“Speaking of marrying, reminds me of another thing that has been troubling me of late,” continued Paul.  “Mrs. Lynde was down here one day last week having tea with Grandma, and Grandma made me show her my little mother’s picture . . . the one father sent me for my birthday present.  I didn’t exactly want to show it to Mrs. Lynde.  Mrs. Lynde is a good, kind woman, but she isn’t the sort of person you want to show your mother’s picture to.  You know, teacher.  But of course I obeyed Grandma.  Mrs. Lynde said she was very pretty ut kind of actressy looking, and must have been an awful lot younger than father.  Then she said, ’Some of these days your pa will be marrying again likely.  How will you like to have a new ma, Master Paul?’ Well, the idea almost took my breath away, teacher, but I wasn’t going to let Mrs. Lynde see that.  I just looked her straight in the face . . . like this . . . and I said, ’Mrs. Lynde, father made a pretty good job of picking out my first mother and I could trust him to pick out just as good a one the second time.’  And I can trust him, teacher.  But still, I hope, if he ever does give me a new mother, he’ll ask my opinion about her before it’s too late.  There’s Mary Joe coming to call us to tea.  I’ll go and consult with her about the shortbread.”

As a result of the “consultation,” Mary Joe cut the shortbread and added a dish of preserves to the bill of fare.  Anne poured the tea and she and Paul had a very merry meal in the dim old sitting room whose windows were open to the gulf breezes, and they talked so much “nonsense” that Mary Joe was quite scandalized and told Veronica the next evening that “de school mees” was as queer as Paul.  After tea Paul took Anne up to his room to show her his mother’s picture, which had been the mysterious birthday present kept by Mrs. Irving in the bookcase.  Paul’s little low-ceilinged room was a soft whirl of ruddy light from the sun that was setting over the sea and swinging shadows from the fir trees that grew close to the square, deep-set window.  From out this soft glow and glamor shone a sweet, girlish face, with tender mother eyes, that was hanging on the wall at the foot of the bed.

“That’s my little mother,” said Paul with loving pride.  “I got Grandma to hang it there where I’d see it as soon as I opened my eyes in the morning.  I never mind not having the light when I go to bed now, because it just seems as if my little mother was right here with me.  Father knew just what I would like for a birthday present, although he never asked me.  Isn’t it wonderful how much fathers do know?”

“Your mother was very lovely, Paul, and you look a little like her.  But her eyes and hair are darker than yours.”

“My eyes are the same color as father’s,” said Paul, flying about the room to heap all available cushions on the window seat, “but father’s hair is gray.  He has lots of it, but it is gray.  You see, father is nearly fifty.  That’s ripe old age, isn’t it?  But it’s only outside he’s old.  Inside he’s just as young as anybody.  Now, teacher, please sit here; and I’ll sit at your feet.  May I lay my head against your knee?  That’s the way my little mother and I used to sit.  Oh, this is real splendid, I think.”