For some unapparent reason Mrs. Wentworth's spirits rose, but she assumed an air of severity. "Why, James!--have n't you told them?" she demanded. "Mary, I couldn't; I've been trying to all the afternoon. Er--you tell them--do!" he urged desperately. "I can't--playing with them as I have!" "Suppose we keep them all, then?" she hazarded. "Mary!" "Oh, I can manage it! I 've been talking with Hannah--I saw how things were going with you "--his features relaxed into a shame-faced smile--"and Hannah says her sister can come to help, and we 've got beds enough with the cots in the attic." He drew a deep breath. "Then we won't have to tell them!" he exclaimed. "No, we won't have to tell them," she laughed, as she turned back into the house. What a fortnight that was at "Meadowbrook!" The mornings--no longer peaceful--were full of rollicking games; and the long, drowsy afternoons became very much awake with gleeful shouts. The spotless order fled before the bats and balls and books and dolls that Mr. Wentworth brought home from the store; and the methodical routine of the household was shattered to atoms by daily picnics and frequent luncheons of bread and butter. No longer were the days ordered with a precision that admitted of no frivolous deviations, for who could tell in the morning how many bumped heads, cut fingers, bruised noses and wounded hearts would need sympathetic attention before night? And so it went on until the evening before the two weeks were completed; then, after the children were abed and asleep, the man and his wife talked it over. "Well, this ends to-morrow, I suppose. You must be tired, Mary; it's been a hard time for you, dear," he began. "Not a bit of it, James," she demurred. "Hannah and Betsey have done all the work, and you 've been with the children so much I 've not felt their care at all." The man stirred uneasily. "Well, I--I wanted to relieve you as much as possible," he exclaimed, wondering if she knew how many boats he had built for the boys, and how many jackknives he had broken in the process. "Do you know?--I think I shall be actually lonely when they are gone," declared Mrs. Wentworth, without looking up. The man threw a sharp glance at his wife. "So shall I," he said. "James, I've been wondering, could n't we--adopt one of them?" she suggested, trying to make it appear as if the thought had but just entered her head. Again the man gave his wife a swift glance. "Why--we--might--I suppose," he returned, hoping that his hesitation would indicate that the idea was quite new to him--instead of having been almost constantly in his thoughts for a week. "We might take two--company for each other, you know!" She looked at him out of the corner of her eye. "Hm-m," he agreed pleasantly. "The only trouble is the selecting, James." "Yes, that is a drawback," murmured the man, with a vivid recollection of a certain afternoon under the apple trees.