"They will, Mary," he said; "they will; you wait and see. How could you think for one moment that our children could look down on their mother? It's mighty seldom, let me tell you, that any boy or girl does that, and only with pretty good reason then--never when they've been blessed with one like you. I haven't been able to do what I wanted for ours, but at least I gave them the best thing they possibly could have--a good mother--and with that I don't think the hardships have hurt them much! Have you forgotten--you mustn't think I'm sacrilegious, dear--that the greatest mother we know anything about was just a poor carpenter's wife--and how much her Great Son loved her? Her name was Mary, too--I'm glad we gave Molly that name--she's a good girl--somehow it seems to me it always carries a halo of sacredness with it, even now!--Then, besides--Thomas and Austin are both going to be farmers, and live right here on the old place. Austin's so smart, he may do other things besides, but this will always be his home and Sylvia's. Peter and Edith'll be here, too, and Sally and Ruth aren't more than a stone's-throw off, as you might say. That makes four out of the eight--more than most parents get. The others will come back, fast enough, to visit, with us and them here! And think of the grandchildren coming along! Why, in the next generation, there'll be more kids piling in and out of this living-room than you could lug water and mend socks for if you never turned your hand to another thing! And, thank God, you won't have to do that now--you can just sit back and take solid comfort with them. You had to work so hard when our own children were babies, Mary, that you never could do that. But with Ruth's and Austin's and Sally's--" He paused, smiling, as he looked into the future. Then he kissed her, almost as shyly as he had first done more than thirty years before.