Miss Mignon St. Clair was a lady of resource. Given a telephone number, and a glimpse of a gentleman who was without doubt of the cloth, and she had only to open the Classified Telephone Directory at "Churches," run down the list until she came to the number Mrs. Milo had given her, and the thing was done. She disregarded Ikey's repeated "I don't knows" over the wire, donned an afternoon dress for her morning's work (Tottie was ever beforehand with the clock in the matter of apparel), and set forth for the Rectory, arriving—by very good fortune—as Mrs. Milo herself was alighting out of a taxicab.

Now she grinned impudently at the group in a the Close. "How-dy-do, people!" she hailed. "—Well, nobody seems to know me today! I'll introduce myself—Miss Mignon St. Clair." She bowed. Then to the figure crouched on the bench, "Say, how about it, Lady Milo?"

"Oh, you must go!" cried Mrs. Milo, rising. "You must! I'll see you—I promise—but go!"

Tottie came out. "Oh, wa-a-ait a minute! Why, you ain't half as hospitable as I am. I entertained the bunch of you yesterday, and let you raise the old Ned." She sauntered aside to take a look at the dial.

"Oh! Oh!" Mrs. Milo dropped back to the bench, shutting out the sight of her visitor with both trembling hands.

Sue went to stand across the dial from Tottie. "What can we do for you?" she asked pleasantly.

Tottie addressed Mrs. Milo. "Your daughter's a lady," she declared emphatically. And to Sue, "Nothin' 's been said about squarin' with me."

"Squaring?"

"Damages."

"Damages?"—more puzzled than ever.

But Balcome understood. He advanced upon Tottie, shaking a fist. "You mean blackmail!"

"Now go slow on that!" counseled Tottie, dangerously. "I aim to keep a respectable house."

"And I'm sure you do," returned Sue, mollifyingly.

It warmed Tottie into a confidence. "Dearie," she began, "I room the swellest people in the whole perfession. That's why I'm so mad. Here I took in that Clare Crosby. And what did she do to me?—'Aunt Clare!' Think of me swallerin' such stuff! Well, you bet I'm goin' to let Felix Hull know all there is to know, and—the kid is big enough to understand."

Now Sue put out a quick hand. "Ah, but you haven't the heart to hurt a child!"

"Haven't I! You just wait till I have my talk with her 'Aunt Clare'!"

"We haven't been able to locate her."

Tottie's face fell. "No? Then I know a way to git even, and to git my pay. There's the newspapers—y' think they won't grab at this?" She jerked her red head toward the wedding-bell. "Just a 'phone, 'Long lost wife is found, or how a singer broke up a weddin'.'"

"Oh, no!" Hattie raised a frightened face to that upper window of the study.

"By Heaven!" stormed Balcome, stamping the grass.

"Now, I know you're joking!" declared Sue. "Yes, you are!"

"Yes, I ain't!"

"Ah, you can't fool me! No, indeed! You wouldn't think of doing such a thing—a woman who stands so high in her profession!"

Tottie's eyelids fluttered, as if at a light too brilliant to endure; and she caught her breath like one who has drunk an over-generous draught. "Aw—er—um." Her hand went up to her throat. She swallowed. Then recovering herself, "Dearie, you're not only a lady, but you're discernin'—that's the word!—discernin'." She laid a hand appreciatively on Sue's arm.

Sue patted the hand. "Ha-ha!" she laughed. "I could see that you were acting! The very first minute you came through that door—'That woman is an artist'—that's what I said to myself—'a great artist—-in her line.' For you can act. Oh, Miss St. Clair, how you can act!"

Tottie seemed to grow under the praise, to lengthen and to expand. "Well, I do flatter myself that I have talent," she conceded. "I've played with the best of 'em. And as I say,——"

"Exactly," agreed Sue. "Now, what I was about to remark was this: We're thinking very seriously of traveling—several of us—yes. And before we go, I feel that I'd like you to have a small token of my appreciation of what you've done for—for Miss Crosby—a small token to an artist——"

"Dearie," interrupted Tottie, "I couldn't think of it."

"Oh, just a little something—for being so kind to her."

"Not a cent. Y' know, I've got a steady income—yes, alimony. I'm independent. And it's so seldom that us artists git appreciated. No; as I say, not a cent.—And now, I'll make my exit. It's been a real pleasure to see you again." She backed impressively.

"The pleasure's all mine," declared Sue. "Good-by!"

"O-revour!" returned Tottie, elegantly. She bowed, swept round, and was gone.

Mrs. Milo uncovered her face.

Balcome chuckled. "My dear Sue," he said, "when it comes to diplomacy, our United States ambassador boys have nothing on you!"

"Oh, don't give me too much credit," Sue answered. "You know, people are never as bad as they pretend to be. Now even you and Mrs. Balcome—why, I've come to the conclusion that you two enjoy a good row!"

"Ah, that reminds me!" declared Balcome. "You spoke just now of traveling. And I think there's a devil of a lot in that travel idea."

"Brother Balcome!" exclaimed Mrs. Milo, finding relief from embarrassment in being shocked.

"Don't call me Brother!" he cried. "—Sue, ask Mrs. B. if she wouldn't like to get away to Europe.—And you could go with her, couldn't you?" This to Mrs. Milo, before whose eyes he held up a check-book. "What would you say to five thousand dollars?"

The sight of that check-book was like a tonic. Mrs. Milo smiled—and rose, setting her bonnet straight, and picking at the skirt of her dress.

"What do you think, Sue?" asked Balcome.

Sue considered. "They could go a long way on five thousand," she returned mischievously.

"And I need a change," put in her mother; "—after twenty years of—of widowed responsibility."

Balcome waxed enthusiastic. "I tell you, it's a great idea! You two ladies——"

"Leisurely taking in the sights," supplemented Sue.

"That's the ticket!" He opened the check-book. "First, England."

"Then France." Sue was the picture of demureness.

"Then the trenches!" Balcome winked.

"Italy is lovely," continued Sue, wickedly.

"Egypt—for the winter!" Balcome's excitement mounted as he saw his wife farther away.

"And there's the Holy Land."

This last was a happy suggestion. For Mrs. Milo turned to Mrs.
Balcome, clasping eager hands. "Ah, the Holy Land!" she cried.
"Palestine! The Garden of Eden!"

Mrs. Balcome listened calmly. But she did not commit herself. At some thought or other, she pressed Babette close.

"Yes!" Balcome took Mrs. Milo's elbow confidentially. "And think of
Arabia!"

"India!"—it was Sue again.

"China!" added Balcome.

"Japan!"

"The Phil——"

"Look out now! Look out!"

"What's the matter?"

"Matter? You're coming up the other side!"

But Mrs. Milo was blissfully unaware of this bit of byplay. "Do you think Mrs. Balcome and I could make such an extended trip on five thousand?" she asked.

"Well, I'll raise the ante!—ten thousand." Balcome took out a fountain-pen.

"Oh, think of it!" raved Mrs. Milo, ecstatically. "The dream of my life!—Europe! Africa! Asia!—Dear Mrs. Balcome, what do you say?"

"We-e-e-ell," answered Mrs. Balcome, slowly, "can I take Babette?"

In his eagerness, Balcome addressed her direct. "Yes! Yes! I'll buy
Babette a dog satchel!"

"I'll go," declared Mrs. Balcome.

Mrs. Milo was all gratitude. "Oh, my dear, thank you! And we'll get ready today!—Why not? I certainly shan't stay here"—this with a glance at the toy-strewn bench. "Susan,—you must pack."

Sue stared. "Oh,—do—do I go?"

"Would you send me, at my age——"

"No! No!"—hastily.

"And you don't mean to tell me that you'd like to stay behind!" There was a touch of the old jealousy.

"I didn't know you wanted me to go, mother."

"Most assuredly you go." She had evidently forgotten completely her threat of the afternoon before. Sue had disobeyed. Yet her disobedience was not to result in a parting. "And that reminds me"—turning to Balcome, who was scratching away with his pen. "If Sue goes——"

Balcome understood. He began to write a new check. "I'll make this twelve thousand."

Mrs. Balcome saw an opportunity. "Hattie, do you want to go?" she asked. She looked about the Close. "Hattie!"

But Hattie was gone.

Mrs. Milo bustled to Balcome to take the check. "I'll get the reservations at once," she declared. And as the slip of paper was put into her hand, "Oh, Brother Balcome!"

"Sister Milo!" Balcome, beaming, crushed her fingers gratefully in his big fist.

She bustled out, taking Mrs. Balcome with her.

Balcome kept Sue back. "Of course, I know that you won't get one nickel of that money," he declared. "So I'm going to give you a little bunch for yourself."

"But, dear sir,——"

"Not a word now! Don't I know what you've done for me? Why,"—shaking with laughter—"Mrs. B. will have to stay in England six months."

"Six?"

"Sh!"—he leaned to whisper—"Babette! Six months is the British quarantine for dogs!" He caught her hand, and they laughed immoderately.

Her hand free again, she found a slip of paper in it. "Five thousand!
Oh, no! I can't take it!"

"Yes, you will! Take it now instead of letting me will it to you. For I'm going to die of joy! You see, my dear girl, you're not going to be earning while you travel. And you can use it. And you've given me value received. You've done me a whale of a turn! Please let me do this much."

"I'll take it if you'll let me use some of it for—for——"

"You mean that youngster?"

"Would you mind if I helped the mother?"

"Say, there's no string tied to that check. Use it as you like. But I want to ask you, Sue,—just curiosity—why were you so all-fired nice to that Crosby girl?"

"I'll tell you. But you'll never peep?"

"Cross my heart to die!"

"She's been so brave, and I'm a coward."

"That you're not, by Jingo!"

"Let me explain. She couldn't stand conditions that weren't suited to her. At nineteen, she rebelled. I'm not going to say that she didn't also do wrong. But she was so young. While I—I have gone on and on, knowing in my secret heart——" She choked, and could not finish.

"I understand, Sue. It's a blamed shame! And you can't stop now——"

"I shall go with mother."

"Well, if you find that young woman you give her as much of that five thousand as you want to. And if you need more——"

"Oh, you dear, old, fat thing!"

He put his arm about her. She leaned her forehead against his shoulder.

"There! There! You're a good girl."

"You're a man in a million! How can any woman find you hard to live with!"

"Momsey!" Ikey was standing beside them. His hair was disheveled, his face white.

"Ikey boy!" The sight of him made her anxious.

"You—you go avay?"

"We-e-ell,——"

"A-a-a-ah!" She was trying to break it gently. But he understood.
Two small begrimed hands went up to hide his face.

She drew him to her. "But I'll come back, dear! I'll come back! Oh, don't! Don't!"

He clung to her wildly then. "Oh, how can I lif midoudt you! Oh,
Momsey! Momsey! I nefer sing again!"

She led him to a bench. "Now listen!" she begged gently. "Listen!
It's only for a little while."

He lifted his face. "Yes?"

"Yes, dear."

That comforted. "Und also," he observed philosophically, "de olt lady, she goes mit."

"Ikey!" Sue sat back, displeased.

"Oh, scuses! Scuses!"

"She's my mother."

"You—you sure?"

"Why, Ikey!" she cried, astonished.

"Alvays I—I like to t'ink de oder t'ing."

"What other thing?"

"Dat you vas found in de basket."

Balcome laughed, and Sue laughed with him. Even Ikey, guessing that he had inadvertently been more than usually witty, allowed a smile to come into those wet eyes.

"There!" cried Sue, putting both arms about him. "Momsey forgives."

"T'ank you. Und now I like to question—you don't go avay mit de preacher?"

"No! No!" Sue blushed like a girl.

"Den you don't marry mit him."

"N-n-n-n-no!"

"You feel better, don't you, old man?" inquired Balcome.

"Yes.—If I vas growed up, I vould marry mit her myself."

"Now little flattering chorister," said Sue, "there's something Momsey wants you to do. She'll have to leave here very soon. And before she goes she wants to hear that splendid voice again. So you go to the choirmaster, and ask him if he'll get all the boys together for Miss Susan, and have them sing something—something full of happiness, and hope."

"Momsey, can it be 'O Mutter Dear, Jerusalem?'"

"Do you like that best?"

"I like it awful much! De first part, she has Mutter in it; und—und also Jerusalem."

Sue kissed him. "And the second verse Momsey likes——

'O happy harbor of God's Saints!
O sweet and pleasant soil!
In Thee no sorrow can be found,
Nor grief, nor care, nor toil!'"

"It's grand!" sighed Ikey.

"You ask the choirmaster if you may sing it. And if he lets you——"

"Goot!" He started away bravely enough. But the Church door reached, he turned and came slowly back. "Momsey," he faltered, "I don't remember my mutter. Vould you, now, mind if—just vonce before you go—if I called you—mutter?"

She put out her arms to him. "Oh, my son! My son!"

With a cry, he flung himself into her embrace, weeping. "Oh, mutter!
Mutter! Mutter!"

"Remember that mother loves you."

"Oh, my mutter," he answered, "Gott take fine care of you!"

"And God take care of my boy."

He sobbed, and she held him close, brushing at the tousled head. While Balcome paced to and fro on the lawn, and coughed suspiciously, and blinked at the sun. "Say, I've got an idea," he announced. "Listen, young man! Come here."

Gently Sue unclasped the hands that clung about her neck, and turned the tear-stained face to Balcome.

"Up in Buffalo, in my business, I need a boy who knows how to keep his mouth shut. Now when do you escape from this—this asylum?" He swept his hat in a wide circle that included the Rectory.

Pride made Ikey forget his woe. "Oh," he boasted, "I can go venefer I like. You see, my aunt, she only borrows me here."

"Ah! And what do you think of my proposition?"

Ikey meditated. "Vell, I ain't crazy to stay here mit Momsey gone."

Balcome put a hand on his shoulder. "I thought you wouldn't. So suppose we talk this over—eh?—man to man—while we hunt the choirmaster?"