e mere thought that happiness was threatening to
come my way."

Mrs. Milo's eyes widened with apprehension. Involuntarily she glanced
at the hand which Farvel had lifted to kiss.

"I ought to have known that my first duty was to myself," Sue went on
bitterly; "--to my children. But--I put away my dreams. And now! My
eyes are open too late! I've found out my mistake--too late! No
son--no daughter--'Momsey,' but never 'Mother.' And, oh, how my heart
has craved it all--a home of my own, and someone to care for me. And
my arms have ached for a baby!"

"Ha! Ha!"--Mrs. Milo found it all so ridiculous. "A baby! Well,--why
don't you have one?"

For a long moment, Sue looked at her mother without speaking. "Oh, I
know why you laugh," she said, finally. "I'm--I'm forty-five.
But--after today, _I'm_ going to do some laughing! I'm going to do
what I please, and go where I please! I'm free! I'm free at last!"
She cried it up to the chandelier. "From today, I'm free! This is the
Emancipation Proclamation! This is the Declaration of Independence!"

Mrs. Milo moved away, smiling. At the door she turned. "What can you
do?" she asked, teasingly; "--at _your_ age!"

Sue buttoned her coat over the bridesmaid's dress. "What can I do?"
she repeated. "Well, mother dear, just watch me!"

CHAPTER X

The Close was the favorite retreat of the Rectory household. In the
wintertime, it was a windless, sunny spot, never without bird-life, for
to it fared every sparrow of the neighborhood, knowing that the two
long stone benches in the yard would be plentifully strewn with crumbs,
and that no prowling cat would threaten a feathered feaster.

With the coming of spring, the small inclosure was like a chalice into
which the sun poured a living stream. Here the lawn early achieved a
startling greenness as well as a cutable height; here a pair of peach
trees dared to put out leaves despite any pronouncement of the
calendar; and in the Close, even before open cars began their run along
the near-by avenue, a swinging-couch with a shady awning was installed
at one side; while opposite, beyond the sun-dial, and nearer to the
drawing-room, a lawn marquee went up, to which Dora brought both
breakfast and luncheon trays.

The Close, shut in on its four sides, afforded its visitors perfect
privacy. The high blank wall of an office building, which had
conformed its architecture to that of the Church and the other
structu