with 
 little holes torn through them where collar 
 and belt pins belonged. 
 
 Her last journey took her to the big, 
 third-story room where the three younger 
 boys slept. The three narrow beds were 
 still unmade, and the western sunlight 
 poured over tumbled blankets and the 
 scattered small possessions that seem to 
 ooze from the pores of little boys. Mar 
 garet set her lips distastefully as she brought 
 order out of chaos. It was all wrong, some 
 how, she thought, gathering handkerchiefs 
 
138 MOTHER 
 
 and matches and "Nick Carters" and the 
 oiled paper that had wrapped caramels 
 from under the pillows that would in a few 
 hours harbor a fresh supply. 
 
 She went out on the porch in time to put 
 her arms about her father's shabby shoul 
 ders when he came in. Mr. Paget was tired, 
 and he told his wife and daughters that he 
 thought he was a very sick man. Mar 
 garet's mother met this statement with an 
 anxious solicitude that was very soothing 
 to the sufferer. She made Mark get Daddy 
 his slippers and loose coat, and suggested 
 that Rebecca shake up the dining-room 
 couch before she established him there, in 
 a rampart of pillows. No outsider would 
 have dreamed that Mrs. Paget had dealt 
 with this exact emergency some hundreds of 
 times in the past twenty years. 
 
 Mr. Paget, reclining, shut his eyes, re 
 marked that he had had an "awful, awful 
 day," and wondered faintly if it would be 
 too much trouble to have "somebody" 
 
MOTHER 139 
 
 make him just a little milk toast for his 
 dinner. He smiled at Margaret when she 
 sat down beside him; all the children were 
 dear, but the oldest daughter knew she 
 came first with her father. 
 
 "Getting to be an old, old man!" he said 
 wearily, and Margaret hated herself be 
 cause she had to quell an impatient impulse 
 to tell him he was merely tired and cross- 
 and hungry, before she could say, in the 
 proper soothing tone, "Don't talk that way, 
 Dad darling!" She had to listen to a long; 
 account of the "raise," wincing every time 
 her father emphasized the difference be 
 tween her own position and that of her 
 employer. Dad was at least the equal of 
 any one in Weston ! Why, a man Dad's age 
 oughtn't to be humbly asking a raise, he 
 ought to be dictating now. It was just 
 Dad's way of looking at things, and it was 
 all wrong. 
 
 "Well, I'll tell you one thing!" said 
 Rebecca, who had come in with a brimming 
 
140 MOTHER 
 
 soup plate of milk toast, "Joe Redman gave 
 a picnic last month, and he came here with 
 his mother, in the car, to ask me. And I 
 was the scornfullest thing you ever saw, 
 wasn't I, Ted? Not much!" 
 
 "Oh, Beck, you oughtn't to mix social 
 and business things that way!" Margaret 
 said helplessly. 
 
 "Dinner!" screamed the nine-year-old 
 Robert, breaking into the room at this 
 point, and "Dinner!" said Mrs. Paget, 
 wearily, cheerfully, from the chair into 
 which she had dropped at the head of the 
 table. Mr. Paget, revived by sympathy, 
 milk toast, and Rebecca's attentions, took 
 his place at the foot, and Bruce the chair 
 between Margaret and his mother. Like 
 the younger boys, whose almost confluent 
 freckles had been brought into unusual prom 
 inence by violently applied soap and water, 
 and whose hair dripped on their collars, he 
 had brushed up for dinner, but his negligee 
 shirt and corduroy trousers were stained and 
 
MOTHER 141 
 
 spotted from machine oil. Margaret, com 
 paring him secretly to the men she knew, as 
 daintily groomed as women, in their spotless 
 white, felt a little resentment that Bruce's 
 tired face was so contented, and said to her 
 self again that it was all wrong. 
 
 Dinner was the same old haphazard meal 
 with which she was so familiar; Blanche 
 supplying an occasional reproof to the boys, 
 Ted ignoring his vegetables, and ready in 
 an incredibly short time for a second cutlet, 
 and Robert begging for corn syrup, im 
 mediately after the soup, and spilling it 
 from his bread. Mrs. Paget was flushed, 
 her disappearances kitchenward frequent. 
 She wanted Margaret to tell her all about 
 Mr. Tenison. Margaret laughed, and said 
 there was nothing to tell. 
 
 "You might get a horse and buggy from 
 Peterson's," suggested Mrs. Paget, inter 
 estedly, "and drive about after dinner." 
 
 "Oh, Mother, I don't think I had better 
 let him come!" Margaret said. "There's 
 
i 4 2 MOTHER 
 
 so many of us, and such confusion, on 
 Sunday! Ju and Harry are almost sure to 
 
 come over/' 
 
 "Yes, I guess they will," Mrs. Paget said, 
 with her sudden radiant smile. "Ju is so 
 dear in her little house, and Harry's so sweet 
 with her," she went on with vivacity. 
 " Daddy and I had dinner with them Tues 
 day. Bruce said Rebecca was lovely with 
 the boys we're going to Julie's again 
 some time. I declare it's so long since we've 
 been anywhere without the children that 
 we both felt funny. It was a lovely eve 
 ning." 
 
 "You're too much tied, Mother," Mar 
 garet said affectionately. 
 
 "Not now!" her mother protested radi 
 antly. "With all my babies turning into 
 men and women so fast. And I'll have you 
 all together to-morrow and your friend 
 I hope, too, Mark," she added hospitably. 
 "You had better let him come, dear. 
 There's a big dinner, and I always freeze 
 
MOTHER 
 
 more cream than we need, anyway, because 
 Daddy likes a plate of it about four o'clock, 
 if there's any left." 
 
 "Well but there's nothing to do," Mar 
 garet protested. 
 
 "No, but dinner takes quite a while," 
 Mrs. Paget suggested a little doubtfully; 
 "and we could have a nice talk on the porch, 
 and then you could go driving or walking. 
 I wish there was something cool and pleasant 
 to do, Mark," she finished a little wistfully. 
 " You do just as you think best about asking 
 him to come." 
 
 "I think I'll wire him that another time 
 would be better," said Margaret, slowly. 
 "Some time we'll regularly arrange for it." 
 
 "Well, perhaps that would be best," her 
 mother agreed. "Some other time we'll 
 send the boys off before dinner, and have 
 things all nice and quiet. In October, say, 
 when the trees are so pretty. I don't know 
 but what that's my favorite time of all the 
 year!" 
 
144 MOTHER 
 
 Margaret looked at her as if she found 
 something new in the tired, bright face. 
 She could not understand why her mother 
 still too heated to commence eating her 
 dinner should radiate so definite in atmos 
 phere of content, as she sat back a little 
 breathless, after the flurry of serving. She 
 herself felt injured and sore, not at the mere 
 disappointment it caused her to put off 
 John Tenison's visit, but because she felt 
 more acutely than ever to-night the differ 
 ence between his position and her own. 
 
 "Something nice has happened, Mother?" 
 she hazarded, entering with an effort into 
 the older woman's mood. 
 
 "Nothing special." Her mother's happy 
 eyes ranged about the circle of young faces. 
 "But it's so lovely to have you here, and 
 to have Ju coming to-morrow," she said. 
 "I just wish Daddy could build a house for 
 each one of you, as you marry and settle 
 down, right around our house in a circle, 
 as they say people do sometimes in the Old 
 
MOTHER 145 
 
 World. I think then I'd have nothing in 
 life to wish for!" 
 
 "Oh, Mother in Weston!" Margaret 
 said hopelessly, but her mother did not 
 catch it. 
 
 "Not, Mark," she went on hastily and 
 earnestly, "that I'm not more than grateful 
 to God for all His goodness, as it is ! I look 
 at other women, and I wonder, I wonder 
 what I have done to be so blessed! Mark 
 " her face suddenly glowed, she leaned a 
 little toward her daughter, "dearie, I must 
 tell you," she said; "it's about Ju " 
 
 Their eyes met in the pause. 
 
 "Mother really?" Margaret said slowly. 
 
 "She told me on Tuesday," Mrs. Paget 
 said, with glistening eyes. "Now, not a 
 word to any one, Mark but shell want 
 you to know!" 
 
 "And is she glad?" Margaret said, unable 
 to rejoice. 
 
 "Glad?" Mrs. Paget echoed, her face 
 gladness itself. 
 
146 MOTHER 
 
 "Well, Ju's so young just twenty-one," 
 Margaret submitted a little uncertainly; 
 "and she's been so free and they're just 
 in the new house ! And I thought they were 
 going to Europe!" 
 
 "Oh, Europe!" Mrs. Paget dismissed it 
 cheerfully. "Why, it's the happiest time 
 in a woman's life, Mark! Or I don't know, 
 though," she went on thoughtfully, "I 
 don't know but what I was happiest when 
 you were all tiny, tumbling about me, and 
 climbing into my lap. . . . Why, you 
 love children, dear," she finished, with a 
 shade of reproach in her voice, as Mar 
 garet still looked sober. 
 
 "Yes, I know, Mother," Margaret said. 
 " But Julie's only got the one maid, and I 
 don't suppose they can have another. I 
 hope to goodness Ju won't get herself all 
 run down!" 
 
 Her mother laughed. "You remind me 
 of Grandma Paget," said she, cheerfully; 
 "she lived ten miles away when we were 
 
MOTHER 147 
 
 married, but she came in when Bruce was 
 born. She was rather a proud, cold woman 
 herself, but she was very sweet to me. 
 Well, then little Charlie came, fourteen 
 months later, and she took that very seri 
 ously. Mother was dead, you know, and 
 she stayed with me again, and worried me 
 half sick telling me that it wasn't fair to 
 Bruce and it wasn't fair to Charlie to divide 
 my time between them that way. Well, 
 then when my third baby was coming, I 
 didn't dare tell her. Dad kept telling me 
 to, and I couldn't, because I knew what a 
 calamity a third would seem to her ! Finally 
 she went to visit Aunt Rebecca out West, 
 and it was the very day she got back that 
 the baby' came. She came upstairs she'd 
 come right up from the train, and not seen 
 any one but Dad ; and he wasn't very intel 
 ligible, I guess and she sat down and took 
 the baby in her arms, and says she, looking 
 at me sort of patiently, yet as if she was ex 
 asperated, too: 'Well, this is a nice way to 
 
148 MOTHER 
 
 do, the minute my back's turned! What 
 are you going to call him, Julia?" And I 
 said, 'I'm going to call her Margaret, for 
 my dear husband's mother, and she's going 
 to be beautiful and good, and grow up to 
 marry the President !' ' Mrs. Paget's merry 
 laugh rang out. "I never shall forget your 
 grandmother's face. 
 
 "Just the same," Mrs. Paget added, with 
 a sudden deep sigh, "when little Charlie 
 left us, the next year, and Brucie and Dad 
 were both so ill, she and I agreed that you 
 you were just talking and trying to walk 
 were the only comfort we had! I could 
 wish my girls no greater happiness than my 
 children have been to me," finished Mother, 
 contentedly. 
 
 "I know," Margaret began, half angrily; 
 "but what about the children?" she was 
 going to add. But somehow the arguments 
 she had used so plausibly did not utter them 
 selves easily to Mother, whose children 
 would carry into their own middle age a 
 
MOTHER 149 
 
 wholesome dread of her anger. Margaret 
 faltered, and merely scowled. 
 
 "I don't like to see that expression on 
 your face, dearie/' her mother said, as she 
 might have said it to an eight-year-old 
 child. " Be my sweet girl ! Why, marriage 
 isn't marriage without children, Mark. 
 I've been thinking all week of having a 
 baby in my arms again it's so long since 
 Rob was a baby." 
 
 Margaret devoted herself, with a rather 
 sullen face, to her dessert. Mother would 
 never feel as she did about these things, and 
 what was the use of arguing? In the silence 
 she heard her father speak loudly and sud 
 denly. 
 
 "I am not in a position to have my 
 children squander money on concerts and 
 candy," he said. Margaret forgot her own 
 grievance, and looked up. The boys looked 
 resentful and gloomy; Rebecca was flushed, 
 her eyes dropped, her lips trembling with 
 disappointment. 
 
I 5 o MOTHER 
 
 " I had promised to take them to the Elks' 
 Concert and dance/' Mrs. Paget inter 
 preted hastily. "But now Dad says the 
 Bakers are coming over to play whist." 
 
 "Is it going to be a good show, Ted?" 
 Margaret asked. 
 
 "Oh," Rebecca flashed into instant glow 
 ing response. "It's going to be a dandy! 
 Every one's going to be there! Ford Pat 
 terson is going to do a monologue he's as 
 good as a professional ! and George is going 
 to send up a bunch of carrots and parsnips! 
 And the Weston Male Quartette, Mark, and 
 a playlet by the Hunt's Crossing Amateur 
 Theatrical Society!" 
 
 "Oh oh!" Margaret mimicked the 
 eager rush of words. "Let me take them, 
 Dad," she pleaded, "if it's going to be as 
 fine as all that! I'll stand treat for the 
 crowd." 
 
 "Oh, Mark, you darling!" burst from the 
 rapturous Rebecca. 
 
 "Say, gee, we've got to get there early!" 
 
MOTHER 151 
 
 Theodore warned them, finishing his pud 
 ding with one mammoth spoonful. 
 
 "If you take them, my dear," Mr. Paget 
 said graciously, "of course Mother and I are 
 quite satisfied/' 
 
 "I'll hold Robert by one ear and Rebecca 
 by another," Margaret promised; "and if 
 she so much as dares to look at George or 
 Ted or Jimmy Barr or Paul, I'll " 
 
 "Oh, Jimmy belongs to Louise, now," 
 said Rebecca, radiantly. There was a joy 
 ous shout of laughter from the light-hearted 
 juniors, and Rebecca, seeing her artless ad 
 mission too late, turned scarlet while she 
 laughed. Dinner broke up in confusion, as 
 dinner at home always did, and everybody 
 straggled upstairs to dress. 
 
 Margaret, changing her dress in a room 
 that was insufferably hot, because the 
 shades must be down, and the gas-lights as 
 high as possible, reflected that another 
 forty-eight hours would see her speeding 
 back to the world of cool, awninged interiors, 
 
iS2 MOTHER 
 
 uniformed maids, the clink of iced glasses, 
 the flash of white sails on blue water. She 
 could surely afford for that time to be 
 patient and sweet. She lifted Rebecca's 
 starched petticoat from the bed to give 
 Mother a seat, when Mother came rather 
 wearily in to watch them. 
 
 "Sweet girl to take them, Mark," said 
 Mother, appreciatively. "I was going to 
 ask Brucie. But he's gone to bed, poor 
 fellow; he's worn out to-night." 
 
 "He had a letter from Ned Gunther this 
 morning," said Rebecca, cheerfully pow 
 dering the tip of her pretty nose, her eyes al 
 most crossed with concentration "and I 
 think it made him blue all day." 
 
 "Ned Gunther?" said Margaret. 
 
 "Chum at college/' Rebecca elucidated; 
 "a lot of them are going to Honolulu, just 
 for this month, and of course they wanted 
 Bruce. Mark, does that show?" 
 
 Margaret's heart ached for the beloved 
 brother's disappointment. There it was 
 
MOTHER 153 
 
 again, all wrong! Before she left the house 
 with the rioting youngsters, she ran up 
 stairs to his room. Bruce, surrounded by 
 scientific magazines, a drop-light with a 
 vivid green shade over his shoulder, looked 
 up with a welcoming smile. 
 
 "Sit down and talk, Mark," said he. 
 
 Margaret explained her hurry. 
 
 "Bruce this isn't much fun!" she said, 
 looking about the room with its shabby 
 dresser and worn carpet. "Why aren't you 
 going to the concert?" 
 
 "Is there a concert?" he asked, surprised. 
 
 "Why, didn't you hear us talking at 
 dinner? The Elks, you know." 
 
 "Well sure! I meant to go to that. I 
 forgot it was to-night," he said, with his 
 lazy smile. "I came home all in, forgot 
 everything." 
 
 "Oh, come!" Margaret urged, as eagerly 
 as Rebecca ever did. "It's early, Bruce, 
 come on! You don't have to shave! We'll 
 hold a seat come on!" 
 
154 MOTHER 
 
 "Sure, I will!" he said, suddenly roused. 
 The magazines rapped on the floor, and 
 Margaret had barely shut the door behind 
 her when she heard his bare feet follow 
 them. 
 
 It was like old times to sit next to him 
 through the hot merry evening, while 
 Rebecca glowed like a little rose among her 
 friends, and the smaller boys tickled her ear 
 with their whispered comments. Margaret 
 had sent a telegram to Professor Tenison, 
 and felt relieved that at least that strain was 
 spared her. She even danced with Bruce 
 after the concert, and with one or two old 
 friends. 
 
 Afterward they strolled back slowly 
 through the inky summer dark, finding the 
 house hot and close when they came in. 
 Margaret went upstairs, hearing her mother's 
 apologetic, "Oh, Dad, why didn't I give 
 you back your club?" as she passed the 
 dining-room door. She knew Mother hated 
 whist, and wondered rather irritably why 
 
MOTHER 155 
 
 she played it. The Paget family was slow 
 to settle down. Robert became tearful 
 and whining before he was finally bumped 
 protesting into bed. Theodore and Duncan 
 prolonged their ablutions until the noise of 
 shouting, splashing, and thumping in the 
 bathroom brought Mother to the foot of the 
 stairs. Rebecca was conversational. She 
 lay with her slender arms locked behind 
 her head on the pillow, and talked, as Julie 
 had talked on that memorable night five 
 years ago. Margaret, restless in the hot 
 darkness, wondering whether the madden 
 ing little shaft of light from the hall gas 
 was annoying enough to warrant the effort 
 of getting up and extinguishing it, listened 
 and listened. 
 
 Rebecca wanted to join the Stage Club, 
 but Mother wouldn't let her unless Bruce 
 did. Rebecca belonged to the Progressive 
 Diners. Did Mark suppose Mother'd think 
 she was crazy if she asked the family not 
 to be in evidence when the crowd came to 
 
156 MOTHER 
 
 the house for the salad course? And 
 Rebecca wanted to write to Bruce's chum, 
 not regularly, you know, Mark, but just 
 now and then, he was so nice ! And Mother 
 didn't like the idea. Margaret was ob 
 viously supposed to lend a hand with these 
 interesting tangles. 
 
 ". . . and I said, 'Certainly not! I 
 won't unmask at all, if it comes to that!' 
 
 . . . And imagine that elegant fellow 
 carrying my old books and my skates ! So 
 I wrote, and Maudie and I decided. . . . 
 And Mark, if it wasn't a perfectly gorgeous 
 box of roses ! . . . That old, old dimity, 
 but Mother pressed and freshened it up. 
 . . . Not that I want to marry him, or 
 any one . . ." 
 
 Margaret wakened from uneasy drowsing 
 with a start. The hall was dark now, the 
 room cooler. Rebecca was asleep. Hands, 
 hands she knew well, were drawing a light 
 covering over her shoulders. She opened 
 her eyes to see her mother. 
 
MOTHER 157 
 
 "I've been wondering if you're disap 
 pointed about your friend not coming to 
 morrow, Mark? 5 ' said the tender voice. 
 
 "Oh, no-o!" said Margaret, hardily. 
 "Mother why are you up so late ?" 
 
 "Just going to bed," said the other, 
 soothingly. "Blanche forgot to put the 
 oatmeal into the cooker, and I went down 
 stairs again. I'll say my prayers in here." 
 
 Margaret went off to sleep again, as she 
 had so many hundred times before, with 
 her mother kneeling beside her. 
 
CHAPTER VII 
 
 IT SEEMED but a few moments before 
 the blazing Sunday was precipitated 
 upon them, and everybody was late for 
 everything. 
 
 The kitchen was filled with the smoke 
 from hot griddles blue in the sunshine when 
 Margaret went downstairs; and in the 
 dining-room the same merciless light fell 
 upon the sticky syrup pitcher, and upon the 
 stains on the tablecloth. Cream had been 
 brought in in the bottle, the bread tray was 
 heaped with orange skins, and the rolls 
 piled on the tablecloth. Bruce, who had 
 already been to church with Mother and 
 was off for a day's sail, was dividing his 
 attention between Robert and his watch. 
 Rebecca, daintily busy with the special 
 cup and plate that were one of her little 
 
 158 
 
MOTHER 159 
 
 affectations, was all ready for the day, ex 
 cept as to dress, wearing a thin little kimono 
 over her blue ribbons and starched em 
 broideries. Mother was putting up a little 
 lunch for Bruce. Confusion reigned. The 
 younger boys were urged to hurry, if they 
 wanted to make the "nine." Rebecca was 
 going to wait for the "half-past ten," be 
 cause the "kids sang at nine, and it was 
 fierce." Mr. Paget and his sons departed 
 together, and the girls went upstairs for a 
 hot, tiring tussle with beds and dusting 
 before starting for church. They left their 
 mother busy with the cream freezer in the 
 kitchen. It was very hot even then. 
 
 But it was still hotter, walking home in 
 the burning midday stillness. A group of 
 young people waited lazily for letters, under 
 the trees outside the post-office door. Other 
 wise the main street was deserted. A 
 languid little breeze brought the far echoes 
 of pianos and phonographs from this di 
 rection and that. 
 
160 MOTHER 
 
 "Who's that on the porch?" said Rebecca, 
 suddenly, as they neared home, instantly 
 finding the stranger among her father and 
 the boys. Margaret, glancing up sharply, 
 saw, almost with a sensation of sickness, 
 the big, ungainly figure, the beaming smile, 
 and the shock of dark hair that belonged to 
 nobody else in the world but John Tenison. 
 A stony chill settled about her heart as she 
 went up the steps and gave him her hand. 
 
 Oh, if he only couldn't stay to dinner, she 
 prayed. Oh, if only he could spare them 
 time for no more than a flying visit ! With 
 a sinking heart she smiled her greetings. 
 
 "Doctor Tenison this is very nice of 
 you!'* Margaret said. "Have you met my 
 father my small brothers?" 
 
 "We have been having a great talk," 
 said John Tenison, genially, "and this 
 young man" he indicated Robert "has 
 been showing me the colored supplement 
 of the paper. I didn't have any word from 
 you, Miss Paget," he went on, "so I took 
 
MOTHER 161 
 
 the chance of finding you. And your 
 mother has assured me that I will not put 
 her out by staying to have luncheon with 
 you." 
 
 "Oh, that's nice!" Margaret said me 
 chanically, trying to dislodge Robert from 
 the most comfortable chair by a significant 
 touch of her fingers on his small shoulder. 
 Robert perfectly understood that she 
 wanted the chair, but continued in absorbed 
 study of the comic supplement, merely 
 wriggling resentfully at Margaret's touch. 
 Margaret, at the moment, would have been 
 glad to use violence on the stubborn, serene 
 little figure. When he was finally dislodged, 
 she sat down, still flushed from her walk 
 and the nervousness Doctor Tenison's ar 
 rival caused her, and tried to bring the 
 conversation into a normal channel. But 
 an interruption occurred in the arrival of 
 Harry and Julie in the runabout; the little 
 boys swarmed down to examine it. Julie, 
 very pretty, with a perceptible little new air 
 
162 MOTHER 
 
 of dignity, went upstairs to freshen hair 
 and gown, and Harry, pushing his straw 
 hat back the better to mop his forehead, 
 immediately engaged Doctor Tenison's at 
 tention with the details of what sounded to 
 Margaret like a particularly uninteresting 
 operation, which he had witnessed the day 
 before. 
 
 Utterly discouraged, and acutely wretched, 
 Margaret presently slipped away, and went 
 into the kitchen, to lend a hand with the 
 dinner preparations if help was needed. 
 The room presented a scene if possible a 
 little more confused than that of the day 
 before, and was certainly hotter. Her 
 mother, flushed and hurried, in a fresh but 
 rather unbecoming gingham, was putting 
 up a cold supper for the younger boys, who, 
 having duly attended to their religious 
 duties, were to take a long afternoon tramp, 
 with a possible interval of fishing. She 
 buttered each slice of the great loaf before 
 she cut it, and lifted it carefully on the knife 
 
MOTHER 163 
 
 before beginning the next slice. An opened 
 pot of jam stood at her elbow. A tin cup 
 and the boys' fishing-gear lay on a chair. 
 Theodore and Duncan themselves hung over 
 these preparations; never apparently help 
 ing themselves to food, yet never with 
 empty mouths. Blanche, moaning "The 
 Palms" with the insistence of one who wishes 
 to show her entire familiarity with a mel 
 ody, was at the range. 
 
 Roast veal, instead of the smothered 
 chickens her mother had so often, and 
 cooked so deliciously, a mountain of mashed 
 potato corn on the cob, and an enormous 
 heavy salad mantled with mayonnaise 
 Margaret could have wept over the hope 
 lessly plebeian dinner! 
 
 "Mother, mayn't I get down the finger- 
 bowls," she asked; "and mayn't we have 
 black coffee in the silver pot, afterward?" 
 
 Mrs. Paget looked absently at her for a 
 dubious second. "I don't like to ask 
 Blanche to wash all that extra glass," she 
 
i6 4 MOTHER 
 
 said, in an undertone, adding briskly to 
 Theodore, "No, no, Ted! You can't have 
 all that cake. Half that!" and to Blanche 
 herself, "Don't leave the door open when 
 you go in, Blanche; I just drove all the flies 
 out of the dining-room." Then she re 
 turned to Margaret with a cordial: "Why, 
 certainly, dear! Any one who wants cof 
 fee, after tea, can have it! Dad always 
 wants his cup of tea." 
 
 "Nobody but us ever serves tea with 
 dinner!" Margaret muttered; but her 
 mother did not hear it. She buckled the 
 strap of the lunch-box, straightened her 
 back with an air of relief, and pushed down 
 her rolled-up sleeves. 
 
 "Don't lose that napkin, Ted," said she, 
 and receiving the boy's grateful kiss hap 
 hazard between her hair and forehead, she 
 added affectionately: "You're more than 
 welcome, dear! We're all ready, Mark go 
 and tell them, dear! All right, Blanche." 
 
 Ruffled and angry, Margaret went to 
 
MOTHER 165 
 
 summon the others to dinner. Maudie 
 had joined them on the porch now, and had 
 been urged to stay, and was already trying 
 her youthful wiles on the professor. 
 
 "Well, he'll have to leave on the five 
 o'clock!" Margaret reflected, steeled to 
 bitter endurance until that time. For every 
 thing went wrong, and dinner was one long 
 nightmare for her. Professor Tenison's 
 napkin turned out to be a traycloth. 
 Blanche, asked for another, disappeared for 
 several minutes, and returned without it, 
 to whisper in Mrs. Paget's ear. Mrs. 
 Paget immediately sent her own fresh nap 
 kin to the guest. The incident, or some 
 thing in their murmured conversation, gave 
 Rebecca and Maudie "the giggles." There 
 seemed an exhausting amount of passing 
 and repassing of plates. The room was 
 hot, the supply of ice insufficient. Mr. 
 Paget dwelt on his favorite grievance "the 
 old man isn't needed, these days. They're 
 getting all young fellows into the bank. 
 
166 MOTHER 
 
 They put young college fellows in there who 
 are getting pretty near the money I am 
 after twenty-five years!'' In any pause, 
 Mrs. Paget could be heard, patiently dis 
 suading little Robert from his fixed inten 
 tion of accompanying the older boys on 
 their walk, whether invited or uninvited. 
 
 John Tenison behaved charmingly, eating 
 his dinner with enjoyment, looking inter 
 estedly from one face to the other, sym 
 pathetic, alert, and amused. But Mar 
 garet writhed in spirit at what he must be 
 thinking. 
 
 Finally the ice cream, in a melting condi 
 tion, and the chocolate cake, very sticky, 
 made their appearance; and although these 
 were regular Sunday treats, the boys felt 
 called upon to cheer. Julie asked her mother 
 in an audible undertone if she "ought" to 
 eat cake. Doctor Tenison produced an enor 
 mous box of chocolates, and Margaret was 
 disgusted with the frantic scramble her 
 brothers made to secure them. 
 
MOTHER 167 
 
 "If you're going for a walk, dear," her 
 mother said, when the meal was over, 
 "you'd better go. It's almost three now." 
 
 "I don't know whether we will, it's so 
 hot," Margaret said, in an indifferent tone, 
 but she could easily have broken into dis 
 heartened tears. 
 
 "Oh, go," Julie urged, "it's much cooler 
 out." They were up in Margaret's old 
 room, Mrs. Paget tying a big apron about 
 Julie's ruffled frock, preparatory to an at 
 tack upon the demoralized kitchen. "We 
 think he's lovely," the little matron went 
 on approvingly. "Don't fall in love with 
 him, Mark." 
 
 "Why not?" Margaret said carelessly, 
 pinning on her hat. 
 
 "Well, I don't imagine he's a marrying 
 man," said the young authority, wisely. 
 Margaret flushed, and was angry at herself 
 for flushing. But when Mrs. Paget had 
 gone downstairs, Julie came very simply 
 and charmingly over to her sister, and 
 
168 MOTHER 
 
 standing close beside her with embarrassed 
 eyes on her own hand very youthful in 
 its plain ring as she played with the bureau 
 furnishing, she said: 
 
 "Mother tell you?" 
 
 Margaret looked down at the flushed 
 face. 
 
 "Are you sorry, Ju?" 
 
 "Sorry!" The conscious eyes flashed 
 into view. "Sorry!" Julie echoed in as 
 tonishment. "Why, Mark," she said 
 dreamily there was no affectation of ma 
 turity in her manner now, and it was all the 
 more impressive for that. "Why, Mark," 
 said she, "it's it's the most wonderful 
 thing that ever happened to me! I think 
 and think" her voice dropped very low 
 "of holding it in my arms mine and 
 Harry's, you know and of its little face!" 
 
 Margaret, stirred, kissed the wet lashes. 
 
 "Ju, but you're so young you're such a 
 baby yourself!" she said. 
 
 "And, Mark," Julie said, unheeding, 
 
MOTHER 169 
 
 "you know what Harry and I are going to 
 call her, if it's a girl? Not for Mother, for 
 it's so confusing to have two Julias, but for 
 you! Because," her arms went about her 
 sister, "you've always been such a darling 
 to me, Mark!" 
 
 Margaret went downstairs very thought 
 fully, and out into the silent Sunday streets. 
 Where they walked, or what they talked of, 
 she did not know. She knew that her head 
 ached, and that the village looked very 
 commonplace, and that the day was very 
 hot. She found it more painful than sweet 
 to be strolling along beside the big, loose- 
 jointed figure, and to send an occasional 
 side glance to John Tenison's earnest face, 
 which wore its pleasantest expression now. 
 Ah, well, it would be all over at five o'clock, 
 she said wearily to herself, and she could 
 go home and lie down with her aching head 
 in a darkened room, and try not to think 
 what to-day might have been. Try not to 
 think of the dainty little luncheon Annie 
 
170 MOTHER 
 
 would have given them at Mrs. Carr-Boldt's, 
 of the luxurious choice of amusements after 
 ward: motoring over the lovely country 
 roads, rowing on the wide still water, watch 
 ing the tennis courts, or simply resting in 
 deep chairs on the sweep of velvet lawn 
 above the river. 
 
 She came out of a reverie to find Doctor 
 Tenison glancing calmly up from his 
 watch. 
 
 "The train was five o'clock, was it?" he 
 said. "I've missed it!" 
 
 "Missed it!" Margaret echoed blankly. 
 Then, as the horrible possibility dawned 
 upon her, "Oh, no!" 
 
 "Oh, yes bad as that!" he said, laugh 
 ing at her. 
 
 Poor Margaret, fighting despair, strug 
 gled to recover herself. 
 
 "Well, I thought it might have been im 
 portant to you!" she said, laughing quite 
 naturally. "There's a seven-six, but it 
 stops everywhere, and a ten-thirty. The 
 
MOTHER 171 
 
 ten-thirty is best, because supper's apt to 
 be a little late." 
 
 "The ten-thirty/' Doctor Tenison echoed 
 contentedly. Margaret's heart sank five 
 more hours of the struggle! "But perhaps 
 that's an imposition," he said. "Isn't 
 there a tea-room isn't there an inn here 
 where we could have a bite?" 
 
 "We aren't in Berlin," Margaret re 
 minded him cheerfully. "There's a hotel 
 but Mother would never forgive me for 
 leading any one there ! No, we'll take that 
 little walk I told you of, and Mother will 
 give us something to eat later. Perhaps 
 if we're late enough," she added to herself, 
 "we can have just tea and bread and jam 
 alone, after the others." 
 
 Suddenly, unreasonably, she felt philo 
 sophical and gay. The little episode of 
 missing the train had given her the old dear 
 feeling of adventure and comradeship again. 
 Things couldn't be any worse than they 
 had been at noon, anyway. The experi- 
 
172 MOTHER 
 
 ence had been thoroughly disenchanting. 
 What did a few hours, more or less, matter! 
 Let him be disgusted if he wanted to, she 
 couldn't help it ! 
 
 It was cooler now, the level late shadows 
 were making even Weston pretty. They 
 went up a steep shady lane to the old grave 
 yard, and wandered, peacefully, contentedly, 
 among the old graves. Margaret gathered 
 her thin gown from contact with the tangled, 
 uncut grass; they had to disturb a flock of 
 nibbling sheep to cross to the crumbling 
 wall. Leaning on the uneven stones that 
 formed it, they looked down at the roofs 
 of the village, half lost in tree-tops; and 
 listened to the barking of dogs, and the 
 shrill voices of children. The sun sank, 
 lower, lower. There was a feeling of dew 
 in the air as they went slowly home. 
 
 When, at seven o'clock, they opened the 
 gate, they found on the side porch only 
 Rebecca, enchanting in something pink and 
 dotted, Mother, and Dad. 
 
MOTHER 173 
 
 "Lucky we waited!" said Rebecca, rising, 
 and signalling some wordless message to 
 Margaret that required dimples, widened 
 eyes, compressed lips, and an expression 
 of utter secrecy. "Supper's all ready," 
 she added casually. 
 
 "Where are the others?" Margaret said, 
 experiencing the most pleasant sensation 
 she had had in twenty-four hours. 
 
 "Ju and Harry went home, Rob's at 
 George's, boys walking," said Rebecca, 
 briefly, still dimpling mysteriously with 
 additional information. She gave Margaret 
 an eloquent side glance as she led the way 
 into the dining-room. At the doorway 
 Margaret stopped, astounded. 
 
 The room was hardly recognizable now. 
 It was cool and delightful, with the di 
 minished table daintily set for five. The 
 old silver candlesticks and silver teapot 
 presided over blue bowls of berries and the 
 choicest of Mother's preserved fruits. Some 
 one had found time to put fresh parsley 
 
174 MOTHER 
 
 about the Canton platter of cold meats, 
 some one had made a special trip to Mrs. 
 O'Brien's for the cream that filled the 
 Wedgwood pitcher. Margaret felt tears 
 press suddenly against her eyes. 
 
 "Oh, Beck!" she could only stammer 
 when the sisters went into the kitchen for 
 hot water and tea biscuit. 
 
 "Mother did it," said Rebecca, returning 
 her hug with fervor. "She gave us all an 
 awful talking to after you left! She said 
 here was dear old Mark, who always worked 
 herself to death for us, trying to make a 
 nice impression, and to have things go 
 smoothly, and we were all acting like 
 Indians, and everything so confused at 
 dinner, and hot and noisy! So, later, when 
 Paul and I and the others were walking, we 
 saw you and Doctor Tenison going up 
 toward the graveyard, and I tore home and 
 told Mother he'd missed the five and would 
 be back; it was after five then, and we just 
 flew!" 
 
MOTHER 175 
 
 It was all like a pleasant awakening after 
 a troubled dream. As Margaret took her 
 place at the little feast she felt an exquisite 
 sensation of peace and content sink into 
 her heart. Mother was so gracious and 
 charming, behind the urn; Rebecca ir 
 resistible in her admiration of the famous 
 professor. Her father was his sweetest 
 self, delightfully reminiscent of his boyhood, 
 and his visit to the White House in Lincoln's 
 day, with "my uncle, the judge." But it 
 was to her mother's face that Margaret's 
 eyes returned most often; she wanted she 
 was vaguely conscious that she wanted to 
 get away from the voices and laughter, and 
 think about Mother. How sweet she was, 
 just sweet, and after all, how few people 
 were that in this world ! They were clever, 
 and witty, and rich plenty of them, but 
 how little sweetness there was! How few 
 faces, like her mother's, did not show a line 
 that was not all tenderness and goodness. 
 They laughed over their teacups like old 
 
176 MOTHER 
 
 friends; the professor and Rebecca shouting 
 joyously together, Mr. Paget one broad 
 twinkle, Mrs. Paget radiantly reflecting, as 
 she always did reflect, the others' mood. 
 It was a memorably happy hour. 
 
 And after tea they sat on the porch, and 
 the stars came out, and presently the moon 
 sent silver shafts through the dark foliage 
 of the trees. Little Rob came home, and 
 climbed silently, contentedly, into his father's 
 lap. 
 
 "Sing something, Mark," said Dad, then; 
 and Margaret, sitting on the steps with her 
 head against her mother's knee, found it 
 very simple to begin in the darkness one of 
 the old songs he loved : 
 
 "Don't you cry, ma honey, 
 Don't you weep no more." 
 
 Rebecca, sitting on the rail, one slender 
 arm flung above her head about the pillar, 
 joined her own young voice to Margaret's 
 sweet and steady one. The others hummed 
 
MOTHER 177 
 
 a little. John Tenison, sitting watching 
 them, his locked hands hanging between 
 his knees, saw in the moonlight a sudden 
 glitter on the mother's cheek. 
 
 Presently Bruce, tired and happy and 
 sunburned, came through the splashed 
 silver-and-black of the street to sit by Mar 
 garet, and put his arm about her; 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, cor 
 dially into his; Rebecca promised to mail 
 him a certain discussed variety of fern the 
 very next day; Bruce's voice sounded all 
 
178 MOTHER 
 
 hearty good-will as he hoped that he 
 wouldn't miss Doctor Tenison' s next visit. 
 Mrs. Paget, her hand in his, raised keen, al 
 most 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 Mar 
 garet, 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 hap 
 pier 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 differ 
 ent from other women," said John Tenison, 
 when he and Margaret were alone. "It's 
 
MOTHER 179 
 
 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 mag 
 nificent in a woman like your mother, who 
 
1 8o MOTHER 
 
 begins eight destinies instead of one! She 
 doesn't strain and chafe to express herself 
 through the medium of poetry or music 
 or the stage, but she puts her whole splen 
 did philosophy into her nursery launches 
 sound little bodies and minds that have 
 their first growth cleanly and purely about 
 her knees. Responsibility that's what 
 these other women say they are afraid of! 
 But it seems to me there's no responsibility 
 like that of decreeing that young lives 
 simply shall not be. Why, what good is 
 learning, or elegance of manner, or pain 
 fully acquired fineness of speech, and taste 
 and point of view, if you are not going to 
 distil it into the growing plants, the only 
 real hope we have in the world ! You know, 
 Miss Paget," his smile was very sweet in 
 the half darkness, "there's a higher tribunal 
 than the social tribunal of this world, after 
 all; and it seems to me that a woman who 
 stands there, as your mother will, with a 
 forest of new lives about her, and a record 
 
MOTHER 181 
 
 like hers, will will find she has a Friend at 
 court!" he finished whimsically. 
 
 They were at a lonely corner, and a gar 
 den fence offering Margaret a convenient 
 support, she laid her arms suddenly upon 
 the rosevine that covered it, and her face 
 upon her arms, and cried as if her heart 
 was broken. 
 
 "Why, why my dear girl!" the profes 
 sor said, aghast. He laid his hand on the 
 shaking shoulders, but Margaret shook it 
 off. 
 
 "I'm not what you think I am!" she 
 sobbed out, incoherently. "I'm not differ 
 ent from other women; I'm just as selfish and 
 bad and mean as the worst of them ! And 
 I'm not worthy to t-tie my m-mother's 
 shoes!" 
 
 "Margaret!" John Tenison said un 
 steadily. And in a flash her drooping bright 
 head was close to his lips, and both his 
 big arms were about her. "You know I 
 love you, don't you Margaret?" he said 
 
182 MOTHER 
 
 hoarsely, over and over, with a sort of fierce 
 intensity. "You know that, don't you? 
 Don't you, Margaret?" 
 
 Margaret could not speak. Emotion 
 swept her like a rising tide from all her 
 familiar moorings; her heart thundered, 
 there was a roaring in her ears. She was 
 conscious of a wild desire to answer him, 
 to say one hundredth part of all she felt; 
 but she could only rest, breathless, against 
 him, her frightened eyes held by the eyes so 
 near, his arms about her. 
 
 "You do, don't you, Margaret ?" he said 
 more gently. "You love me, don't you? 
 Don't you?" 
 
 And after a long time, or what seemed a 
 long time, while they stood motionless in 
 the summer night, with the great branches 
 of the trees moving a little overhead, and 
 garden scents creeping out on the damp air, 
 Margaret said, with a sort of breathless 
 catch in her voice : 
 
 "You know I do!" And with the words 
 
MOTHER 183 
 
 the fright left her eyes, nd happy tears 
 filled them, and she raised her face to his. 
 
 Coming back from the train half an hour 
 later, she walked between a new heaven and 
 a new earth! The friendly stars seemed 
 just overhead; a thousand delicious odors 
 came from garden beds and recently wa 
 tered lawns. She moved through the con 
 fusion that always attended the settling 
 down of the Pagets for the night like one 
 in a dream, and was glad to find herself at 
 last lying in the darkness beside the sleep 
 ing Rebecca again. Now, now, she could 
 think! 
 
 But it was all too wonderful for reason 
 able thought. Margaret clasped both her 
 hands against her rising heart. He loved 
 her. She could think of the very words he 
 had used in telling her, over and over again. 
 She need no longer wonder and dream and 
 despair: he had said it. He loved her, had 
 loved her from the very first. His old aunt 
 suspected it, and his chum suspected it, 
 
1 84 MOTHER 
 
 and he had thought Margaret knew it. 
 And beside him in that brilliant career that 
 she had followed so wistfully in her dreams, 
 Margaret saw herself, his wife. Young and 
 clever and good to look upon yes, she was 
 free to-night to admit herself all these good 
 things for his sake! and his wife, 5 * mount 
 ing as he mounted beside the one man in the 
 world she had elected to admire and love. 
 "Doctor and Mrs. John Tenison" so it 
 would be written. " Doctor Tenison's wife " 
 "This is Mrs. Tenison" she seemed al 
 ready to hear the magical sound of it ! 
 
 Love what a wonderful thing it was! 
 How good God was to send this best of all 
 gifts to her! She thought how it belittled 
 the other good things of the world. She 
 asked no more of life, now; she was loved by 
 a good man, and a great man, and she was to 
 be his wife. Ah, the happy years together 
 that would date fram to-night Margaret 
 was thrilling already to their delights. 
 "For better or worse/' the old words came 
 
MOTHER 185 
 
 to her with a new meaning. There would 
 be no worse, she said to herself with sudden 
 conviction how could there be? Poverty, 
 privation, sickness might come but to 
 bear them with John to comfort and sus 
 tain him, to be shut away with him from all 
 the world but the world of their own four 
 walls why, that would be the greatest 
 happiness of all! What hardship could be 
 hard that knitted their two hearts closer to 
 gether; what road too steep if they essayed 
 it hand in hand? 
 
 And that her confused thoughts ran on 
 that was what had changed all life for 
 Julie. She had forgotten Europe, forgotten 
 all the idle ambitions of her girlhood, be 
 cause she loved her husband; and now the 
 new miracle was to come to her the miracle 
 of a child, the little perfect promise of the 
 days to come. How marvellous how mar 
 vellous it was! The little imperative, help 
 less third person, bringing to radiant youth 
 and irresponsibility the terrors of danger 
 
1 86 MOTHER 
 
 and anguish, and the great final joy, to 
 share together. That was life. Julie was 
 living; and although Margaret's own heart 
 was not yet a wife's, and she could not yet 
 find room for the love beyond that, still she 
 was strangely, deeply stirred now by a long 
 ing for all the experiences that life held. 
 
 How she loved everything and everybody 
 to-night how she loved just being alive 
 just being Margaret Paget, lying here in the 
 dark dreaming and thinking. There was no 
 one in the world with whom she would 
 change places to-night! Margaret found 
 herself thinking of one woman of her ac 
 quaintance after another and her own 
 future, opening all color of rose before her, 
 seemed to her the one enviable path through 
 the world. 
 
 In just one day, she realized with vague 
 wonder, her slowly formed theories had 
 been set at naught, her whole philosophy 
 turned upside down. Had these years of 
 protest and rebellion done no more than 
 
MOTHER 187 
 
 lead her in a wide circle, past empty gain, 
 and joyless mirth, and the dead sea fruit of 
 riches and idleness, back to her mother's 
 knees again ? She had met brilliant women, 
 rich women, courted women but where 
 among them was one whose face had ever 
 shone as her mother's shone to-day? The 
 overdressed, idle dowagers; the matrons, 
 with their too-gay frocks, their too-full days, 
 their too-rich food; the girls, all crudeness, 
 artifice, all scheming openly for their own 
 advantage where among them all was hap 
 piness ? Where among them was one whom 
 Margaret had heard say as she has heard 
 her mother say so many, many times 
 "Children, this is a happy day," "Thank 
 God for another lovely Sunday all together/' 
 
 "Isn't it lovely to get up and find the sun 
 shining?"- "Isn't it good to come home 
 hungry to such a nice dinner?" 
 
 And what a share of happiness her mother 
 had given the world ! How she had planned 
 and worked for them all Margaret let her 
 
1 88 MOTHER 
 
 arm fall across the sudden ache in her eyes 
 as she thought of the Christmas mornings, 
 and the stuffed stockings at the fireplace 
 that proved every childish wish remem 
 bered, every little hidden hope guessed! 
 Darling Mother she hadn't had much 
 money for those Christmas stockings, they 
 must have been carefully planned, down to 
 the last candy cane. And how her face 
 would beam, as she sat at the breakfast- 
 table, enjoying her belated coffee, after the 
 cold walk to church, and responding warmly 
 to the onslaught of kisses and hugs that 
 added fresh color to her cold, rosy cheeks! 
 What a mother she was Margaret remem 
 bered her making them all help her clear 
 up the Christmas disorder of tissue paper 
 and ribbons; then came the inevitable bed 
 making, then tippets and overshoes, for a 
 long walk with Dad. They would come 
 back to find the dining-room warm, the 
 long table set, the house deliciously fragrant 
 from the immense turkey that their mother, 
 
MOTHER 189 
 
 a fresh apron over her holiday gown, was 
 basting at the oven. Then came the feast, 
 and then games until twilight, and more 
 table-setting; and the baby, whoever he 
 was, was tucked away upstairs before tea, 
 and the evening ended with singing, gath 
 ered about Mother at the piano. 
 
 "How happy we all were!" Margaret 
 said; "and how she worked for us!" 
 
 And suddenly theories and speculation 
 ended, and she knew. She knew that faith 
 ful, self-forgetting service, and the love that 
 spends itself over and over, only to be re 
 newed again and again, are the secret of 
 happiness. For another world, perhaps 
 leisure and beauty and luxury but in this 
 one, "Who loses his life shall gain it." 
 Margaret knew now that her mother was 
 not only the truest, the finest, the most 
 generous woman she had ever known, but 
 the happiest as well. 
 
 She thought of other women like her 
 mother; she suddenly saw what made their 
 
MOTHER 
 
 lives beautiful. She could understand now 
 why Emily Porter, her old brave little asso 
 ciate of school-teaching days, was always 
 bright, why Mary Page, plodding home from 
 the long day at the library desk to her little 
 cottage and crippled sister, at night, always 
 made one feel the better and happier for 
 meeting her. 
 
 Mrs. Carr-Boldt's days were crowded to 
 the last instant, it was true; but what a 
 farce it was, after all, Margaret said to her 
 self in all honesty, to humor her in her little 
 favorite belief that she was a busy woman ! 
 Milliner, manicure, butler, chef, club, card- 
 table, tea-table these and a thousand 
 things like them filled her day, and they 
 might all be swept away in an hour, and 
 leave no one the worse. Suppose her own 
 summons came; there would be a little 
 flurry throughout the great establishment, 
 legal matters to settle, notes of thanks to 
 be written for flowers. Margaret could 
 imagine Victoria and Harriet, awed but 
 
MOTHER 191 
 
 otherwise unaffected, home from school in 
 midweek, and to be sent back before the 
 next Monday. Their lives would go on 
 unchanged, their mother had never buttered 
 bread for them, never schemed for their 
 boots and hats, never watched their work 
 and play, and called them to her knees for 
 praise and blame. Mr. Carr-Boldt would 
 have his club, his business, his yacht, his 
 motor-cars he was well accustomed to liv 
 ing in cheerful independence of family claims. 
 
 But life without Mother ! In a sick 
 
 moment of revelation Margaret saw it. 
 She saw them gathering in the horrible 
 emptiness and silence of the house Mother 
 had kept so warm and bright, she saw her 
 father's stooped shoulders and trembling 
 hands, she saw Julie and Beck, red-eyed, 
 white-cheeked, in fresh black she seemed 
 to hear the low-toned voices that would 
 break over and over again so cruelly into 
 sobs. What could they do who could take 
 up the work she laid down who would 
 
i 9 2 MOTHER 
 
 watch and plan and work for them all, now? 
 Margaret thought of the empty place at 
 the table, of the room that, after all these 
 years, was no longer "Mother's room " 
 
 Oh, no no no! She began to cry bit 
 terly in the dark. No, please God, they 
 would hold her safe with them for many 
 years. Mother should live to see some of 
 the fruits of the long labor of love. She 
 should know that with every fresh step in 
 life, with every deepening experience, her 
 children grew to love her better, turned to 
 her more and more ! There would be Christ- 
 mases as sweet as the old ones, if not so gay; 
 there would come a day Margaret's whole 
 being thrilled to the thought when little 
 forms would run ahead of John and herself 
 up the worn path, and when their children 
 would be gathered in Mother's experienced 
 arms! Did life hold a more exquisite mo 
 ment, she wondered, than that in which she 
 would hear her mother praise them! 
 
 All her old castles in the air seemed cheap 
 
MOTHER 193 
 
 and tinselled tonight, beside these tender 
 dreams that had their roots in the real 
 truths of life. Travel and position, gowns 
 and motor-cars, yachts and country houses, 
 these things were to be bought in all their 
 perfection by the highest bidder, and always 
 would be. But love and character and 
 service, home and the w r onderful charge of 
 little lives the "pure religion breathing 
 household laws" that guided and perfected 
 the whole these were not to be bought, 
 they were only to be prayed for, worked 
 for, bravely won. 
 
 "God has been very good to me," Mar 
 garet said to herself very seriously; and in 
 her old childish fashion she made some new 
 resolves. From now on, she thought, with 
 a fervor that made it seem half accomplished, 
 she would be a very different woman. If 
 joy came, she would share it as far as she 
 could; if sorrow, she would show her mother 
 that her daughter was not all unworthy of 
 her. To-morrow, she thought, she would 
 
194 MOTHER 
 
 go and see Julie. Dear old Ju, whose heart 
 was so full of the little Margaret! Mar 
 garet had a sudden tender memory of the 
 days when Theodore and Duncan and Rob 
 were all babies in turn. Her mother would 
 gather the little daily supply of fresh clothes 
 from bureau and chest every morning, and 
 carry the little bath-tub into the sunny 
 nursery window, and sit there with only a 
 bobbing downy head and waving pink fin 
 gers visible from the great warm bundle of 
 bath apron. . . . Ju would be doing 
 that now. 
 
 And she had sometimes wished, or half 
 formed the wish, that she and Bruce had 
 been the only ones! Yes, came the sud 
 den thought, but it wouldn't have been 
 Bruce and Margaret, after all, it would have 
 been Bruce and Charlie. 
 
 Good God! That was what women did, 
 then, when they denied the right of life 
 to the distant, unwanted, possible little 
 person! Calmly, constantly, in all placid 
 
MOTHER 195 
 
 philosophy and self-justification, they kept 
 from the world not only the troublesome 
 new baby, with his tears and his illnesses, 
 his merciless exactions, his endless claim on 
 mind and body and spirit but perhaps the 
 glowing beauty of a Rebecca, the buoyant 
 indomitable spirit of a Ted, the sturdy charm 
 of a small Robert, whose grip on life, whose 
 energy and ambition were as strong as 
 Margaret's own! 
 
 Margaret stirred uneasily, frowned in the 
 dark. It seemed perfectly incredible, it 
 seemed perfectly impossible that if Mother 
 had had only the two and how many 
 thousands of women didn't have that! 
 she, Margaret, a pronounced and separate 
 entity, travelled, ambitious, and to be the 
 wife of one of the world's great men, might 
 not have been lying here in the summer 
 night, rich in love and youth and beauty and 
 her dreams! 
 
 It was all puzzling, all too big for her to 
 understand. But she could do what Mother 
 
196 MOTHER 
 
 did, just take the nearest duty and fulfil it, 
 and sleep well, and rise joyfully to fresh effort. 
 
 Margaret felt as if she would never sleep 
 again. The summer night was cool, she 
 was cramped and chilly; but still her thoughts 
 raced on, and she could not shut her eyes. 
 She turned and pressed her face resolutely 
 into the pillow, and with a great sigh re 
 nounced the joys and sorrows, the lessons and 
 the awakening that the long day had held. 
 
 A second later there was a gentle rustle 
 at the door. 
 
 "Mark," a voice whispered. "Can't 
 you sleep?" 
 
 Margaret locked her arms tight about her 
 mother, as the older woman knelt beside her. 
 
 "Why, how cold you are, sweetheart!" 
 her mother protested, tucking covers about 
 her. "I thought I heard you sigh! I got 
 up to lock the stairway door: Baby's gotten 
 a trick of walking in his sleep when he's 
 overtired. It's nearly one o'clock, Mark! 
 What have you been doing?" 
 
MOTHER 197 
 
 "Thinking/' Margaret put her lips very 
 
 close to her mother's ear. " Mother " she 
 
 stammered and stopped. Mrs. Paget kissed 
 her. 
 
 "Daddy and I thought so," she said sim 
 ply; and further announcement was not 
 needed. " My darling little girl ! " she added 
 tenderly; and then, after a silence, "He is 
 very fine, Mark, so unaffected, so gentle 
 and nice with the boys. I I think I'm 
 glad, Mark. I lose my girl, but there's no 
 happiness like a happy marriage, dear." 
 
 "No, you won't lose me, Mother," Mar 
 garet said, clinging very close. "We hadn't 
 much time to talk, but this much we did 
 decide. You see, John John goes to Ger 
 many for a year, next July. So we thought 
 in June or July, Mother, just as Julie's 
 was! Just a little wedding like Ju's. You 
 see, that's better than interrupting the 
 term, or trying to settle down, when we'd 
 have to move in July. And, Mother, I'm 
 going to write Mrs. Carr-Boldt she can get 
 
198 MOTHER 
 
 a thousand girls to take my place, her niece 
 is dying to do it ! and I'm going to take my 
 old school here for the term. Mr. Forbes 
 spoke to me about it after church this morn 
 ing; they want me back. I want this year 
 at home; I want to see more of Bruce and 
 Ju, and sort of stand by darling little Beck ! 
 But it's for you, most of all, Mother/' said 
 Margaret, with difficulty. "I've always 
 loved you, Mother, but you don't know how 
 
 wonderful I think you are " She broke 
 
 off pitifully, "Ah, Mother!" 
 
 For her mother's arms had tightened 
 convulsively about her, and the face against 
 her own was wet. 
 
 "Are you talking?" said Rebecca, rearing 
 herself up suddenly, with a web of bright 
 hair falling over her shoulder. "You said 
 your prayers on Mark last night," said she, 
 reproachfully; "come over and say them on 
 me to-night, Mother." 
 
 THE END 
 
STORIES OF RARE CHARM BY 
 
 GENE STRATTQN-PORTER 
 
 May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset and Dunlap's list. 
 THE HARVESTER " 
 Illustrated by W. L. Jacobs 
 
 "The Harvester," David Langston, is 
 a man of the woods and fields, who draws 
 his living from the prodigal hand of Mother 
 Nature herself. If the book had nothing in 
 it but the splendid figure of this man, with 
 his sure grip on life, his superb optimism, 
 and his almost miraculous knowledge of 
 nature secrets, it would be notable. But 
 when the Girl comes to his "Medicine 
 Woods," and the Harvester's whole sound, 
 healthy, large outdoor being realizes that 
 this is the highest point of life which has 
 come to him there begins a romance, 
 troubled and interrupted, yet of the rarest idyllic quality. 
 
 FRECKLES. Decorations by E. Stetson Crawford 
 
 Freckles is a nameless waif when the tale opens, but the way in 
 which he takes hold of life; the nature friendships he forms in the 
 great Limberlost Swamp; the manner in which eveiyone who meets 
 Him succumbs to the charm of his engaging personality; and his love- 
 story with "The Angel" are full of real sentiment. 
 
 A GIRL OF THE LIMBERLOST. 
 
 Illustrated by Wladyslaw T. Brenda. 
 
 The stoi 
 type of 
 
 kindness towards all 
 sheer beauty of her soul, and the purity of her vision, she wins from 
 barren and unpromising surroundings tnose rewards of high courage. 
 
 It is an inspiring story of a life worth while and the rich beauties 
 of the out-of-doors are strewn through all its pages. 
 
 AT THE FOOT OF THE RAINBOW. 
 
 Illustrations in colors by Oliver Kemp. 
 Ralph Fletcher Seymour. 
 
 Design and decorations by 
 
 The scene of this charming, idyllic love story is laid in Central 
 Indiana. The story is one of devoted friendship, and tender self- 
 sacrificing love; the friendship that gives freely without return, and 
 the love that seeks first the happiness of the object. The novel is 
 brimful of the most beautiful word painting of nature, and its pathos 
 and tender sentiment will endear it to all. 
 
 AsTt for compete free list of G. & D. Popular Copyrighted Fiction} 
 
 GROSSET & DUNLAP, 526 WEST 26th ST., NEW YORK 
 
CHARMING BOOKS FOR GIRLS 
 
 May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for firosset & Dunlap's list 
 
 WHEN PATTY WENT TO COLLEGE, By Jean Webster. 
 Illustrated by C. D. Williams. 
 
 m One of the best stories of life in a girl's college that has ever been 
 written. It is bright, whimsical and entertaining, lifelike, laughable 
 and thoroughly human. 
 
 JUST PATTY, By Jean Webster. 
 Illustrated by C. M. Relyea. 
 
 Patty is full of the joy of living, fun-loving, given to ingenious 
 mischief for its own sake, with a disregard for pretty convention which 
 is an unfailing source of joy to her fellows. 
 
 THE POOR LITTLE RICH GIRL. By Eleanor Gates. 
 
 With four full page illustrations. 
 
 This story relates the experience of one of those unfortunate chil 
 dren whose early days are passed in the companionship of a governess, 
 seldom seeing either parent, and famishing for natural love and tender 
 ness. A charming play as dramatized by the author. 
 
 REBECCA OF SUNNYBROQK FARM, By Kate Douglas 
 Wiggin. 
 
 One of the most beautiful studies of childhood Rebecca's artistic, 
 unusual and quaintly charming qualities stand out midst a circle of 
 austere New Englanders. The stage version is making a phenominal 
 dramatic record. 
 
 NEW CHRONICLES OF REBECCA, By Kate Douglas Wiggin. 
 Illustrated by F. C. Yohn. 
 
 Additional episodes in the girlhood of this delightful heroine that 
 carry Rebecca through various stages to her eighteenth birthday. 
 
 REBECCA MARY, By Annie Hamilton Donnell. 
 Illustrated by Elizabeth Shippen Green. 
 
 This author possesses the rare gift of portraying all the grotesque 
 little joys and sorrows and scruples of this very small girl with a pa 
 thos that is peculiarly genuine and appealing. 
 
 EMMY LOU; Her Book and Heart, By George Madden Martin. 
 Illustrated by Charles Louis Hinton. 
 
 Emmy Lou is irresistibly lovable, because she is so absolutely real 
 She is just a bewitchingly innocent, hugable little maid. The book is 
 wonderfully human. 
 
 Ask for complete free list of G. & D. Popular Coyrig1ied Fiction 
 
 GROSSET & DUNLAP, 526 WEST 26th ST., NEW YORK 
 
LOUR UN 1WJ 
 OTHER SIDl 
 
 of this wrapper for a list of abo 
 400 titles of the best copyright fi 
 tion in Popular Priced Editions- 
 recent issues will be found on tl 
 back page of this wrapper. Th 
 may be had wherever books are sol 
 You will find there nearly all tl 
 great successes of recent years, i 
 eluding such titles as: 
 
 THE HARVESTER 
 
 Gene Stratton-Por 
 
 OLD ROSE AND SILVER 
 
 Myrtle Re 
 
 THE SECRET GARDEN 
 
 Frances Hodgson Burn 
 THE PRODIGAL JUDGE 
 
 Vaughan Kes 
 
 A HOOSIER CHRONICLE 
 
 Meredith Nichols 
 
 STOVER AT YALE 
 
 Owen Johns 
 
 FRIAR TUCK 
 
 Robert Alexander Was 
 THE TRAIL OF THE 
 
 LONESOME PINE John Fox, 
 BEN HUR Gen. Lew Walh 
 
 THE HOLLOW OF HER HAND 
 Geo. Barr McCutche 
 
 MARY GARY 
 
 Kate Langley Bos] 
 
 THE STREET CALLED 
 
 STRAIGHT Basil K 
 
 THE MELTING OF MOLLY 
 
 Marie Thompson Davi 
 
 THE LORDS OF HIGH DECISIC 
 
 Meredith Nichols 
 
 THE MISTRESS OF SHENSTO1 
 Florence L. Bare 
 
 JOSEPH VANCE 
 
 William DeMorj 
 
 QUEED 
 
 Henry Sydnor Harri: 
 
 A CERTAIN RICH MAN 
 
 William Allen Wl 
 MOTHER CAREY'S CHICKENS 
 
 Kate Douglas Wig 
 
 GROSSET & DUNLA 
 
OF GROSSET & DUNLAP'S 
 COPYRIGHT FICTION 
 
 N. B. See reverse side of this wrappei for the general list, 
 which, in connection with this page, forms a complete list. 
 
 BOARDMAN, JOSEPH 
 A Perfect -Lady 
 
 BOWER, B. M. 
 Flying .U Ranch 
 The Gringos 
 Uphill Climb 
 
 CHURCHILL, WINSTON 
 The Inside of the Cup 
 
 DALRYMPLE, LEONA 
 Diane of the Green Van 
 
 DAVIS, OWEN 
 
 Lola (Photoplay Edition) 
 Sinners 
 
 EVANS, LARRY 
 Once to Every Man 
 
 FERBER, EDNA 
 Roast Beef Medium 
 
 FITZHUGH, PERCY K. 
 
 Tom Slade, the Boy Scout of the 
 Moving Pictures 
 
 GATES, ELEANOR 
 
 The Biography of a Prairie Girl 
 The Plow Woman 
 
 GLASGOW, ELLEN 
 Virginia 
 
 GRAYSON, DAVID 
 
 Adventures in Contentment 
 Adventures in Friendship 
 The Friendly Road 
 
 GREY, ZANE 
 Betty Zane 
 
 HARRIS, CORRA 
 
 In Search of a Husband 
 
 HARRISON, HENRY SYDNOR 
 
 Captivating Mary Carstairs 
 V. V.'s E*es. 
 
 HARTE, BRET 
 
 Salomy Jane's Kiss 
 
 HORNBLOW, ARTHUR 
 The Argyle Case 
 
 KLEIN AND HORNBLOW 
 The Money Makers 
 
 KNIBBS, HARRY HERBERT 
 
 Overland Red 
 LAGERLOF, SELMA 
 
 Wonderful Adventures of Nils 
 
 LOCKE, WILLIAM J. 
 
 The Morals of Marcus 
 Stella Maris 
 
 LONDON, JACK 
 Smoke Bellew 
 
 LVNDE, FRANCIS 
 
 The Hon. Senator Sage-Brush 
 
 McCUTCHEON, GEORGE BARR 
 A Fool and His Mone> 
 
 MEGRUE, ROI COOPER 
 Under Cover 
 
 MORTON, VICTORIA 
 The Yellow Ticket 
 
 PACKARD, FRANK L. 
 The Miracle Man 
 
 PAINE, RALPH D. 
 
 The Fugitive Freshman 
 
 PORTER, GENE STRATTON- 
 
 Laddie 
 
 PROUTY, O. H. 
 
 Bobbie, General Manager 
 RICE, ALICE HEGAN 
 
 A Romance of Billy-Goat Hill 
 
 SERVICE DANA 
 
 The Shooting of Dan McGrew 
 
 SETON, ERNEST THOMPSON 
 
 Wild Animals at Home 
 
 SHIPMAN, NELL 
 Under the Crescent 
 
 SPEARMAN, FRANK H. 
 Mcrrilie Dawes 
 
 STEVENS, C. M. 
 
 Uncle Jeremiah at the Panama- 
 Pacific Exposition 
 
 TORBETT, D. 
 
 Life (Novelized from the Play) 
 
 VAN SCHAICK, GEORGE 
 Sweetapple C ^ve 
 
 WEBSTER, JEAN 
 Daddy-Long-Legs 
 
 WIGGIN, KATE DOUGLAS 
 The Story of Waitstill Baxter 
 
 WILSON, HARRY LEON 
 Bunker Bean 
 
 WODEHOUSE, P. G. 
 
 The Little Nugget 
 
 GROSSET & DUNLAP, 526 WEST 26rH STREET, NEW YORK