" her mother
said, as she might have said it to an eight-year-old child. "Be my
sweet girl! Why, marriage isn't marriage without children, Mark. I've
been thinking all week of having a baby in my arms again,--it's so
long since Rob was a baby."

Margaret devoted herself, with a rather sullen face, to her dessert.
Mother would never feel as she did about these things, and what was
the use of arguing? In the silence she heard her father speak loudly
and suddenly.

"I am not in a position to have my children squander money on concerts
and candy," he said. Margaret forgot her own grievance, and looked up.
The boys looked resentful and gloomy; Rebecca was flushed, her eyes
dropped, her lips trembling with disappointment.

"I had promised to take them to the Elks Concert and dance," Mrs.
Paget interpreted hastily. "But now Dad says the Bakers are coming
over to play whist."

"Is it going to be a good show, Ted?" Margaret asked.

"Oh," Rebecca flashed into instant glowing response. "It's going
to be a dandy! Every one's going to be there! Ford Patterson is
going to do a monologue,--he's as good as a professional!--and
George is going to send up a bunch of carrots and parsnips! And
the Weston Male Quartette, Mark, and a playlet by the Hunt's
Crossing Amateur Theatrical Society!"

"Oh--oh!"--Margaret mimicked the eager rush of words. "Let me take
them, Dad," she pleaded, "if it's going to be as fine as all that!
I'll stand treat for the crowd."

"Oh, Mark, you darling!" burst from the rapturous Rebecca.

"Say, gee, we've got to get there early!" Theodore warned them,
finishing his pudding with one mammoth spoonful.

"If you take them, my dear," Mr. Paget said graciously, "of course
Mother and I are quite satisfied."

"I'll hold Robert by one ear and Rebecca by another," Margaret
promised; "and if she so much as dares to look at George or Ted or
Jimmy Barr or Paul, I'll--"

"Oh, Jimmy belongs to Louise, now," said Rebecca, radiantly. There was
a joyous shout of laughter from the light-hearted juniors, and
Rebecca, seeing her artless admission too late, turned scarlet while
she laughed. Dinner broke up in confusion, as dinner at home always
did, and everybody straggled upstairs to dress.

Margaret, changing her dress in a room that was insufferably hot,
because the shades must be down, and the gas-lights as high as
possible, reflected that another forty-eight hours would see her
speeding back to the world of cool,