"Eugene Larue!" Lois' lips relaxed into a pleased curve; a slight color touched her cheek. "That was very nice of him. He knew I'd like to look forward to getting them. Strawberries and roses!" "I met Mr. Girard in the street to-day; he asked after you," continued Dosia, with the feeling that if she spoke of him she might get that tiresome, insistent image of him from before her eyes. "Bailey Girard? Yes; he has a room at the Snows'. Billy's out West." "So I've heard," said Dosia. It was one of the strange and melancholy ironies of life that the man of all others whom she had desired to meet should be thrown daily in her pathway now, after that desire was gone! "You'd better not talk any more now, Lois; you look tired. It's time for you to take a little rest. I'll see to the children. I hope baby will stay asleep. Let me pull this coverlet over you. Shall I pull down the shades?" "No, I'd rather have the light. Please hand me that book over there on the stand," said Lois, holding out her hand for the big, old-fashioned brown volume that Dosia brought to her. "You oughtn't to read; you ought to go to sleep," said Dosia, with tender severity. "I'm not going to read," returned Lois pacifically. Her hand closed over the book, she smiled, and Dosia closed the door. Lois turned to the sleeping child with a peculiar delight in being quite alone with him--alone with him, to think. The book was a novel of some forty years ago, called, as the title-page proclaimed, "A Woman's Kingdom," and written by Dinah Maria Mulock. A neighbor had brought it in to Lois during the first month of her convalescence. In all the time she had had it, she had never read any further than that title-page. There is often more in the birth of a child than the coming of another son or daughter into the world. Between those forces of life and death a woman may also get her chance to be born anew, made over again, spiritually as well as physically. In those long, restful hours afterward, when suspense is over and pain is over, and there is a freedom from household cares, and one is looked upon with renewed tenderness, the thoughts may flow over long, long ways. To face danger bravely in itself gives strength for the clearer vision; and a peculiarly loved child unlocks with its tiny hands springs unknown before.