“No. Nobody’ll say a word to her about it. Don’t you know Martha well enough yet to understand that she won’t expect to be Henry’s godmother?” “But she must.” “No. If she did, she’d have spoken of it to me.” “That does look like it a little,” he said with some relief; then frowned again. “But I _want_ her to be the godmother; and she _ought_ to be. Lena hasn’t any great friend of her own that she wants for it; and Martha’s the best friend I ever——” “No, no,” his mother interrupted hurriedly. “It wouldn’t do, Dan.” “But why?” “Well——” she hesitated, sighed, and went on: “We all love Martha—except Lena. I’m afraid that’s reason enough. You must give it up.” “I’m afraid so,” he agreed gloomily. “Oh, lordy!” “Now, now! Martha knows you wanted her, and that’s all she’ll care about. She——” Mrs. Oliphant paused with the bothered air of one who fears to elaborate an indiscretion already committed. Then she continued nervously: “There was something else I wanted to speak to you about. Your father and I—we’ve been a little afraid——” She hesitated again. “Afraid of what, mother?” “Well, we were talking over this long struggle of yours to make a success of the Addition, Dan; and of course we’ve seen how hard you’ve been pressed from the very first, and yet you’ve always kept the thing a little alive and held on to it when time after time everybody said you’d just have to let go.” “Yes, mother?” “Well, it seems your father heard downtown to-day that _this_ time you’d—you’d——” “This time I’d what, mother?” She put her arms about him and, in spite of her resolution, the compassion she felt for him was evident in her voice and in her eyes. “Oh, Dan, if this time you can’t hold on to it any longer, you mustn’t feel too badly, please!” He had bent over her as she embraced him; but now he threw back his shoulders and laughed. “So that’s what father heard to-day,” he said. “You tell him he was listening to the wrong crowd, mother!” He moved her gently toward the door, his arm about her. “You go to bed, and so will I.” He laughed again, not grimly or bitterly, but with deep and hearty mirth. “Why, there isn’t any more chance of my not keepin’ hold of Ornaby than there is of this house fallin’ off the earth onto the moon! They can’t foreclose on me for anyhow two weeks more, and by that time I’ll show ’em what’s what! I sold a lot only last month, and there’ve been three more men out there already to look at locations. Two weeks is plenty of time for things to happen, mother. Don’t you worry.” He kissed her good-night, and as she smiled back at him from the hall and told him she wouldn’t worry if he’d get some sleep, he went on: “Why, they haven’t any more chance to get Ornaby away from me than they have to—than they have to”—he paused, searching for a sufficient comparison, and, finding it, finished with cheery explosiveness—“than they have to get Henry Daniel Oliphant himself away from me!”