stretching out her hand for the strip of cambric in her mother's lap.
But Mrs. Carr did not hear, for she was gazing, with the concentrated
stare of Jane's baby, at a beautiful old lady who was walking slowly
through the faint sunshine on the opposite pavement.

"I wonder where Mrs. Peyton can be coming from in her best dress?" she
remarked, forgetting Jane for an instant while her sense of tragedy
yielded to the keener impulse of curiosity.

"She never goes anywhere but to church or to the Old Ladies' home,"
replied Gabriella. "Arthur says she hasn't paid a call since her
husband's death."

"Well, I haven't made one, except of course to my relatives, for fifteen
years," rejoined Mrs. Carr a trifle tartly. Then her manner lost its
unusual asperity, and she added excitedly, "They're coming now, Jane.
There's Cousin Jimmy and he's bringing Cousin Pussy and Uncle
Meriweather!"

"Oh, mother, I can't possibly see them! I feel as if it would kill me!"
cried Jane in desperation.

"Give her the camphor, mother," said Gabriella with grim humour as she
went to open the door.

"Brace yourself, my darling. They are coming," pleaded Mrs. Carr, as she
slipped her arm under Jane's head. At the first hint of any excitement
she invariably lost her presence of mind and became distracted; and
Jane's hysterical outbursts never failed to convince her, though they
usually left the more skeptical Gabriella unmoved. "Don't you think you