Fiercely she seized her pen and wrote. If she stopped to think again-- Anything might happen, anyway! She stopped long enough to see clearly that if anything happened while she, the mother, was away, she might have a load of self-reproach heavier than she could endure. It's part of the struggle, she thought. Someone else can play watchdog, surely. There! She had committed herself. A note to Charles. She was glad his conference had been so interesting. She had just accepted a position at the Bureau, like her old job there. She might come down a few days early. With love---- VI The porter dropped the bags on the platform beside them, and held out his pink palm. Then he swung up to the step, as the long train began to move. Until the train was out of sight down the curving track, Catherine knew it was useless to start her procession. A fine drizzle filled the air under the shed, and the roofs of the street below them gleamed dull and sordid. "Spencer, will you take that bag? And Marian, this one----" Catherine pulled Letty up into her arm and with a suitcase dragging at her shoulder, piloted the children toward the stairs. "Daddy may be downstairs. Careful, Marian, on those wet steps." There he was, at the bottom of the narrow, dark stairs. Catherine's heart gave its customary little jump--always, when she saw Charles again, even after the briefest separation. Marian clung to his arm, Spencer let himself be hugged, Letty squealed with delight. Catherine looked at him, her eyes bright. He did look well! And he had a new suit, in all this rain! "Here's a taxi, right here. Jump in. Where are your checks?" he bundled them in and handed the checks to the driver. "This is a crowded street, Mother, and awful loud!" said Spencer, his nose against the glass. "I like the big station better," said Marian, adjusting herself with interest on the little folding seat. "Why can't we get out there?" "This is nearer home, dear." Daddy sat next to Mother, and the taxi rattled off, spurting slimy mud. "Hard trip, old girl?" Charles put his arm around Catherine's shoulders. "Fair." Catherine shone at him softly. "Sort of a job, putting the family to bed on a sleeper. But it's over." "An awful homely street," muttered Spencer, his face doleful. "It's got lots of things in it," said Marian, wiggling down from her seat, and thrusting her face against the door. "See the folks and the stores and the street cars." "It's dirty." Spencer turned from the window and looked darkly at Catherine. "I want to be back home," he said. Catherine smiled at him. Poor boy! The little quiver of his nostrils was eloquent of nostalgia, of the rude necessity of adjustment. "Our street isn't like this, Spencer," she assured him. "You will like that better." "Turned into a country kid, have you?" Charles reached for the boy's arm. "Fine muscle! You'll have to try some handball with me this winter." Spencer lost his forlornness at once. "In the court? Oh, gee!"