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 road. They were chattering to each other as they went. Their