d
not make enough fuss about the old gentleman, and she said yes at once
when he asked if he might present some "goodies" to his little friends.

The word was new to the children--but they guessed that it meant sweets,
for the three large pink and green boxes, tied with green ribbon, which
he took out of his bag, held unheard-of layers of beautiful chocolates.

The Russian's few belongings were packed, and they all saw him off at
the station.

Then Mother turned to the old gentleman and said:--

"I don't know how to thank you for EVERYTHING. It has been a real
pleasure to me to see you. But we live very quietly. I am so sorry that
I can't ask you to come and see us again."

The children thought this very hard. When they HAD made a friend--and
such a friend--they would dearly have liked him to come and see them
again.

What the old gentleman thought they couldn't tell. He only said:--

"I consider myself very fortunate, Madam, to have been received once at
your house."

"Ah," said Mother, "I know I must seem surly and ungrateful--but--"

"You could never seem anything but a most charming and gracious lady,"
said the old gentleman, with another of his bows.

And as they turned to go up the hill, Bobbie saw her Mother's face.

"How tired you look, Mammy," she said; "lean on me."

"It's my place to give Mother my arm," said Peter. "I'm the head man of
the family when Father's away."

Mother took an arm of each.

"How awfully nice," said Phyllis, skipping joyfully, "to think of the
dear Russian embracing his long-lost wife. The baby must have grown a
lot since he saw it."

"Yes," said Mother.

"I wonder whether Father will think I'VE grown," Phyllis went on,
skipping still more gaily. "I have grown already, haven't I, Mother?"

"Yes," said Mother, "oh, yes," and Bobbie and Peter felt her hands
tighten on their arms.

"Poor old Mammy, you ARE tired," said Peter.

Bobbie said, "Come on, Phil; I'll race you to the gate."

And she started the race, though she hated doing it. YOU know why Bobbie
did that. Mother only thought that Bobbie was tired of walking slowly.
Even Mothers, who love you better than anyone else ever will, don't
always understand.

Chapter VIII. The amateur firemen.

"That's a likely little brooch you've got on, Miss," said Perks the
Porter; "I don't know as ever I see a thing more like a buttercup
without it WAS a buttercup."

"Yes," said Bobbie, glad and flushed by this ap