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108 for extra space. “Why are you carrying off the furniture? And why not get a van, if we’re moving?”

“Breakfast in the garden, silly Win!” Mary panted. “Mother is out there! She is liking it, I think.”

Win controlled his strong desire to suggest that she ought to like it. He had a very young man’s intolerance of a dependent and petted woman, and he resented his sister-in-law’s forsaking her little girls. Nevertheless, he made himself an acquisition to this garden party in the early morning, set up the table, brought chairs, helped with the trays, while Jane and Florimel arranged a wreath of Bleeding Heart around the table edge, and laid a rose at each place, and Mary stuck a branch of fragrant “syringa,” the mock orange, in the back of each chair.

Mrs. Garden grew animated and childishly happy watching these preparations. “Isn’t it nice? Isn’t it delightful?” she repeated. “Quite like a garden party. I think I shall love it here. I didn’t remember it was so nice. But then I was only a girl and there were no other girls with me. Now I have three girls and a fine gallant to keep me company; that explains