Hope, and Davy, cooped up down
there in town. They'd love the Flower Festival, and I could take them
up to the Hall, and Nanny would be wild with joy to have Lizzie's
children here; she'd bake cookies and gingerbread--" A flush had come
into her faded, cool cheek. "Wouldn't they be in your way? You really
wouldn't mind--you won't change your mind about it, Walt?" she said
timidly.

"Change my mind! Why, I'll love to have them running round here," he
answered warmly. "Write Lizzie to-night, and tell her I've got to go
down Tuesday, and I'll bring 'em up."

"I'll tell her that just the things they have will be quite good
enough," said Miss Pratt. "The Burgoyne children just wear
play-ginghams--I'll get them anything else they need!"

"It won't interfere with your club work, Anne?"

"Not in the least!" She was sure of that, "And anyway," she went on
decidedly, "I'm not going to the club so much this summer. Mary Brown
and I went yesterday, and there was--well, I suppose it was a good
paper on 'The Mind of the Child,' by Miss Sarah Rich. But it seemed so
flat. And Mary Brown said, coming away, 'I think Doctor and I will
still come to the monthly receptions, but I believe I won't listen to
any more papers like that. They're all very well for people who have no
children--'"

"Well, by Tuesday night you'll have three!" said Walter, with what was
for him great gaiety of manner.

"Walter," his sister suggested nervously, "you'll be awfully
affectionate with Lizzie, won't you? Be sure to tell her that we WANT
them; and tell her that they'll be playing up at the Hall all summer,
as we used to. You know, I've been thinking, Walter," went on the poor
lady, with her nose suddenly growing red and her eyes watering, "that
I've not been a very good sister to Lizzie. She's the youngest, and
Mother--Mother wasn't here to advise her about her marriage, and--and
now I don't write her; and she wrote me that Betty had a cough, and
Davy was so noisy indoors in wet weather--and I just go to the Club to
hear papers upon 'Napoleon' and 'The Mind of the Child.'" And Miss
Anne, beginning to cry outright, leaned back in her chair, and covered
her face with her handkerchief.

"Well, Anne--well, Anne," her brother said huskily, "we'll make it up
now. Where are you going to put them?" he presently added, with an
inspiration.

Miss Pratt straightened up, blew her nose, wiped her eyes, and rang for
the maid.

"Betty and Hope in the big front