'Then you don't know what wallflowers stand for,' she said, with a bright smile. 'Now this is for you, my dear; it is the first rose I have seen;' and placing on my table a small rose embedded in moss, she left the room again. I watched her from the window as she walked down the street; she walked almost like a girl. On my way to Josey West in the evening, I passed the house in which I had first made her acquaintance. The door being opened, I entered, and found the place in an unusual bustle. Florry and her younger sisters were dusting and cleaning up, and putting the rooms in order. In explanation, Florry told me that their eldest brother, Sheridan, was coming to live there with his wife and children. 'They come in next week,' said Florry; and I daresay Clarance and his family will follow them; they have always lived together, and they won't like to be parted now. There's plenty of room for them all.' 'The place will look like its old self again,' I said to Josey West, a few minutes later on; and I added, with a sigh, 'and you'll be having the jolly old times over again, I shouldn't wonder.' 'I shouldn't wonder, either,' replied the little woman briskly. 'Do you know, Chris, there's one thing I do miss--the Sunday evenings we used to have in the old house. Now that Sheridan is coming, we'll revive the Sunday-night suppers. You'll come, won't you, and bring your dear mother. She's never been to one of our parties. Upon my word, I feel quite happy only in thinking of them. There's Sheridan and his seven youngsters, and Clarance with his five--another one added, Chris, a fortnight ago--the sweetest little thing! Well, I do love to have a lot of children about me. When I die, an old woman--I shall be the queerest little old woman _you_ ever set eyes on, Chris!--well, when I die, an old, old woman, I should like to see heaps of children round me, so that I might take the memory of their bright little faces away with me. It isn't often that I talk seriously, but I've got that fancy.' 'You ought to have children of your own, Josey.' Josey was stitching and mending some of the youngsters' clothes, and, at my remark, she paused and looked at me pensively; but the next moment she gave such a vicious dig with her needle that she broke it, and cried, 'Ought to have! Ought to have! Me, with my crooked legs! No, my dear, never, never, never! Little witches don't have children. Never, never, never!' And for the first time in my experience of her, Josey West burst out crying. Her passion did not last long; she conquered it within a couple of minutes, and, as she wiped her eyes, exclaimed, 'There! A nice little fool you'll think me now, Chris!' I gave her a kiss, and in a little while she was herself again, rattling away as usual.