She had gone down, one day, to Mishaumok, and found out Bridget Foye, at the old number in High Street. And to her she had intrusted the care of looking up the children--to be not less than five, and not more than eight or nine years of age--who should be taken to live with her at "Miss Henderson's home," and "have a good time every day." "I must get them here before Christmas," said Glory to her friends. "We must hang their stockings all up by the great kitchen chimney, and put sugarplums and picture books in!" She was going back eagerly into her child life--rather into the life her childhood wist of, but missed--and would live it all over, now, with these little ones, taken already, before even they were seen or found, out of their strangerhood into her great, kindly heart! A plain, capable, motherly woman had been obtained, by Mr. Armstrong's efforts and inquiry, who would live with Glory as companion and assistant. There was the dairy work to be carried on, still. This, and the hay crops, made the principal income of the Old Farm. A few fields were rented for cultivation. "Just think," cried Glory when the future management of these matters was talked of, "what it will be to see the little things let out a-rolling in the new hay!" Her thoughts passed so entirely over herself, as holder and arbiter of means, to the good--the daily little joy--that was to come, thereby, to others! When all was counted and calculated, they told her that she might safely venture to receive, in the end, six children. But that, for the present, four would perhaps be as many as it would be wise for her to undertake. "You know best," she said, "and I shall do whatever you say. But I don't feel afraid--any more, that is, for taking six than four. I shall just do for them all the time, whether or no." "And what if they are bad and troublesome, Glory?" "Oh, they won't be," she replied. "I shall love them so!" CHAPTER XXXV. INDIAN SUMMER. "'Tis as if the benignant Heaven Had a new revelation given, And written it out with gems; For the golden tops of the elms And the burnished bronze of the ash And the scarlet lights that flash From the sumach's points of flame, Like blazonings on a scroll Spell forth an illumined Name For the reading of the soul!"