"Oh mother dear!" laughed Shirley with heart-free ring to her voice, "did you think you had a young fool for a daughter? He was only being nice because he is a perfect gentleman; but I know he is not in the same universe as I am, so far as anything more than pleasant kindliness is concerned. We shall probably never see him again now that we are settled. But don't you think I ought to go and telephone thanks to his little sister? They will be home by this time, and it seems as if we ought to make some acknowledgment of her great kindness." "By all means, dear; but how can you? Is there a pay-station near here? I thought you said this was out in the country." "Why, we have a telephone of our own, muddy dear! Just think of the luxury of it! Us with a telephone! Mr. Graham had it put into the barn when he was making some repairs, so he could communicate with his workmen; and he said if we would like it we might keep it. It is one of those 'pay-as-you-go' phones, with a place to drop nickels and dimes in; so we are perfectly independent. Mr. Graham thought it would be a comfort to you when George or I had to stay late in town." "How thoughtful of him! He must be a _wonderful_ rich man! By all means telephone at once, and tell the little girl to say to her brother from me that I shall esteem it a privilege to thank him personally for all that he has done for my children, sometime when he is out this way. Think. A real rose by my bed!" She reached out a frail hand, and touched the exquisite petals lovingly. "It is wonderful!" So Shirley went into the living-room to telephone, while all the children stood about to watch and comment and tell her what to say. Doris sat on a little cushion at her feet in awe, and listened, asking Carol with large eyes: "Is Sirley tautin to Dod? Vy doesn't see sut her yeyes?" for Shirley's conversation over the telephone sounded to the little sister much like a prayer of thanksgiving; only she was not accustomed to hearing that joyous laughter in the voice when people prayed. Then Doris was put to bed in her own little crib, and the light in mother's room was switched off amid Doris's flood of questions. "Vat makes it light? Vy did it do avay? Will it tum adin?" At last she was asleep, and the other children tiptoed excitedly about preparing for bed, going up and downstairs softly, whispering back and forth for this or that they could not find, till quiet settled down upon the tired, happy household, and the bullfrogs in the distant creek droned out the nightly chorus. CHAPTER XIII