RHODA BOWERS stood at the east window of her own room, busily engaged in "binding off" the neck of a little baby's shirt—one of a set which had occupied all the spare minutes which she could contrive to spend in her own room for the past few weeks. They were not many, for she had to assist her mother in the housework, and yet she had contrived to knit four little shirts of the softest wool and prettiest design for the new little brother who had lately come to the household. Rhoda had taken great pains with them, and she meant, if her mother could spare her, to go down this very afternoon to Aunt Hannah's and learn of her how to crochet the scalloped edge round the tops. "How pretty they are!" she said as she bound off the last stitch and held the little garment up before her. "I am so glad Aunt Hannah knew how to make them. I only hope mother will like them. Heigho! I wonder if my own mother used to make any such pretty things for me when I was a baby? How I do wish I could remember the least thing about her! But I don't. It seems to me that the very first thing I recollect is Mrs. Munson feeding me with little bits of cold turkey in the nursery at 'The Home.' I wonder if the old place looks at all as it used to? Some time I think I will ask mother to let me go back there for a little visit. I should like to see them all again. But I dare say it is changed since my time. I think everything and everybody changes in this world." And Rhoda's face clouded a little as she stood looking out of the window, but it cleared up again, and she gave herself a kind of shake, as if to get rid of some incumbrance. "There, now, Rhoda Bowers! Didn't I tell you never to let such a thought come into your head again as long as you lived? What do you mean by it? Don't you know that it is high time you were off if you mean to see Aunt Hannah this afternoon? And don't you think you would be more like a rational being if you went about your business? Answer me that, now!" Having given herself this little lecture, Rhoda put her work into her pocket, got her hat, and went down stairs to her mother's room. There was a little fire, though it was a fine, mild day in the fall, and Mrs. Bowers sat by the stove nursing her baby. She was a pretty woman of thirty or thereabouts, and would have been pleasing but for a certain peevishness and, as it were, narrowness of expression which did not promise well. "Dear little fellow!" said Rhoda, stooping down and kissing the baby. "How he does grow, doesn't he? I am so glad he is a boy. I always did want a little brother. But sister will be almost an old woman before you are grown-up, little man." "A great many things may happen before he is grown-up," said Mrs. Bowers, on whom Rhoda's remark seemed to grate a little. "I wish you would not be always saying such things and looking forward so, Rhoda." "Why not?" asked Rhoda. "I think it is so nice to look forward."