At three o'clock Janet appeared and Rosie and she started out together. Rosie had been gone only three weeks but, in that short time, changes had come about, events had occurred, which had altered irrevocably the face of her little world. Within the limits of her own short paper route the whole cycle of existence had turned. Life had been ushered in, life had passed out, and that closest of human pacts which is the promise of life to succeeding generations had been entered into.

Janet McFadden was voluble. "It turned out to be twins at the Flannigans, Rosie, and they just had an awful time. The doctor said that poor Mis' Flannigan was too hard-worked before they came and that's why they're so weak and sickly. Ain't it just tough the way poor little babies have to pay up for things like that?... And you know about Jake Mullane dying last week, don't you? It was sunstroke and I suppose he had been drinking and he just went that quick. They certainly had a swell funeral with six carriages and plumes and tassels on the horses and Lucy and Katie and even the baby dressed in black. But doesn't it kind of scare you, Rosie, to think of a big strong man like Jake being dead and buried before you can turn around?... And, say, Rosie, I do wish you had been here to see the wedding! It was just beautiful! Bessie had a veil and pink roses and smilax and Ed Haskins hired three carriages for the day. There were white ribbons on the whips and little white bows behind the horses' ears. Maybe you think they didn't look swell! They rode around town from ten o'clock in the morning until midnight. Jarge Riley saw them coming home and he says they were lying all over each other fast asleep. I'm not surprised at that, are you? Bessie's in her own little flat now. It isn't any bigger than a soap-box but she's got it all fixed up and pretty. She took me through and showed me her dishes and everything. They furnished on twenty-five dollars down and a dollar a week for a year. I guess Ed Haskins is going to be a good provider all right...."

Janet chatted on, pausing only to let people greet Rosie. Rosie's progress that afternoon was something of a reception. Every one who saw her stopped to call out: "Back again, Rosie? Awful glad to see you!" or, "Hello, kid! How's the country?" It gave Rosie the very pleasant feeling that she had been missed during her absence.

At the end of the route when they came to Danny Agin's cottage, they found old Mary Agin near the gate, busied over her flowers. At sight of Rosie, she stood up, tall and gaunt, and held out welcoming hands.

"Ah, Rosie dear, it's glad I am to see you! And himself will be glad as well when he hears you're back." Mrs. Agin was an undemonstrative old woman but she bent now and kissed Rosie on the forehead.

"How is Danny, Mis' Agin?" Rosie asked. "Is he pretty well?"

"Pretty well, do ye say? Ah, Rosie—" and Mary Agin paused while her eyes half closed as if in pain.

"I forgot to tell you," Janet whispered; "Danny's been awful sick."

"And for two weeks," Mary Agin said, "the great fear was on me day and night that he'd be shlippin' away and me left a sad lonely old woman with nobody to talk to but the cat.... Will ye come in and see him, Rosie? The sight of you will do him a world of good, for he's mighty fond of you and he's been askin' for you every day. Just run along in for a minute and say 'Howdy.' Janet'll wait out here with me."

Rosie found Danny propped up at the bedroom window. The colour of his round apple cheeks had faded, their plumpness had fallen in, but on sight of Rosie the twinkle returned to his little blue eyes and he raised a knotted rheumatic hand in welcome.

"Is it yourself, Rosie O'Brien? Come over and give an old man a kiss and tell him you're glad he's not dead yet."

"Oh, Danny, don't talk that way," Rosie pleaded. She kissed his cheek, which was rough with a stubby growth of beard, then stood for a moment with her arms about his neck.

"It's the merest chance that ye find me here," Danny said; "but now that I am here I suppose I'll stay on awhile longer. But I almost got off, Rosie. 'Twas Mary that pulled me back. Poor girl, she couldn't stand the thought of not having some one to scold. 'Twould be the death of her." Danny blinked his eyes and chuckled.

"Danny, you oughtn't to talk that way about poor Mis' Agin!" Rosie shook her head vigorously. "She loves you, Danny, you know she does!"

"To be sure," Danny agreed. "'Whom the Lord loveth, He chases,' and Mary has been chasin' me these forty years. But she's a good woman, Rosie—oh, ho, I never forget that!" Danny paused a moment, then added with a wicked little grin: "And if I was to forget it, she'd be on hand herself to remind me of it!"

As always, when they were alone, Danny was a good deal of the naughty small boy saying things he should not say, and Rosie a good deal of the helpless shocked young mother begging him to mind his manners. She looked at him now sadly and yearningly. "Oh, Danny, I don't see how you can talk that way and poor Mis' Agin's just been nursing you night and day."

"Pooh!" scoffed Danny. "Take me word for it, Rosie, when ye've been married forty years, ye'll expect to be nursed night and day and no back talk from any one. But, for love of Mike, darlint dear, let's talk of something else! I've had nuthin' but Mary for the last couple of weeks. Not another face have I seen and ye know yourself that Mary's face was niver intinded for such constant use!"

Rosie gasped and swallowed and tried hard to find some fitting reproof. Failing in this she sought to distract her friend from further indiscretions by changing the subject. "Hasn't Janet been in to see you, Danny?"

"Janet?" Danny spoke as though with an effort to recall the name. "Yes, I suppose Janet has been in. I dunno."

"Danny, I don't see how you could forget."

"I don't forget but I don't just exactly remember."

"Danny, you're always saying things like that and I don't know what you mean. Either you remember or you don't remember and that's all there is to it." Rosie looked at him severely. "I don't think it's a bit nice of you to pretend not to remember Janet. She's my dearest friend and besides that she's a very nice girl."

Danny agreed heartily: "Oh, Janet's a fine girl—she is that! In fact"—and Danny paused to make Rosie a knowing wink—"she might very well be Mary's own child. Just look at the solemn face of her that hurts when she laughs!"

"Danny, Danny, you mustn't talk that way, and you wouldn't either if you knew the hard time poor Janet has at home!"

"Wouldn't I now? Don't I know the hard time poor Mary Agin has at home and don't I say the same of her? Rosie, take me word for it, there are some women are born for a hard time. They like it. Since Mary's been waiting on me, hand and foot, she's been a happy woman. In the old days when I was a spry, jump-about kind of man, making good money and no odds from any one, Mary was a sad complainin' creature, always courtin' disaster and foreseein' trouble. And look at her now: with a penny in her pocket where she used to have a dollar and a cripple in a chair instead of a wage-earnin' husband, and never a word of complaint out of her mouth!" Danny ruminated a moment. "The rheumatiz has been pretty hard on me, Rosie dear, but I tell you it's been the makin' of a happy woman!"

Close as they were to each other, Rosie was often in doubt as to the exact meaning of Danny's little quirks of thought. She looked at him now, trying to decide whether his remarks deserved reproof or acceptance. Danny watched her with twinkling amusement. At last he burst out laughing.

"Ah, Rosie dear, don't trouble yir pretty little head for ye'll never make it out! And, after all, what does it matter if ye don't? With you, darlint, the only thing that matters is this: that it's yourself that cheers a man's heart with your lovin' ways and your sweet pretty face."

How Danny had worked around to this sentiment, Rosie could not for the life of her tell. His words, however, suggested a question that called for discussion.

"It seems to me, Danny, you think all men like girls with loving ways."

Danny's answer was prompt: "I do that, Rosie! You can take an old man's word for it and no mistake."

Rosie shook her head thoughtfully. "I don't see how you make that out. Take Ellen now: she hasn't very loving ways; she snaps your head off if you look at her; but she's got beaux all right—more than any girl on the street, and poor old Jarge Riley's gone daft over her. Now how do you make that out?"

"Ah, that's a different matter," Danny explained airily. "You see, Rosie, there be two classes of men, sensible men and fools, and most men belong to both classes. Now a sensible man knows that a sweet loving woman will make him a happy home and a good mother to his children. Any man'll agree to that. So I'm right when I tell you that all men love that kind of a woman, for they do. But let a bold hussy come along with a handsome face on her and a nasty wicked temper, and before you count ten she'll call out all the fool there is in a man and off he goes after her as crazy as a half-witted rooster. Ah, I've seen it time and again. Many a poor lad that ought have known better has put the halter about his own neck! Have you ever thought, Rosie dear, of the queer ch'ices men make when they marry?"

"Danny, I don't know what you mean."

Danny's eyes took on a far-away look. "Take Mary and me. For forty years now I've been wonderin' what it was that married us."

"Why, Danny!" Rosie's expression was reproachful. "Didn't you love Mary?"

"Love her, do you say? Why, of course I loved her! Didn't me knees go weak at sight of her and me head dizzy? But the question is: why did I love her or why did she love me? There I was a gay dancing blade of a lad and Mary a serious owl of a girl that had never footed a jig in her life and would have died of shame not to have her washin' out bright and early of a Monda' mornin'. Now what was it, I ask you, that put love between us?"

Danny appealed to his young friend as man to man. Rosie, however, was not a person to grant the purely academic side of any question that was perfectly clear and matter-of-fact.

"Why, you loved her, Danny, and she loved you and that's all there was to it."For a moment Danny looked blank. Then he chuckled. "Strange I didn't think of that before!" His eyes began to twinkle. "I'll wager, Rosie dear, ye've never lain awake o' nights wondering what it was that made the world go round, have you now?"

Rosie's answer was emphatic: "Of course not! I'm not so silly!"

Danny laughed. "I thought not."

Rosie went back to serious matters. "But, Danny, I can't understand about Jarge Riley and Ellen. Why is he so crazy about Ellen?"

Danny drew a long face. "The truth is, I suppose he loves her."

"But why does he love her?"

Danny's eyes opened wide. "Is it yourself, Rosie O'Brien, that's askin' me why?"

"I don't understand it at all," Rosie continued. "I've got a mind to give Jarge a good talking to. He just ought to be told a few things for his own good."

"I'm sure he'll listen to you." There was a hint of guile in Danny's voice but Rosie refused to hear it.

"He always does listen to me. We're mighty good friends, Jarge and me.... Yes, I'll just talk to him tonight. I'll put it to him quietly. Jarge has got lots of sense if only you talk to him right."

"Of course he has," Danny agreed. "And, Rosie dear, I'm consumed with impatience to hear the outcome of your conference. You won't fail to stop in and tell me about it tomorrow—promise me that!"

Rosie promised. She bid her old friend good-bye and left him, her mind already full of the things she would say to George Riley.