Just here Belle stepped through one of the drawing-room French windows, with dewy, delicious Timothy, in faded pale-blue sleeping-wear, in her arms.

“This darling little feller was crying,” said Belle, “and I guess he wants some din-din—­don’t you, lover?  Shall I step out and tell one of those Chinese boys to get it?  Listen!  From now on I’ll have mamma save all the banty eggs for you, Timmy, and some day I’ll take you down there and show you the rabbits, darling.  Would you like that?”

Molly glanced helplessly at her husband.

“How soon could you come, Belle?” asked Jerry, and that settled it.  He had interpreted his wife’s look and assumed the responsibility.  Molly found herself glad.

Belle came two days later, with every evidence of content.  It soon became evident that she had adopted the family and considered herself adopted in turn.  Her buoyant voice seemed to leap out of every opened door.  She rose above her duties and floated along on a constant stream of joyous talk.

“We’re going to have fried chicken and strawberries—­my favorite dinner!” said Belle when Molly was showing her just how she liked the table set.  After dinner, cheerfully polishing glasses, she suddenly burst into song as she stood at the open pantry window, some ten feet from the side porch.  The words floated out: 

    “And the band was bravely playing
       The song of the cross and crown—­
     Nearer, my god, to thee—­
       As the ship—­”

Mrs. Tressady sat up, a stirring shadow among the shadows of the porch.

“I must ask her not to do that,” she announced quietly, and disappeared.

“And I spoke to her about joining in the conversation at dinner,” she said, returning.  “She took it very nicely.”

Belle’s youthful spirits were too high to succumb to one check, however.  Five minutes later she burst forth again: 

    “Ring, ting-a-ling, ting-a-ling, on your telephone—­
     And ring me up tonight—­”

“Soft pedal, Belle!” Jerry called.

Belle laughed.

“Sure!” she called back.  “I forgot.”

Presently the bright blot of light that fell from the pantry window on the little willow trees vanished silently, and they could hear Belle’s voice in the kitchen.

“Good-natured,” said Molly.

“Strong,” Mrs. Porter said.

“And pretty as a peach!” said Peter Porter.

“Oh, she’ll do!” Jerry Tressady said contentedly.

She was good-natured, strong, and pretty indeed, and she did a great deal.  Timmy’s little garments fluttered on the clothes-line before breakfast; Timmy’s room was always in order:  Timmy was always dainty and clean.  Belle adored him and the baby returned her affection.  They murmured together for hours down on the river bank or on the shady porch.  Belle always seemed cheerful.

Nor could it be said that Belle did not know her place.  She revelled in her title.  “This is Mrs. Tressady’s maid,” Belle would say mincingly at the telephone, “and she does not allow her servants to make engagements for her.”  “My friends want me to enter my name for a prize for the most popular girl in the Emville bazaar, Mrs. Tressady; but I thought I would ask your permission first.”