earnings. He ate nearly all the
sandwiches, and drank two cups of chocolate, and really looked much
better.

"You need more nourishment, father," said Maria, with a wise,
maternal air, which was also half accusatory, and which made Harry
think so strongly of his first wife that he regarded Maria as he
might have regarded her mother.

"You grow more and more like your own mother, dear," he said.

"Well, I am glad of that," replied Maria. "Mother was a good woman.
If I can only be half as good as mother was."

"Your mother _was_ a good woman," said Harry, reflectively; and as he
spoke he seemed to feel the arms of strong, almost stern, feminity
and faithfulness which had encompassed his childlike soul for so many
years. He owned to himself that Maria's mother had been a much more
suitable wife for him than this other woman. Then he had a little
qualm of remorse, for Ida came in sight, richly dressed and elegant,
as usual, with Evelyn dancing along beside her. Mrs. Adams was with
her. Mrs. Adams was talking and Ida was smiling. It was more becoming
to Ida to smile than to talk. She had discovered long since that she
had not so very much to say, and that her smiles were better coin of
her little realm; she therefore generally employed them in preference.

Maria got up hastily and took the tray and the chocolate-cups. "I
guess Mrs. Adams is coming in," said she.

"You didn't make enough chocolate to give them?" Harry said,
hesitatingly.

"No," replied Maria, and her tone was a little curt even to her
father. "And I used up the last bit of chocolate in the house, too."
Then she scudded out of the room with her tray and passed the front
door as the sound of Ida's latch-key was heard in the lock. Maria set
her tray on the kitchen-table and hurried up the back stairs to her
own room. She entered it and locked both doors, the one communicating
with the hall and the one which connected it with Evelyn's room. She
had no sooner done so than she heard the quick patter of little feet,
and the door leading into Evelyn's room was tried, then violently
shaken. "Let me in, sister; let me in," cried the sweet little flute
of a voice on the other side. Evelyn could now talk plainly, but she
still kept to her baby appellation for her sister.

"No, darling, sister can't let you in now," replied Maria.

"Why not? Let me in, sister."

"Sister is going to study," said Maria, in a firm voice. "She can't
have Evelyn. Run down-stairs,