Main  Contacts  
Table of contents
Coming Home
Old Friends with New Faces
Miss Campbell
Thorns Among the Roses
Prince Charming
Polishing Mac
Phebe
Breakers Ahead
New Year's Calls
The Sad and Sober Part
Small Temptations
At Kitty's Ball
Both Sides
Aunt Clara's Plan
Alas for Charlie!
Good Works
Among the Haycocks
Which Was It?
Behind the Fountain
What Mac Did
How Phebe Earned Her Welcome
Short and Sweet

of care, I daresay yet she needs every bit she can get to keep soul 

and body together, if I'm any judge." 

 

Rose opened her lips impulsively, but closed them without 

speaking and sat a minute looking straight between Rosa's ears, as 

if forcing herself to think twice before she spoke. Mac watched her 

out of the corner of his eyes as he said, in a musing tone, tucking 

the shawl around a pair of shabby little feet the while, "This seems 

to be one of the charities that no one wants to undertake, yet I can't 

help feeling that my promise to the mother binds me to something 

more than merely handing baby over to some busy matron or 

careless nurse in any of our overcrowded institutions. She is such a 

frail creature she won't trouble anyone long, perhaps, and I should 

like to give her just a taste of comfort, if not love, before she finds 

her 'Marmar' again." 

 

"Lead Rosa I'm going to take this child home, and if Uncle is 

willing, I'll adopt her, and she shall be happy!" cried Rose, with the 

sudden glow of feeling that always made her lovely. And gathering 

poor baby close, she went on her way like a modern Britomart, 

ready to redress the wrongs of any who had need of her. 

 

As he led the slowly stepping horse along the quiet road, Mac 

could not help thinking that they looked a little like the Flight into 

Egypt, but he did not say so, being a reverent youth only glanced 

back now and then at the figure above him, for Rose had taken off 

her hat to keep the light from baby's eyes and sat with the sunshine 

turning her uncovered hair to gold as she looked down at the little 

creature resting on the saddle before her with the sweet 

thoughtfulness one sees in some of Correggio's young Madonnas. 

 

No one else saw the picture, but Mac long remembered it, and ever 

after there was a touch of reverence added to the warm affection 

he had always borne his cousin Rose. 

 

"What is the child's name?" was the sudden question which 

disturbed a brief silence, broken only by the sound of pacing hoofs, 

the rustle of green boughs overhead, and the blithe caroling of 

birds. 

 

"I'm sure I don't know," answered Mac, suddenly aware that he had 


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