"Mother has promised that I'm to have so many letters that I can't read them all. As you're to be private secretary, you'll have to promise to carry out her promise." "David," she met him with equal jest, "you have as many promises in that sentence as a candidate for political office." "But I want them better kept than that," he said, laughing. "Will you promise, Phœbe?" "Promise what?" she asked, the levity fading suddenly. "To write often for mother." "Yes--I promise to write often for Mother Bab," she said, and the man could not know the effort the simple words cost her. "Oh, Davie," she thought, "it's not for Mother Bab alone I want to write to you! I want to write you _my_ letters, letters of a girl to the man she loves. How blind you are!" The moment was becoming tense. It was Mother Bab who turned the tide into a normal channel. "Now, don't you worry, Davie. I can make Phœbe mind me." The train whistled. Phœbe drew a long breath and prayed that the train would make a short stop and speed along for she could not endure much more. She looked at Mother Bab. The hysteria was turned from her. She knew she would have to be brave for the sake of the dear mother. "I'll take care of Mother Bab, David," she promised as the train drew in, "and I'll write often." "Phœbe, you're an angel!" He grasped both hands in his for a long moment. Then he turned to his mother, folded her in his arms and kissed her. "There he is," Phœbe cried as the train moved. She was eyes for Mother Bab. "Turn to the right a bit and wave; that's it! He's waving back---- Oh, Mother Bab, he's waving that box of sand-tarts Aunt Maria gave him! They'll be in pieces!" "Sand-tarts," said the other, still waving to the boy she could not see. "Well, he'll eat them if they are broken. Davie is crazy for cookies." "I'm going to need you more than ever now, Phœbe," Mother Bab said as they started home. "Aunt Mary and Phares are so busy and I feel it's so lovely of them to have me there when I can do so little to help, that I don't want to make them more trouble than I must. So if you'll take care of the writing to David for me I'll be glad." Ah, blind Mother Bab, you had splendid vision just then! "I'll write for you. I'll love to do it. Mother Bab----" She hesitated. Should she broach the subject of the operation now? Perhaps it would be kind to divert the thoughts of the mother from the recent parting. "Mother Bab, I've thought about what you said, and I think you should have that operation. The doctor said there was a chance." "Ach, a very slim one. One chance in--I don't know how many!" "But a chance!" "Yes"--the woman thought a moment--"but it would cost lots of money, I guess. I didn't ask the doctor, but I know operations are dear. I have fifty dollars saved, but that wouldn't go far."