Margaret MacLean always puts the children to sleep with Sandy's song; she said it was written by a famous poet who loved children, and the children have never told her the truth about it. And if it happens, as it does once in a great while, that some one is missing in the morning, there is no sorrowing for him, or heavy-heartedness. They miss him, of course; but they picture him running, sturdy-limbed, up the slope to the leprechaun's tree, with Michael waiting for him not far off. To the children Tir-na-n'Og is the waiting-place for all child-souls until Saint Anthony is ready to gather them up and carry them away with him to the "Blessed Mother"; and Margaret MacLean, having nothing better to tell them, keeps silent. But she has thought of the nicest custom: A new picture is hung in the Home after a child has gone. It bears his name; and it is always something that he liked--birds or flowers or ships or some one from a story. Peter has his chosen already; it is to be--a dog. Whenever Saint Margaret's Senior Surgeon finds a hip or a heart or a back that he can do nothing for, he sends it to the Home; and he always writes the same thing: "Here is another case in a thousand for you, Margaret MacLean. How many are there now?" He has married the Youngest and Prettiest Trustee, as the Disagreeable Trustee prophesied, and gossip says that they are very happy. This much I know--there are two more words which he now writes with capitals--Son and Sympathy. Margaret MacLean often says with the Danish faery-man: "My life, too, is a faery-tale written by God's finger." And the House Surgeon always chuckles at this, and adds: "Praise Heaven! He wrote me into it." As for the widow of the Richest Trustee, she has found a greater measure of contentment than she thought the world could hold--with love to brim it; for Margaret MacLean has adopted her along with the children. The children still regard her, however, as a very mysterious person; and she has taken the place of Susan's mythical aunt in the ward conversation. It has never been argued out to the complete satisfaction of every one whether she is really the faery queen or just the "Wee Gray Woman," as Sandy calls her. The arguments wax hot at times, and it is Bridget who generally has to put in the final silencing word: "Faith, she kept her promise, didn't she? and everything come thrue, hasn't it? Well, what more do ye want?"