always so gay and chirpy. In this picture she has a sad, far-away,
listening look, but mother may have put that in just to make it
interesting."

"Or perhaps I've had something to do with the change of expression!"
thought David. "What attracted me first," he added, "was your
mother's verses. She always had a knack of being pious without
cramming piety down your throat. I liked that open door. It meant
welcome, no matter how little you'd deserved it."

"Where'd you get your card, Dave?" asked Dick. "It's prettier than
mine."

"A nurse brought it to me in the hospital just because she took a
fancy to it. She didn't know it would mean anything to me, but it
did--a relapse!" And David laughed shamedfacedly. "I guess she'll
confine herself to beef tea after this!--Where'd you get yours?"

"Picked it up on a dentist's mantelpiece when I was waiting for an
appointment. I was traveling round the room, hands in my pockets, when
suddenly I saw this card standing up against an hour-glass. The color
caught me. I took it to the window, and at first I was puzzled. It
certainly was Letty's house. The door's open you see and there's
somebody in the window. I knew it was Letty, but how could any card
publisher have found the way to Beulah? Then I discovered mother's
initials snarled up in holly, and remembered that she was always
painting and illuminating."

"Queer job, life is!" said David, putting his card back in his pocket
and wishing there were a little more time, or that he had a little