her presently, just for a minute. The first thing she said was, 'Tell
Tony.' Go down now--I'll call you soon."

Anthony stole away downstairs to the outer door again. This time he ran
out upon the porch and down the lawn and orchard, in the early half-light,
to the willow path by the brook. He dashed along this path to its end and
back again, as if he must in some way give expression to his relief from
the tension of the night. But he was back and waiting impatiently long
before he received his summons to his wife's room.

On his way up he wrung the friendly hand of Dr. Joseph Wilberforce, the
best man in the city at times like these, and thanked him in a few uneven
words. Then he came to the door of the blue-and-white room.

"Don't be afraid, Tony," said a very sweet, clear voice; "we're ever so
well--Anthony Robeson, Junior, and I."

Anthony Robeson, Senior, walked across the room in a dim, gray fog which
obscured nearly everything except the sight of a pair of eyes which were
shining upon him brightly enough to penetrate any fog. At the bedside he
dropped upon his knees.

"I suppose I'm an awful chump," he murmured, "but nothing ever broke me up
so in all my life."

Juliet laughed. It was not a sentimental greeting, but she understood all
it meant. "But I'm so happy, dear," she said.

"Are you? Somehow I can't seem to be--yet. I'm too badly scared."

"He's such a beautiful big boy."

"I suppose I shall be devoted to him some time, but all I can think of now
is to make sure I've got you."

The pleasant-faced nurse in her white cap came softly in and glanced at
Tony meaningly.

"If you'll come in here you may see your son, Mr. Robeson," she said, and
went out again.

Anthony bent over his wife. "_Little mother_," he whispered, with a kiss,
and obediently went.

Across the hall he stood looking dazedly down at the round, warm bundle
the nurse laid in his arms.

"My son," he said; "how odd that sounds."

Then he hastily gave the bundle back to the nurse and got away downstairs,
wiping the perspiration from his brow.

"Never dreamed it was going to knock me over like this," he was saying to
himself. "I can't look at her; I can't look at him; I feel like a big boy
who has seen a little fellow take his thrashing for him."

And in this humble--albeit most sincerely thankful--frame of mind he
absently drank his breakfast coffee, and never realised that in her
confusion of spirit good Mary McKaim, who was