She rang the bell with a trembling hand, and, to her joy and amazement, the first thing she saw when the door opened was little Pet, clinging to the dress of the white-haired, kindly looking old woman who invited her in. “Pretty yady! pretty yady!” screamed the child, and those words acquainted Mrs. Meade with the fact that Mrs. Falconer stood before her. “Will you walk in, ma’am? The ladies are out shopping, but they may come in at any minute,” she exclaimed eagerly, anxious that little Pet should have a few minutes at least with the woman he loved so dearly. Mrs. Falconer trailed her soft summer silk through the doorway, and held out her hands to the eager child. “Well, I will rest a few minutes, anyhow, as I walked from Broad Street and feel quite tired,” she exclaimed, adding gayly: “Oh, how cool and nice it is here in the hall. I will not go into the parlor, please.” She sank down upon the broad antique sofa, and little Pet, as clean and sweet as a rosebud, in his little white dress and slippers, climbed into her lap and clasped his chubby arms about her neck. Mrs. Meade closed and locked the door, and began to expostulate with him. “Oh, please don’t scold him! Let him stay with me. I love children so dearly!” exclaimed Pansy, pressing the child to her heart and kissing him many times. Then she looked up a little apprehensively at the old woman, asking timidly: “Are you--his--mother?” “No, madam; he’s my adopted child. He was left at this door almost three years ago, and I begged the family to let me keep the poor little forsaken baby for my own. I’m only the housekeeper, ma’am, and the child’s company for me,” explained Mrs. Meade, looking curiously into the beautiful, agitated face before her and wondering if Mrs. Falconer could possibly know anything of the child’s parentage, for the tender interest she took in him seemed very strange. “Can you remember what month it was when the child was left here?” queried Pansy eagerly. “It was on the night of the twenty-eighth of May, ma’am, and I feel sure it wasn’t more than an hour old--a poor little deserted newborn baby,” said Mrs. Meade, and Pansy sternly repressed a cry of joy as she hid her startled face in the boy’s plump neck, pretending to bite him, that she might hear his vociferous baby laughter. “He is mine! It is just as I thought. I was deceived by my mother, and my child stolen from me. Oh, what am I to do, for I feel that I cannot live without him?” she thought wildly. The little one clung to her, showering her face with kisses, and filling Mrs. Meade with wonder, for he was usually very shy of strangers. “Would you like to see the clothes he wore when he came here?” she asked, and went away, returning presently with a bundle, which she unrolled before Pansy’s eyes.