startling than ever under the sweep of a gypsy hat; her splendid
figure a little broader, but still magnificent under the cotton
gown; her arms full of flowers and ferns, was escorted by two more
children, sturdy little boys, who doubled and redoubled on their
tracks like puppies. The tiny barefoot girl, in her father's arms,
was only a tangle of blue gingham and drifting strands of silky
hair; but the boys were splendidly alert little lads, and their high
voices loitered in the air after the radiant, chattering little
caravan had quite disappeared.

"Well!" said Mrs. Dunning, then.

"Poor, dear Margaret Kirby!" was on Mrs. Frary's lips; but she
didn't say it.

She and Mrs. Dunning stared at each other a long minute, utterly at
a loss. Then they reopened their books.






BRIDGING THE YEARS

The rain had stopped; and after long days of downpour, there seemed
at last to be a definite change. Anne Warriner, standing at one of
the dining-room windows, with the tiny Virginia in her arms, could
find a decided brightening in the western sky. Roofs--the roofs that
made a steep sky-line above the hills of old San Francisco--glinted