as simply heartbroken when Mary died, and he said then
to Angela that there would never be another woman in his life, but of
course we all know how much that means, and perhaps it's better as it
is. I often wish I was constituted as most people seem to be
nowadays--forget, and rush on to something else; that's the idea! But I
hope you'll be very happy, Martie; you'll certainly have everything in
the world to make you happy, but that doesn't always do it, of course.
I believe I'll take these letters of Ma's to Aunt Sally downstairs;
they might get mixed in with the others and burned. I suppose I'm not
much in the mood for weddings and jollifications now, what with all
this change bringing back--our loss. If other people can be happy, I
hope they will; but sometimes I feel that I'll be glad to get out of it
all! I'll leave you two girls to talk wedding, and if you need me
again, call me."

"Isn't she the limit!" Sally said indignantly, when Lydia had trailed
away. "Just when you're so happy! For Heaven's sake tell me all about
it, and when it's going to be, and how it began, and everything!"

Martie was glad to talk. She liked to hear Sally's praise of Cliff; she
had much to praise in him herself. She announced a quiet wedding;
indeed they were not going to spread the news of the engagement until
all their plans were made. Perhaps a week or two before the event they
would tell a few intimate friends, and be safely away on their
honeymoon before the village was over the first gasp.

"Don't mind Lyd," Sally said consolingly. "She'll have a grand talk
with Pa, and feel martyred, and talk it over with Lou and Clara, and
come to the conclusion that it's all for the best. Poor Lyd, do you
remember how she used to laugh and dance about the house when we were
little? Do you remember the Spider-web Party?"

"Do you remember the pink dress, Sally? I used to think Lyd was the
loveliest thing in creation in that dress!"

Sally was flushed and dimpling; she was not listening.

"Mart! I think it's the most exciting thing--! Shall you tell Teddy?"

"Sally, I don't dare." A shadow fell across Martie's bright face. In
these days she was wistfully tender and gentle with her son. Teddy
would not always be first in her consideration; there might be serious
rivals some day. Life was changing for little unconscious Teddy.

He would not remember his father, and the little sister laughing in her
high-chair, and the cold, dirty streets, a