"Clarabella, Arabella, an "Patty at yer service." Mrs. Kendall thought of this letter and of Tom as she stood waiting for the long train from New York to come to a standstill; then she looked down at the sweet-faced daintily-gowned little maid at her side, and shuddered--it is one thing to carry beef-tea and wheel-chairs to our unfortunate fellow men, and quite another to invite those same fellow men to a seat at our own table or by our own fireside. Margaret and her mother had not long to wait. Tom Whalen, in spite of the conductor's restraining hand, was on the platform before the wheels had ceased to turn. Behind him tumbled Peter, Mary, and Clarabella, while Patty, carefully guiding Arabella's twisted feet, brought up the rear. There was an instant's pause; then Tom spied Margaret, and with a triumphant "Come on--here she is!" to those behind, he dashed down the platform. "My, but ain't you slick!" he cried admiringly, stopping short before Margaret, who had unconsciously shrunk close to her mother's side. "Hi, thar, Patty," he called, hailing the gleeful children behind him, "what would the Alley say if they could see her now?" There was a moment's pause. Eagerly as the children had followed Tom's lead, they stood abashed now before the tall, beautiful woman and the pretty little girl they had once known as "Mag of the Alley." Almost instantly Margaret saw and understood; and with all the strength of her hospitable little soul she strove to put her guests at their ease. With a glad little cry she gave one after another a bear-like hug; then she stood back with a flourish and prepared for the introductions. Unconsciously her words and manner aped those of her mother in sundry other introductions that had figured in her own experience during the last four weeks; and before Mrs. Kendall knew what was happening she found herself being ceremoniously presented to Tom Whalen, late of the Alley, New York. "Tom, this is my dear mother that I lost long ago," said Margaret. "Mother, dear, can't you shake hands with Tom?" Tom advanced. His face was a fiery red, and the freckles shone luridly through the glow. "Proud ter know ye, ma'am," he stammered, clutching frantically at the daintily-gloved, outstretched hand. Margaret sighed with relief. Tom did know how to behave, after all. She had feared he would not. "And this is Mary Whalen, and Peter," she went on, as Mrs. Kendall clasped in turn two limp hands belonging to a white-faced girl and a frightened boy. "And here's Patty and the twins, Clarabella and Arabella; and now you know 'em all," finished Margaret, beaming joyously upon her mother who was leaning with tender eyes over the little lame Arabella. "My dear, how thin your poor little cheeks are," Mrs. Kendall was saying.