“That’s right, Mother, you’ll qualify for a job as mother better ’n any woman I ever saw!” said Father, heartily, as he reached for another helping of butter.

His face kindled with interest as the letter went on with its proposition, but he shook his head when it came to the money part, interrupting her: 

“I don’t like that idea, Mother; we don’t keep boarders, and we’re plenty able to invite company for as long as we like.  Besides, it don’t seem just the right thing for that young feller to be paying her board.  She wouldn’t like it if she knew it.  If she was our daughter we wouldn’t want her to be put in that position, though it’s very kind of him of course—­”

“Of course!” said Mother, breathlessly.  “He couldn’t very well ask us, you know, without saying something like that, especially as he doesn’t know us, except by hearsay, at all.”

“Of course,” agreed Father; “but then, equally of course we won’t let it stand that way.  You can send that young feller back his check, and tell him to get his new ottymobeel.  He won’t be young but once, and I reckon a young feller of that kind won’t get any harm from his ottymobeels, no matter how many he has of ’em.  You can see by his letter he ain’t spoiled yet, and if he’s got hold of Steve’s idea of things he’ll find plenty of use for his money, doing good where there ain’t a young woman about that is bound to object to being took care of by a young man she don’t know and don’t belong to.  However, I guess you can say that, Mother, without offending him.  Tell him we’ll take care of the money part.  Tell him we’re real glad to get a daughter.  You’re sure, Mother, it won’t be hard for you to have a stranger around in Steve’s place?”

“No, I like it,” said Mother, with a smile, brushing away a bright tear that burst out unawares.  “I like it ‘hard,’ as Steve used to say!  Do you know, Father, what I’ve been thinking—­what I thought right away when I read that letter?  I thought, suppose that girl was the one Stephen would have loved and wanted to marry if he had lived.  And suppose he had brought her home here, what a fuss we would have made about her, and all!  And I’d just have loved to fix up the house and make it look pleasant for her and love her as if she were my own daughter.”

Father’s eyes were moist, too.  “H’m!  Yes!” he said, trying to clear his throat.  “I guess she’d be com’ny for you, too, Mother, when I have to go to town, and she’d help around with the work some when she got better.”

“I’ve been thinking,” said Mother.  “I’ve always thought I’d like to fix up the spare room.  I read in my magazine how to fix up a young girl’s room when she comes home from college, and I’d like to fix it like that if there’s time.  You paint the furniture white, and have two sets of curtains, pink and white, and little shelves for her books.  Do you think we could do it?”