They brought to his eyes with abrupt sharpness the wistful face of Aletta Lasher, as he had seen her perched on the rock in the Tarn of Mystery that day, when she bemoaned her helpless love for his son. She came to him now, slowly, sidlingly, the babe held backward a little as if to keep it from any attack he might make. To verify his wild guesses, he said: “My clerk must have misunderstood your name. May I ask it?” “I am Mrs. David RoBards—Junior. This is our little girl.” “But Junior—my boy Junior—is——” “I am his widow, sir.” “But, my dear child, you—he——” “We were married secretly the day before he marched with his regiment. He was afraid to tell you. I was afraid to come to you, sir, even when I heard of his beautiful death. You had sorrow enough, sir; and so had I. I shouldn’t be troubling you now, but I don’t seem to get strong enough to go back to work, and the baby—the baby—she doesn’t belong to me only. You might not forgive me if I let her die.” The baby laughed at such a silly word, flung up two pink fists and two doll’s feet in knit socks, and said something in a language that has never been written but has never been misunderstood. The purport of its meaning brought RoBards rushing to the presence. He looked down past the sad eyes of Aletta into the sparkling little eyes of all mischief. The finger he touched the tiny hand with was moistly, warmly clasped by fingers hardly more than grape tendrils. “Come in,” said RoBards. “Let me carry the baby.” He motioned Aletta to the chair where never so strange a client had sat, and questioned her across the elusive armload that pulled his neckscarf awry and beat him about the face as with young tulip leaves. Aletta had brought along her certificate of marriage to prove her honesty and she told a story of hardships that added the final confirmation, and filled RoBards with respect for her. His new-found daughter had been as brave as his new-lost son. But he dared not commit himself. He took the half-starved girl in his carriage—he kept a carriage now—to St. John’s Park to consult his partner in this grandchild. He left Aletta in the parlor and went up the stairs with the baby. Sometimes when he had a woman for a client he found it best to put her on the witness stand and let her plead her own case to the jury. So he took the baby along now. When he entered Patty’s room she was sitting rocking by the window gazing into nowhere. Her hands held a picture of Junior, and as RoBards paused he could see the few slow tears of weary grief drip and strike. He could find no first word. It was the baby’s sudden gurgle that startled Patty. She turned, stared, rose, came to him, smiling helplessly at the wriggling giggler. Up went two handlets to buffet her cheeks as she bent to stare. She took the creature from her husband’s arms, lifting it till its cheek was silken against her own. For a little while she basked in contentment unvexed by curiosity, before she asked: