"I really put up too much one year," Lydia said, "and it began to spoil, so I sent a whole box of it out to the Poor House; I don't suppose they mind! But Mrs. Dolan there never sent my glasses back! However, this year I'll give you some, Mart; unless Polly put some up." "Unless I go to New York!" Martie suggested. Lydia's whole face darkened. "And if I do, you and Sally will be good to Teddy?" his mother asked, her tone suddenly faltering. "Martie, what POSSESSES you to talk about going to New York now?" "Oh, Lyddy, you'd never understand! It's just the longing to do something for myself, to hold my own there, to--well, to make good! Marrying here, and being comfortably supported here, seems like--like failure, almost, to me! If it wasn't for Teddy, I believe that I would have gone long ago!" "And a selfish feeling like that is strong enough to make you willing to break a good man's heart, and desert your child?" asked Lydia in calm tones. "It won't break his heart, Lyd--not nearly so much as he broke yours, years ago! And when I can--when I could, I would send for my boy! He'd be happier here--" Martie, rather timidly watching her sister's face, suddenly realized the futility of this and changed her tone. "But let's not talk about it any more to-night, Lydia, we're both too tired and excited!" "I don't understand you," Lydia said patiently and wearily, "I never did. I should think that SOMETIMES you'd wonder whether you're right, and everybody else in the world is wrong--or whether the rest of us know SOMETHING--" Martie generously let her have the prized last word, and went upstairs again. To her surprise she found Teddy awake. She sat down on the edge of the bed, and leaned over the small figure. "Teddy, my own boy! Haven't you been asleep?" "Moth'," he said, with a child's uncanny prescience of impending events, "if I were awfully, awfully bad--" "Yes, Ted?" she encouraged him, as he paused. "Would you ever leave me?" he asked anxiously. The question stabbed her to the heart. She could not speak. "I'm enough for you, aren't I?" he said eagerly. Still she did not speak. "Or do you need somebody else?" he asked urgently. A pang went through her heart. She tightened her arm about him. "Teddy! You are all I have, dear!" His small warm hand played with the ruffle of her blouse. "But--how about Uncle Cliff, and Uncle John, and all?" he asked. Martie was silent. "Are you going to marry them?" he added, with a child's hesitation to say what might be ridiculous. "No, Ted," she answered honestly. "Well, promise me," he said urgently, sitting up to tighten his arms about her throat, "promise me that you will never leave me! I will never leave you, if you will promise me that! PROMISE!" He was crying now, and Martie's own tears started thick and fast. "I might have to leave you--just for a while--" she began. "Not if you promised!" he said jealously.