not for myself; I hope you understand that. There's no reason why
I should want to give up my home, but it's for Anna Belle. A mother'll
do anything for her child, you know."

Mrs. Martin's eyes were fixed gravely on her visitor's face.

"Yes, I do know," she said, speaking with sudden resolution. "It's all
as plain as day. I don't know what Henry will say, when he finds out
that a stranger had to tell his mother what her duty was. I ought to
have seen it long ago just as you did." Her voice faltered, and there
were tears in her eyes.

The embarrassment and distress on Mrs. Williams' face changed to joyful
relief. She drew a quick breath and laid instant hold on her wonted
power of speech.

"You're not to blame at all," she consoled eagerly. "If Anna Belle was
your child, you'd have seen it just as I did. A son's here and there and
everywhere, but a daughter's right in the house with you, and you can
read her heart like an open book. That's how I happened to know before
you did. My goodness! Is that clock strikin' eleven?" She rose with an
air of deep contrition, "Here I've taken up nearly all your mornin'. But
then, what's a mornin's work by the side of your child's happiness?" On
the threshold she paused and stood irresolute for a few seconds.

"I'm glad you think as I do," she said slowly; "but somethin' tells me
that you ought to have time to think it over. It's no light matter to
take another woman under your roof and for a lifetime, too. So give
yourself a chance to consider, and if you change your mind, we'll still
be friends."

The two were standing with clasped hands, and the majesty of motherhood
looked forth from the eyes of each. Mrs. Martin shook her head. "I'm not
likely to change my mind," she said with gentle dignity. "I love my son
as well as you love your daughter."

These simple words seemed to both the conclusion of the whole matter,
and they turned away from each other, forgetting the accustomed
farewells.

Slowly and thoughtfully Mrs. Williams walked homeward. Her mission had
been highly successful, but, instead of the elation of the victor, she
felt only the strange depression that comes after we take our fate in
our own hands, and make a decided move on the checkerboard of life. On
her way to Mrs. Martin's she had felt sure that she was doing "the right
thing"; but before she reached home, doubt and uncertainty possessed her
mind. At her own gate she stopped, and resting her elbows on t