"The children bring so much sand into the house. You'd think it was horses." "... the center table looks loaded and ready to start half the time ... but I can't help it, with the children's books and truck." "... never would have another house built without a coat closet. The children's cloaks and caps and rubbers litter up everything." "... every one of their knees out, and their underclothes outgrown, and their waists soiled, the whole time. And I do try so hard...." Now with all these bewilderments she was to have to do. She wondered if she would know how to dress him. Once she had watched Mis' Winslow dress a child, and she remembered what unexpected places Mis' Winslow had buttoned--buttonholes that went _up and down_ in the skirt bands, and so on. Armholes might be too small and garters too tight, and how was one ever to know? If it were a little girl now ... but a little boy.... What would she talk to him about while they ate together? [Illustration: "HE STOOD LOOKING AT IT FROM PART WAY ACROSS THE ROAD"] She lay in the dark and planned--with no pleasure, but merely because she always planned everything, her dress, her baking, what she would say to this one and that. She would put up a stove in the back parlour, and give him the room "off." She was glad that the parlour was empty and clean--"no knick-knacks for a boy to knock around," she found herself thinking. And a child would like the bedroom wallpaper, with the owl border. When Summer came he could have the room over the dining room, with the kitchen roof sloping away from it where he could dry his hazelnuts--she had thought of the pasture hazelnuts, first thing. There were a good many things a boy would like about the place: the bird house where the martins always built, the hens, the big hollow tree, the pasture ant hill.... She would have to find out the things he liked to eat. She would have to help him with his lessons--she could do that for only a little while, until he would be too old to need her. Then maybe there would come the time when he would ask her things that she would not know.... She fell asleep wondering how he would look. Already, not from any impatience to have this done, but because that was the way in which she worked, she had his room in order; and her picture of his father was by the mirror, the young face of his father. Something faded had been written below the picture, and this she had painstakingly rubbed away before she set the picture in its place. Next day, while she was working on Mis' Jane Moran's bead basque that was to be cut over and turned, she laid it aside and cut out a jacket pattern, and a plaited waist pattern--just to see if she could. These she rolled up impatiently and stuffed away in her pattern bookcase. "I knew how to do them all the while, and I never knew I knew," she thought with annoyed surprise. "I s'pose I'll waste a lot of time pottering over him."