The house was full of babies. There was little Joe, able to get about,
and into everything. There were the twins, and there was the new baby.
There was one servant, over-worked and cross. There was a small, cheap,
totally inadequate nursemaid. There was Jean, happy but tired, full of
joy, anxiety and affection, proud of her children, proud of her husband,
and delighted to unfold her heart to her mother.

By the hour she babbled of their cares and hopes, while Mrs. Morrison,
tall and elegant in her well-kept old black silk, sat holding the baby
or trying to hold the twins. The old silk was pretty well finished by
the week's end. Joseph talked to her also, telling her how well he was
getting on, and how much he needed capital, urging her to come and stay
with them; it was such a help to Jeannie; asking questions about the
house.

There was no going visiting here. Jeannie could not leave the babies.
And few visitors; all the little suburb being full of similarly
overburdened mothers. Such as called found Mrs. Morrison charming.
What she found them, she did not say. She bade her daughter an
affectionate good-bye when the week was up, smiling at their mutual
contentment.

"Good-bye, my dear children," she said. "I am so glad for all your
happiness. I am thankful for both of you."

But she was more thankful to get home.

Mr. Butts did not have to call for his interest this time, but he called
none the less.