to the top of the hall stairs.

"What's my girl worrying about?" Mrs. Paget asked, with a keen glance
at Margaret's face.

"Oh, nothing!" Margaret used both hands to button the top button of
her mother's coat. "I was hungry and cold, and I didn't want to walk
home in the rain!" she confessed, raising her eyes to the eyes so
near her own.

"Well, go back to your lunch," Mrs. Paget urged, after a brief pause,
not quite satisfied with the explanation. Margaret kissed her again,
watched her descend the stairs, and leaning over the banister called
down to her softly:

"Don't worry about me, Mother!"

"No--no--no!" her mother called back brightly. Indeed, Margaret
reflected, going back to the much-cheered Emily, it was not in her
nature to worry.

No, Mother never worried, or if she did, nobody ever knew it. Care,
fatigue, responsibility, hard long years of busy days and broken
nights had left their mark on her face; the old beauty that had been
hers was chiselled to a mere pure outline now; but there was a
contagious serenity in Mrs. Paget's smile, a clear steadiness in
her calm eyes, and her forehead, beneath an unfashionably plain
sweep of hair, was untroubled and smooth.

The children's mother was a simple woman; so absorbed in the hourly