"I guess I'll go to my room, Persis," he said in a hollow voice.
"Maybe up-stairs where it's quiet, I'll be able to eat a little. And
to-morrow you'd better have Mary make me some beef tea. I've got to
have something to keep up my strength." Slowly and solemnly he mounted
the stairs, convinced by the increased animation of the voices in the
room below that his departure had not cast an irreparable gloom over
the cheerful spirits of the diners.

This time he did not feel it necessary to barricade the door. Indeed
he left it a trifle ajar, and so was party to the cheerful confusion of
getting the children to bed. The baby--Amaryllis was her impossible
name, though she looked too fragile to sustain its weight--was to share
Persis' quarters. The two older girls occupied the chamber adjoining.
The two boys had been assigned to a snug little room on the other side
of the hall.

"Close by me so I can hear every mite of their rowdy-dow," Joel thought
with bitterness. But in spite of himself he listened. The children
were calling to one another across the hall. Apparently their previous
acquaintance had been slight, and in addition to the excitement of
finding themselves in a new environment, they were experiencing the
more intoxicating novelty of becoming acquainted all at once with a
fair-sized contingent of brothers and sisters.

"'Most ready for bed, children?" Persis' voice sounded rich and deep,
contrasting with the piping chatter. "Time you was asleep, for
to-morrow's a school day. And you've got to say your prayers yet."

"I said mine on the train coming down," explained Malcolm with his
quaint drawl. "Thought I might as well save the time as long as there
wasn't anything else to do."

"I've got a new prayer to say," announced Celia, flashing into the
hall, a diminutive apparition, white-clad, with twinkling pink feet.
"It's this way:

"'Baa, baa, black sheep, have you any wool?
Yes sir, yes sir, three bags full.'"

"I think I can teach you a nicer prayer than that," Persis said
serenely, while the older children laughed with the vast superiority of
their wider knowledge. Joel uttered an exclamation of horror.

"Children are natural blasphemers. Persis ought to take that little
limb [Transcriber's note: lamb?] in hand. If she don't know the
difference between Mother Goose and praying, she ought to be taught
quick. Old Doctor Watts was in the right of it.

"'Lord, we are vile, conceiv