Her vehemence stilled the child.  She put her hands on either side of Lynda’s face and timidly faltered:  “I’ll—­I’ll try.”

“Thank you, dear.  And now I want to tell you something else—­we’re going to have a Christmas tree.”

This meant nothing to the little hill-child, so she only stared.

“And you must come and help.”

“You have something to teach her, Lyn,” Betty broke in.  There were tears in her eyes.  “Just think of a baby-thing like that not knowing the thrills of Christmas.”

Then she turned to Ann:  “Go, sweetheart,” she said, “and make a nest for Bobbie on the bed across the hall.”  And then when Ann trotted off to do the bidding, Betty asked:  “What did he say, Lyn, when you told him?”

“He said he was glad, very glad.  He has been willing, for a long time, that I should take a child—­when I saw one I wanted.  He naturally connects Ann with the Saxe Home; her being with you has strengthened this belief.  I shall let it go at that—­for a time, Betty.”

“Yes.  It is better so.  After he learns to know and love the child,” Betty mused, “the way will be opened.  And oh!  Lyn, Ann is so wonderful.  She has the most remarkable character—­so deep and tenderly true for such a mite.”

“Suppose, Betty—­suppose Con notices the likeness!”

At this Betty smiled reassuringly.

“He won’t.  Men are so stupidly humble.  A pretty little girl would escape them every time.”

“But her Southern accent, Betty.  It is so pronounced.”

“My dear Lyn, it is!  She sometimes talks like a little darkey; but to my certain knowledge there are ten small Southerners at the Saxe, of assorted ages and sexes, waiting for adoption.”

“And she may speak out, Betty.  Her silence as to the past will disappear when she has got over her fear and longing.”

Betty looked more serious.  “I doubt it.  Not a word has passed her lips here—­of her mother or home.  It has amazed me.  She’s the most unusual, the most fascinating creature I ever saw, for her age.  Brace is wild about her—­he wants me to keep her.  But, Lyn, if she does break her strange silence, it will be your big hour!  Whatever Con is or isn’t—­and sometimes I feel like hugging him, and again, like shaking him—­he’s the tenderest man with women—­not even excepting Brace—­that I have ever seen.  It never has occurred to him to reason out how much you love him—­he’s too busy loving you.  But when he finds this out!  Well, Lyn, it makes me bow my head and speak low.”

“Don’t, Betty!  Don’t suggest pedestals again,” Lynda pleaded.

“No pedestal, Lyn; no pedestal—­but the real, splendid you revealed at last!  And now—­forget it, dear.  Here comes lil’ Ann.”

The child tiptoed in with outstretched arms.

“The nest is made right soft,” she whispered, “and now let me carry Bobilink to—­to the sleepy dreams.”

“Where did you learn to carry babies?” Betty hazarded, testing the silence.  The small, dark face clouded; the fear-look crept to the large eyes.