The little home had begun to grow in beauty once more.  That first shopping tour for Marjorie stands out as an epoch in our lives.  I am not of the right sex to describe it.  Marjorie came to us with only such clothing as a poor mother could provide.  She must be outfitted anew from head to toe, and she was.  The next evening, when she greeted me, she was the proud possessor of more lovely things than she had ever known before.  But, beautiful as the little face appeared to me then, more beautiful was the look in Mother’s face.  There had come into her eyes a look of happiness which had been absent for many months.  I learned then, and I state it now as a positive fact, that a woman’s greatest happiness comes from dressing a little girl.  Mothers may like pretty clothes for themselves; but to put pretty things on a little girl is an infinitely greater pleasure.  More than once Mother went down-town for something for herself—­only to return without it, but with something for Marjorie!

We pledged to ourselves at the very beginning that we would make Marjorie ours; not only to ourselves but to others.  Our friends were asked never to refer in her presence to the fact that she was adopted.  As far as we were concerned it was dismissed from our minds.  She was three years old when she was born to us, and from then on we were her father and her mother.  To many who knew her and loved her, this article will be the first intimation they ever have received that Marjorie was not our own flesh and blood.  It was her pride and boast that she was like her mother, but had her father’s eyes.  Both her mother and I have smiled hundreds of times, as people meeting her for the first time would say, “Anyone would know she belonged to you.  She looks exactly like you!”

Marjorie made a difference in our way of living.  A second-story flat, comfortable though it was, was not a good place to bring up a little girl.  More than ever, we needed a home of our own.  But to need and to provide are two different propositions.  We needed a back yard; but back yards are expensive; and though newspapermen may make good husbands they seldom make “good money.”

One evening Mother announced to me that she had seen the house we ought to have.  It had just been completed, had everything in it her heart had wished for, and could be bought for forty-two hundred dollars.  The price was just forty-two hundred dollars more than I had!

All I did have was the wish to own a home of my own.  But four years of our married life had gone, and I was no nearer the first payment on a house than when we began as man and wife.  However, I investigated and found that I could get this particular house by paying five hundred dollars down and agreeing to pay thirty-five a month on the balance.  I could swing thirty-five a month, but the five hundred was a high barrier.

Then I made my first wise business move.  I went to Julius Haass, president of the Wayne County and Home Savings Bank, who always had been my friend, and explained to him my difficulties.  He loaned me that five hundred dollars for the first payment—­I to pay it back twenty-five dollars monthly—­and the house was ours.