“Now kiss me, you darling, and come close—­so we will not waken Bobbie.  Let me see, this is going to be the story of the little girl who adopted a—­mother!  Yesterday it was Bobbie’s story of how a mother adopted a little boy.  You remember, the mother had to have a baby to fill a big empty space, so she went to a house where some lost kiddies were and found just the one that fitted in and—­and—­but this is Ann’s story to-day!

“Once there was a little girl—­a very dear and good little girl—­who knew all about a mother, and how dear a mother was; because she had one who was obliged to go away—­”

“For a right lil’ time?” Ann broke in.

“Of course,” Betty agreed, “a right little time; but the small girl thought, while she waited, that she would adopt a mother and not tell her about the other one, for fear she might not understand, and she’d teach the adopted mother how to be a real mother.  And now one must remember all the things little girls do to—­to adopted mothers.  First—­”

At this point Lynda entered the room, but Betty went on calmly: 

“First, what do little girls do, Ann?”

“Teach them how to hold lil’ girls.”

“Splendid!  What next?”

“Kiss them and cuddle them right close.”

“Exactly!  Next?”

“They make mothers glad and they make them laugh—­by being mighty good.”

Then both Betty and Ann looked at Lynda.  The sharp, outer air had brought colour to her cheeks, life to her eyes.  She was very handsome in her rich furs and dark, feathered hat.

“Now, little Ann, trot along and do the lesson, don’t forget!” Betty pushed the child gently toward Lynda.

With a laugh, lately learned and a bit doubtful, Ann ran to the opened arms.

“Snuggle!” commanded Betty.

“I’m learning, little Ann,” Lynda whispered, “you’re a dear teacher.  And now I have something to tell you.”

Ann leaned back and looked with suspicion at Lynda.  Her recent past had been so crowded with events that she was wary and overburdened.

“What?” she asked, with more dread than interest.

“Ann, I’m going to take you to a big house that is waiting for a—­little girl.”

The child turned to Betty.

“I don’t want to go,” she said, and her pretty mouth quivered.  Was she always to be sent away?—­always to have to go when she did not want to go?

Betty smiled into the worried little face.  “Oh! we’ll see each other every day,” she comforted; “and besides, this is the only way you can truly adopt a mother and play fair.  It will be another dear place for Bobilink to go for a visit, and best of all—­there’s a perfectly splendid man in the big house—­for a—­for—­a father!”

Real fear came into Ann’s eyes at this—­fear that lay at the root of all her trouble.

“No!” she cried.  “I can’t play father!”

Lynda drew her to her closely.  “Ann, little Ann, don’t say that!” she pleaded passionately:  “I’ll help you, and together we’ll make it come true.  We must, we must!”