Through the open door of Room 5, Aunt Jane heard voices and stopped to listen. Then she went in.

"This is my husband," said the little woman on the bed. "He says they're getting along real well."

The man by the bed rose awkwardly, turning his stiff hat in his hands. He wore a high collar with sharp points turning back in front and a bright-blue necktie. A large stick pin was thrust through the tie, and his hair was combed carefully in a wide, flat curl on his forehead. He stood with his feet close together, and bowed to Aunt Jane over the hat.

She held out her hand. "How do you do, Mr. Pelton?— Your wife is getting along first-rate!" She nodded toward the bed.

The little woman's face flushed with clear color. "The doctor says I can go in ten days!" she announced.

Aunt Jane considered it. "Well, you can go as soon as you can go—it may be ten days and it may be eleven. I wouldn't begin to say just how many days 'tis—if I was you. We mean to make you comfortable as long as you stay here." She looked at her benignly over her glasses. "You're comfortable, aren't you?"

"Oh, I'm comfortable!" said the woman. "Everybody's real good to me, John." She turned to him. "Tommie don't miss me, does he?" It was wistful.

John tugged at something in his pocket. "He kind of misses you, I guess. But we're getting along fine!... I got these for you—so's you could see." He put a fat envelope in her fingers and she received it doubtingly. She held it up and looked at it.

"I don't know where they put my spectacles—I can't see very well."

"You don't need to see—not for them. Here—I'll show you." He took the envelope proudly and stiffly and drew out a card and held it toward her. "There you be!"

She took it in questioning fingers.

"Why, it's Mamie!"

She turned her face to Aunt Jane and held up the card to her: "That's my oldest girl—that's Mamie!" Her voice had a happy tone—with quick tears somewhere in it.

The man smiled broadly. "I've got another one!" He took it from the envelope and extended it. "And here's two more!" He held the group of pictures spread before him like a fan in his big hand and gazed at them.

"Why, John Pelton! You don't mean you had 'em all done!"

"The whole family," he said proudly.

"John—Pelton! Here—let me see!"

She took the pictures from him, one by one, and her fingers trembled with them. "That's Tommie! He's got on the little sack Aunt Minnie made for him!

"He looks nice—don't he?" She held it toward Aunt Jane.

"And that's Wesley. His tie don't set quite straight." Regret and pride mingled over the tie and smiled at it fondly. "And that's Lulie! It's the whole family!"

"Well, I am pleased!"

She lay back and looked at them, proud and content, and Aunt Jane praised the children.

"I've got another one here," said the man. He looked half shamefaced as he drew it out.

Aunt Jane took it and smiled, and glanced from the picture to his face.

"Yes, it's good— Looks like you," she said.

The woman raised a curious hand to it——

"Why—John!"

He stood smiling almost bashfully.

"I thought you'd better have the whole family while you were about it," he said.

She gathered her family into eager hands. "I'd rather have them than anything in the world!" she said softly.

"They didn't cost much," he volunteered. "Twenty cents apiece—the kind you send on post-cards, you know."

"I don't care what they cost!" said the little woman. "It's worth it!... The doctor says I'm going to be real well, John, when I get up."

She was looking at the baby, in his knitted sack. "But there won't be any more babies," she said half wistfully.

John blew his nose violently and looked out of the window.

"I'd better be going," he announced.

"Yes—time for you to go," said Aunt Jane. She moved with him toward the door.

In the corridor he turned to her. "Tickled most to death, wa'n't she?—I was kind o' 'fraid she'd think it was foolish."

"If more men were foolish, the world would get along a good deal better," said Aunt Jane cryptically.

She beamed on him. "You better not come again for four-five days now, Mr. Pelton. She'd ought to keep quiet and not think about what the children are doing and what's going on.

"She can think about her pictures for a while," she added kindly as his face fell. "There's times when picture children help more than real ones—more handy for sick folks sometimes."

"I guess that's so," said the man. "I don't know as I ever saw her look so pleased—not since before we were married," he added thoughtfully.

Aunt Jane watched him march happily down the corridor. Then she turned back to the room.

The woman had spread the children in a little row along the ridge of the blanket, and was looking at them with happy eyes. She turned her gaze to Aunt Jane as she came in.

"Wa'n't that just like a man!" she said deprecatingly.

"Just like a man," assented Aunt Jane. "One of them senseless things that comes out all right!"

She sat down comfortably by the bed. "Sometimes I think men don't know any more'n big grampuses—they just go blundering along!" She looked benevolently at the row of faces on the blanket.

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