grimace. Then she added quickly, as she saw the hurt look in Betty's
bright face: "No, I didn't exactly mean that, dear, and I wouldn't say
anything to make you feel bad for worlds, that I wouldn't, only--I jest
can't bring myself to ride in those automobiles. You see," there was an
almost pathetic appeal for understanding in the bright old eyes, "I guess
I'm maybe too old to change my ways, an' I get tired easy--"

"I'll tell you what we'll do," Amy intervened with rare tact. "Some day
when we're going for just a little ride around the block we'll ask you
again. Maybe you'll feel more like it then, and you can get used to it by
degrees."

"That's awfully nice of you, dearie," said the old woman, looking
gratefully from one bright face to the other. "I suppose you don't know
how much I appreciate all you've done for me," she added, her voice
breaking a little, "'cause I never could tell you if I lived for a hundred
years. But you just sort o' revived my faith in human nature. Since my boy
went away--" The old voice broke down entirely then, and Betty continued
patting her hand soothingly,

"But there," she added, in a different tone, wiping her eyes determinedly
and smiling at them, "this ain't no kind of a mornin' for tears, an' I
know my son Willie would be the first one to tell me so.

"Thank you jest as much for askin' me, dearies, and maybe some other time
I'll get my courage up to it. But now you jest run along an' enjoy
yourselves.

"An' when you come back," she added, taking both of the soft young hands
in her wrinkled one and patting them gently, "you can come up an' tell me
all about it."

"Oh, will you let us?" asked Betty eagerly, jumping up and dropping a
kiss, light as thistle-down, upon the old face. "And we'll bring you
flowers, whole bunches of them. Will you promise to be happy while we're
gone?"

"Yes, dearie, just happy thinking of your coming back and the flowers,"
she agreed, and the smile remained on her lips even after the door closed
behind them until the sound of their light footsteps and laughter faded
away.

Then the brave lips drooped and the gray head went down upon her arms.

"They're such lovely little ladies," she murmured to herself. "An' I will
try to be happy. Only--I want my boy, my little son--my baby--"

Meanwhile--

"Isn't she the dearest thing?" asked Amy of Betty as they went into the
kitchen to gather up the picnic baskets. "I'm getting so fond of her it
will jus