So Rose sat down and fed the Duchess while the Don stood by and watched the feast with much satisfaction. “How nice she looks! Do you consider shoes unhealthy?” he asked, surveying the socks with respectful interest. “No, her shoes are drying. You must have let her go in the mud.” “I only put her down for a minute when she howled, and she made for a puddle, like a duck. I'll buy her some new ones clothes too. Where do I go, what do I ask for, and how much do I get?” he said, diving for his pocketbook, amiably anxious but pitiably ignorant. “I'll see to that. We always have things on hand for the Pointers as they come along and can soon fit Dulce out. You may make some inquiries about the father if you will, for I don't want to have her taken away just as I get fond of her. Do you know anything about him?” “Only that he is in State Prison for twenty-one years, and not likely to trouble you.” “How dreadful! I really think Phebe was better off to have none at all. I'll go to work at once, then, and try to bring up the convict's little daughter to be a good woman so that she will have an honest name of her own, since he has nothing but disgrace to give her.” “Uncle can show you how to do that if you need any help. He has been so successful in his first attempt, I fancy you won't require much,” said Mac, picking up the spools for the sixth time. “Yes, I shall, for it is a great responsibility, and I do not undertake it lightly,” answered Rose soberly, though the double-barreled compliment pleased her very much. “I'm sure Phebe has turned out splendidly, and you began very early with her.” “So I did! That's encouraging. Dear thing, how bewildered she looked when I proposed adopting her. I remember all about it, for Uncle had just come and I was quite crazy over a box of presents and rushed at Phebe as she was cleaning brasses. How little I thought my childish offer would end so well!” And Rose fell a-musing with a happy smile on her face while baby picked the last morsels out of the porringer with her own busy fingers. It certainly had ended well, for Phebe at the end of six months not only had a good place as choir singer but several young pupils and excellent prospects for the next winter. “Accept the blessing of a poor young man, Whose lucky steps have led him to your door, and let me help as much as I can. Good-bye, my Dulcinea.” And, with a farewell stroke of the smooth head, Mac went away to report his success to his mother, who, in spite of her seeming harshness, was already planning how she could best befriend this inconvenient baby. Chapter 17 AMONG THE HAYCOCKS