Amanda scarcely knew what she was eating that day. Each mouthful had the taste of nectar and ambrosia to her. If she could _belong_ to a family like that! She adored her own people and felt certain that no one could wish for a finer family than the one in which she had been placed, but it seemed, by comparison with the Landis one, a very small, quiet family. She wished she could be a part of both, make the twelfth in that charming circle in which she sat that day. After supper Mrs. Landis turned to Amanda--"Now you stay a while and hear our new pieces on the Victrola." "I'll help you with the dishes," she offered. "Ach, no, it ain't necessary. Mary and I will get them done up in no time. You just go in the room and enjoy yourself." With little Katie leading the way and Martin following Amanda went to the sitting-room and sat down while Martin opened the Victrola. "What do you like?" he asked. "Something lively? Or do you like soft music better?" "I like both. What are your new pieces?" "McCormack singing 'Mother Machree---'" "Oh, I like that! Play that!" As the soft, haunting melody of "Mother Machree" sounded in the room Mrs. Landis came to the door of the sitting-room, dish towel in hand. "Ach," she said after the last verse, "I got that record most wore out a'ready. Ain't it the prettiest song? When I hear that I think still that if only one of my nine children feels that way about me I'm more than paid for any bother I had with them." "Then, Mother," said Martin, "you should feel more than nine times paid, for we all feel that way about you." "Listen, now!" The mother's eyes were misty as she looked at her first- born. "Ach, play it again. I only hope poor Becky knows how much good her money's doin' us!" Later Martin walked with Amanda up the moonlit road to her home. "I've had a lovely time, Martin," she told him. "You do have the nicest, lively family! I wish we had a tableful like that!" "You wouldn't wish it at dish-washing time, I bet! But they are a lively bunch. I wonder sometimes how Mother escapes _nerves_. If she feels irritable or tired she seldom shows it. I believe six of us can ask her questions at once and she knows how to answer each in its turn. But Mother never does much useless worrying. That keeps her youthful and calm. She has often said to us, 'What's the use of worrying? Worrying never gets you anywhere except into hot water--so what's the use of it?' That's a pet philosophy of hers." "I remember that. I've heard her say it. Your mother's wonderful!" "She thinks the same about you, Amanda, for she said so the other day." "Me?" The girl turned her face from him so that the moonlight might not reveal her joy. "You," he said happily, laughing in boyish contentment. "We think Amanda Reist is all right." The girl was glad they had reached the gate of her home. She fumbled with the latch and escaped an answer to the man's words. Then they spoke commonplace good-nights and parted.