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Rh of New York State, if our sweetest blossom is stricken?” he demanded, drawing fiercely on his extinguished pipe. Mrs. Moulton sat throughout these anxious days holding her hands, restraining nervousness by a great effort, wholly unable to accomplish any task.

All this was to be expected, for Mary was dearest of all earthly things to each of these, even to Mark, though no one but himself knew this.

But Mrs. Garden became Mary’s mother in full as she waited, watching, praying, fearing, to know whether she might keep her. No longer was she the Garden girls’ “little toy-mother,” as they had caressingly called her. She could not change her nature and become, suddenly, strong in body and dependence. All her life she must be the petted, reliant creature which habit had made her, but she proved that she could love her child and suffer keenly in the dread of losing such a daughter as Mary was. She it was who sat beside Mary’s bed, ceaselessly watching her dear face for a contortion of pain, or for a clue to a wish, or for the smile with which Mary tried to cheer her troubled family.

“I’ll be all right, little mother,” she said feebly one day. “Why don’t you go to drive?