oaked with humanity.

CHAPTER II

_INTERLUDE_

March 15, 1920.
8:30 A.M.

Marise fitted little Mark's cap down over his ears and buttoned his blue
reefer coat close to his throat.

"Now you big children," she said, with an anxious accent, to Paul and
Elly standing with their school-books done up in straps, "be sure to
keep an eye on Mark at recess-time. Don't let him run and get all hot
and then sit down in the wind without his coat. Remember, it's his first
day at school, and he's only six."

She kissed his round, smooth, rosy cheek once more, and let him go. Elly
stooped and took her little brother's mittened hand in hers. She said
nothing, but her look on the little boy's face was loving and maternal.

Paul assured his mother seriously, "Oh, I'll look out for Mark, all
right."

Mark wriggled and said, "_I_ can looken out for myself wivout Paul!"

Their mother looked for a moment deep into the eyes of her older son, so
clear, so quiet, so unchanging and true. "You're a good boy, Paul, a
real comfort," she told him.

To herself she thought, "Yes, all his life he'll look out for people and
get no thanks for it."

* * * * *

She followed the children to the door, wondering at her heavy heart.
What could it come from? There was nothing in life for her to fear of
course, except for the children, and it was absurd to fear for them.
They were all safe; safe and strong and rooted deep in health, and
little Mark was stepping off gallantly into his own life as the others
had done. But she felt afraid. What could she be afraid of? As she
opened the door, their advance was halted by the rush upon them of
Paul's dog, frantic with delight to see the children ready to be off,
springing up on Paul, bounding down the path, racing back to the door,
all quivering eager exultation. "Ah, he's going _with_ the children!"
thought Marise wistfully.

She could not bear to let them leave her and stood with them in the open
door-way for a moment. Elly rubbed her soft cheek against her mother's
hand. Paul, seeing his mother shiver in the keen March air, said,
"Mother, if Father were here he'd make you go in. That's a thin dress.
And your teeth are just chattering."

"Yes, you're right, Paul," she agreed; "it's foolish of me!"

The children gave her a hearty round of good-bye hugs and kisses,
briskly and energetically performed, and went down the stone-flagged
path to the ro