“That's the fifth!” remarked Dora, under breath. “Why should we, Ma?” inquired Cora. “We've never seen one of them--except Madam Weatherstone!” “We'll never forget _her!”_ said Madeline, with delicate decision, laying down the silk necktie she was knitting for Roscoe. “What _beautiful_ manners she had!” “How rich is she, mother? Do you know?” asked Dora. “Rich enough to do something for Roscoe, I'm sure, if she had a proper family spirit,” replied Mrs. Warden. “Her mother was own cousin to my grandmother--one of the Virginia Paddingtons. Or she might do something for you girls.” “I wish she would!” Adeline murmured, softly, her large eyes turned to the horizon, her hands in her lap over the handkerchief she was marking for Roscoe. “Don't be ungrateful, Adeline,” said her mother, firmly. “You have a good home and a good brother; no girl ever had a better.” “But there is never anything going on,” broke in Coraline, in a tone of complaint; “no parties, no going away for vacations, no anything.” “Now, Cora, don't be discontented! You must not add a straw to dear Roscoe's burdens,” said her mother. “Of course not, mother; I wouldn't for the world. I never saw her but that once; and she wasn't very cordial. But, as you say, she might do _something._ She might invite us to visit her.” “If she ever comes back again, I'm going to recite for her,” said, Dora, firmly. Her mother gazed fondly on her youngest. “I wish you could, dear,” she agreed. “I'm sure you have talent; and Madam Weatherstone would recognize it. And Adeline's music too. And Cora's art. I am very proud of my girls.” Cora sat where the light fell well upon her work. She was illuminating a volume of poems, painting flowers on the margins, in appropriate places--for Roscoe. “I wonder if he'll care for it?” she said, laying down her brush and holding the book at arm's length to get the effect. “Of course he will!” answered her mother, warmly. “It is not only the beauty of it, but the affection! How are you getting on, Dora?” Dora was laboring at a task almost beyond her fourteen years, consisting of a negligee shirt of outing flannel, upon the breast of which she was embroidering a large, intricate design--for Roscoe. She was an ambitious child, but apt to tire in the execution of her large projects. “I guess it'll be done,” she said, a little wearily. “What are you going to give him, mother?” “Another bath-robe; his old one is so worn. And nothing is too good for my boy.” “He's coming,” said Adeline, who was still looking down the road; and they all concealed their birthday work in haste. A tall, straight young fellow, with an air of suddenly-faced maturity upon him, opened the gate under the pepper trees and came toward them.