“I won’t think of it!” cried Madge, clenching her teeth to choke back the wave of emotion which threatened to overcome her. “I will think of the individual little ones whom I shall be able to help and cheer and make happy for a little while in their small lives. I must be careful, I see. I must not unfit them for the battle of life. I must not promise or attempt more than I can perform, or make pets and playthings of the little ones. All their surroundings must be plain and homely. But they shall have their fill of fresh air and sunshine and liberty. Oh, Bertram, my heart bleeds for them! You will not think that I ought to give up my scheme because I have been so foolish once. I have had such a lesson. And there I shall have wiser heads to counsel me.” “I would never give up anything planned for the help and benefit of our suffering brethren--least of all of suffering children,” answered Bertram gravely, “and I think you are building on a better foundation now, Madge! The less we trust in ourselves, the more we ask help where it is to be found, the firmer our building will be, and more abiding will be the results.” Madge nipped her brother’s arm fast. She understood much that was implied in that speech. He was not a man to speak readily of his deeper feelings; but Madge knew that they were there, and that they had been deeply stirred to-day. “Now for some hospital where they will take the child,” he said in a different tone after a long silence. “I think I know one place where they will take a case in which I am specially interested, and make a nook for the little one somewhere, whether they are full or not.” * * * * * “St. Luke’s summer, my lamb! Just the day for Miss Madge to come home! But we mustn’t call her Miss Madge any longer. We must learn to say Mrs. Brook; and one day it will be Lady Brook, when the old gentleman is gone; but he’s wonderful hale and hearty still!” Mrs. Gregg was bustling about the cheerful kitchen of the old-fashioned farmhouse, of which mention has been made before, and Allumette was sitting curled up on an antique oak settle in the ingle-nook, with a book open beside her. She was still a little white, frail bit of humanity--“a bag of bones,” Mrs. Gregg had called her when first she appeared at the farm, just after her own installation there as caretaker of the infant experiment. She had picked up a little flesh since then, but was still very weak and wan; only the light was coming back into the wistful eyes, and the lips were ready to smile with pure happiness and joy of life.