Jack was a fair-haired, rosy-cheeked, chubby child. One little arm lay under his head, and a smile seemed playing round his lips. He seemed almost like a picture of sunshine asleep. Mrs. Colston stooped down and kissed him--what woman could have helped doing so? She had once said she believed Jesus kissed His disciples, because Mark used the words, "When He had taken leave of them"--and Easterns took leave by kissing. Then she went to look at Queenie. Poor little Queenie! A dark-haired, sad-faced darling. Mrs. Colston could hardly have explained how it was she turned so quickly away from the little crib after ever such a hurried kiss. Perhaps it was because she had seen a mark on the child. Her father had been a forester, and often when out walking with him along the forest pathways she had seen a mark on some of the trees and knew by that sign they would soon be lying prostrate, stripped of all their green grandeur. It was not so much of the child she was thinking as of the child's mother. But when she reached the little parlour again, her face was as bright as ever. "I want you," she said to Phebe, "to let me teach the children to call me 'Nanna.' I had a friend once who was called 'Nanna.' Nothing could make me more proud than to think I was a second 'Nanna.'" "On certain conditions," said Phebe. "You are having it all your own way to-night. Now it is my turn." "What are they?" "That you call me Phebe, and that I call you 'Nanna,' too. I do so want to be mothered, and no one can do it but you." The little speech began with a laugh, but ended with something like a sob. How many there are who want "mothering," and how many could do "mothering" if they chose! "That's another bargain." "May I come in?" It was Neighbour Bessie's voice. "Bessie comes in each night to bid me good-night," explained Phebe. "You couldn't guess what good news I have to tell you," she continued, turning to Bessie. "Not that----" stammered Bessie. "Nothing about Mr. Waring!" quickly put in Phebe; and then Bessie was told the whole story. She was sitting on a little stool near the fire by the side of Mrs. Colston. "I am downright glad for your sake, Mrs. Waring," she exclaimed heartily. "It's just what you were wanting; but, oh dear," resting her chin on her hands, "there's lots of good times a-going, but I'm never in them." "Why, my dear child, you are always in them," exclaimed Mrs. Colston, patting her head. "Well, I should like very much to know how you reckon that sum up." "I reckon it up out of the Bible. You are one of those who have a continual feast." "A continual pickle, you should say, to be correct." "No, 'feast.' I know one riddle--and only one. Can you guess it? What is the longest feast mentioned in the Bible?"