Molly, attempting a pirouette with the baby, now stumbled amid the
_debris_, and for an instant distracted Sara's attention, as she
sprang to steady her, and catch the imperilled little one from her
irresponsible arms, and Morton remarked hesitantly,--

"Say, Sara, I guess I wasn't feeling just right about things, and I
declare this makes me sort of ashamed!"

"Ashamed? Pshaw! Well, it doesn't me!" cried Molly, dancing about. "Now
I can have a new dress, and some shoes--

"'Way hay, storm along, John,
Old Stormy, he'"--

"Molly! Molly! How often must I tell you not to sing those coarse sailor
songs? Now, do sit down, before you cut your feet on this glass. Morton,
you see poor mother did divide that money, after all. I presume she left
out just a few dollars for every-day expenses, which was what baby threw
in the fire, but this must be the bulk of the money that father brought
from Squire Scrantoun's."

"Yes," said Morton, still with solemn emphasis; "and perhaps, Sara,
broken looking-glasses don't always mean that somebody's going to die;
if they did, this would have broken last summer, wouldn't it?"

"I don't know just what to think, Morton," squeezing the baby for very
joy, while this great gladness made her eyes brilliant, "only I guess we
aren't forgotten, after all! I want to remember that always now, no
matter how sorrowful we may be; will you help me, Morton?"