“See this little linen shirt and gown, so neatly trimmed with crochet edging, and this fine soft flannel petticoat,” she said; and Pansy almost fainted when she saw the selfsame baby garments on which she had worked, in silence and secrecy, so many nights when she was at home, a wretched creature, looking forward with dread to her baby’s coming. She wound her arms about the child, and said faintly: “You ought to take good care of these things, for by their aid you might be enabled to trace the child’s mother some time.” But she flushed deeply when Mrs. Meade answered: “I mean to take care of them, but I don’t know as I care to trace the mother. She must be a hard-hearted creature, to abandon her baby like she did.” “Oh, don’t judge her so hardly, please. Perhaps--perhaps--it was not her fault. They might have taken it from her,” exclaimed Pansy pleadingly, then paused in dismay, for, by the sudden lighting up of Mrs. Meade’s face, she saw that she had made a mistake in speaking so impulsively. Anxious to remove any suspicion from the woman’s mind, she went on apologetically: “Of course, the mother might have been hard-hearted. There are plenty such women, but it does seem strange that any one could desert such a beautiful child as this one.” “He is beautiful, and as good and sweet as he is pretty,” said Mrs. Meade warmly, and Pansy exclaimed, almost passionately: “I wish he had been left at my door! I would certainly have adopted him for my own. I love him dearly.” “I ’ove oo!” cried little Pet, gazing into her beautiful face with shining eyes, and she strained him close to her heart again, exclaiming: “Oh, you sweet little darling!” Mrs. Meade gazed on the pretty scene with wonder and suspicion, asking herself why Mrs. Falconer and the child were so strongly attached to each other. She knew that Norman Wylde had been in trouble several years before on account of a pretty factory girl, who was reported to have drowned herself, but she had never heard that there was a child in the case. She wondered now if that unfortunate girl had looked like Mrs. Falconer. “I mean to find out,” she resolved, just as Pansy looked up and asked pleadingly: “Won’t you give me this child if my husband will allow me to adopt him? I will be like a mother to him, educate him, bring him up to a noble manhood, if he lives.” “Would you like to go with the lady, and leave your poor old Meade, my pet?” exclaimed the housekeeper, and the little one murmured a delighted affirmative. “You see!” cried Pansy triumphantly. “Now, may I have him?” Mrs. Meade shook her head. “Colonel Falconer would never permit you to have him,” she said. “My husband has never refused a request of mine in our whole acquaintance,” cried Pansy impatiently.