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 she came, the little Scout scuffing ahead. The screen door was pulled open as Jamie stepped back and the little Scout darted through.

“Mom, this is Jamie!”

Jamie made his best bow and stood for inspection. He got it. Careful, incisive, but not offensively long. A firm hand was held out to him.

“I’ve been intending to come for some time,” said the mellow voice that Jamie recognized as one he had frequently heard over the telephone. “I’ve had my hands reasonably full with our little Jimmy and a Danish Princess presiding in our kitchen, and keeping the children in school. I think I took it for granted that any one the Bee Master would leave in charge here would be all right, and so I haven’t gotten around to make friends as I should have done. But, of course, our little Scout has been all right with you.”

It happened that Jamie’s eyes were on the face of the little Scout when the expression was used and he saw the deep breath of satisfaction that swept from the lips of the child. Then past him hurried the woman that the little Scout had called “Mom.” She dropped on her knees before the davenport. She turned back the blanket and laughed softly. The face she lifted to Jamie was beautiful, a Madonna-like face, the face of a woman fashioned for motherhood.

“I am sorry,” she said, “if your baby has cost his mother her life. Iam sorry. But I must congratulate you on the baby himself. You’ll have your com-