of her. "I like Mr. Loring's _muvvah_...." he told Sophy.
His tone implied deep reticences on the subject of Mrs. Loring's son.

That evening, as Sophy bent over his crib to kiss him good-night, he
held her face down to his and said:

"Muvvah, do you love Mr. Loring more than me?"

Sophy dropped to her knees and caught him in her arms.

"No, darling! No, _no_! I love you both--not one better than the other."

Bobby clung fast to her. Then he whispered:

"S'posin' you had to choose 'right hand--lef' hand'?"

"My precious! People don't choose other people that way. You know, Bobby
darling, it's with hearts like the sky and the stars. There's room for
all the stars in the sky--there's room for all sorts of different loves
in one heart."

Bobby reflected a moment. Then he sighed.

"I reckon my heart ain't very big," he murmured. "It couldn't hold all
that. I reckon my heart's just fulled up with _you_, muvvah. I reckon
it's only got _one_ star in it."

Sophy crushed him to her. She kissed him in a passion of remorse for his
pathetic jealousy. Tears choked her. She held him until she thought that
he had fallen asleep. As she was stealing from the room, a clear little
voice called after her:

"If it _was_ 'right hand--lef' hand' with _any_body an' _you_--I'd
choose _you_, muvvah!"

She rushed back again, and this time she stayed with him long after he
was really asleep.

* * * * *

They were married and gone. Charlotte stood blowing her little nose
fiercely--sustained in her apprehensive grief only by Mammy Nan. The
Judge had driven to the station with Mrs. Loring.

"What do you think _really_, Mammy?" she got out at last. "Do you think
Miss Sophy will be happy?"

Mammy Nan, who was already taking off her gala apron and folding it
neatly for some future occasion, grunted noncommittally. Then she
snuffled sharply. She had been crying, too, but she scorned to blow her
nose openly like "Miss Cha'lt." Finally she said in a colourless voice:

"What Miss _Sophy_ mought call happy, _I_ moughtn't call happy."

"How do you mean, Mammy?"

"Well'um, Miss Chalt," replied the old negress dryly, "I is alluz ben
hev my 'pinion 'bout dat Sary in dee Bible a-honin' a'ter a baby at her
age. Hit sho' wuz a darin' thing tuh do. But hit 'pears like gittin' hit
made _her_ happy. T'ouldn't 'a' made _me_ happy--no, _ma'am_!"

She pinned the folded apron firmly together with her "Sunday" brooch,