Azalea broke off in the middle
of a bar, and fled up the stairs.

"The truth is, I'm afraid," said the Cashier, looking after her with an
expression on his face which indicated that he wanted to flee, too,
"nothing really counts in this house but the babies."

"They--and something else," suggested the Philosopher gently.

The Cashier looked at him. He nodded. "Yes--and something else," he
agreed with his bright smile.

We came away rather late. The Philosopher looked up at the house as the
door closed upon the warm farewells which had sent us out into the
night. "It's a little bit of a house, isn't it?" he commented.

I looked up, too--at the nursery windows where the faintest of
night-lights showed. "Yes, it's very small," I agreed. "Yet quite big
enough, although it holds so much."

"One would hardly have said, four years ago, that anything smaller than
the biggest musical auditorium in the city would have been big enough to
hold Azalea's voice," he mused.

"If you could have heard her sing her lullaby to those babies," I
replied, as we walked slowly on, "you would have said her voice would be
wasted on a concert audience."

"It seems a pleasant home."

"It _is_ one."

"Somehow, one distrusts the ability of musical prodigies to make
pleasant homes."

"I wonder why. Shouldn't the knowledge of any art make one appreciative
of other arts?"

"It took some time for a certain exhibition of the domestic art to
strike in, at your home, that summer," said the Philosopher. "But I
believe Azalea came to envy our Hepatica at the last, didn't she?"

"Indeed she did. And she's never got over envying her her
accomplishments. She asked me ever so many questions to-day about
Hepatica's housekeeping. I wish I had had a chance before I went to tell
her that I was sure her will to succeed would make her home as dear a
one as even Hepatica's could be."

"One thing is sure--as long as she lets the Cashier do the singing in
the limelight, while she looks after the babies, there'll be no occasion
for their friends to demand more music of an evening than is good for
her pride of spirit," chuckled the Philosopher. "What--are we at our
station already? I say--let's not make a quick trip by train--let's make
a slow one, by cab."

"By cab! It would take two hours! No, no--here comes our train."

"This is the first time we've gone anywhere since you've been here
without two alert chaperons--younger than myself," grumbled the