To which pathetic appeal Daisy would answer with a coo, or Demi with a crow, and Meg would put by her lamentations for a maternal revel, which soothed her solitude for the time being.  But the pain increased as politics absorbed John, who was always running over to discuss interesting points with Scott, quite unconscious that Meg missed him.  Not a word did she say, however, till her mother found her in tears one day, and insisted on knowing what the matter was, for Meg’s drooping spirits had not escaped her observation.

“I wouldn’t tell anyone except you, Mother, but I really do need advice, for if John goes on much longer I might as well be widowed,” replied Mrs. Brooke, drying her tears on Daisy’s bib with an injured air.

“Goes on how, my dear?” asked her mother anxiously.

“He’s away all day, and at night when I want to see him, he is continually going over to the Scotts’.  It isn’t fair that I should have the hardest work, and never any amusement.  Men are very selfish, even the best of them.”

“So are women.  Don’t blame John till you see where you are wrong yourself.”

“But it can’t be right for him to neglect me.”

“Don’t you neglect him?”

“Why, Mother, I thought you’d take my part!”

“So I do, as far as sympathizing goes, but I think the fault is yours, Meg.”

“I don’t see how.”

“Let me show you.  Did John ever neglect you, as you call it, while you made it a point to give him your society of an evening, his only leisure time?”

“No, but I can’t do it now, with two babies to tend.”

“I think you could, dear, and I think you ought.  May I speak quite freely, and will you remember that it’s Mother who blames as well as Mother who sympathizes?”

“Indeed I will!  Speak to me as if I were little Meg again.  I often feel as if I needed teaching more than ever since these babies look to me for everything.”

Meg drew her low chair beside her mother’s, and with a little interruption in either lap, the two women rocked and talked lovingly together, feeling that the tie of motherhood made them more one than ever.

“You have only made the mistake that most young wives make—­forgotten your duty to your husband in your love for your children.  A very natural and forgivable mistake, Meg, but one that had better be remedied before you take to different ways, for children should draw you nearer than ever, not separate you, as if they were all yours, and John had nothing to do but support them.  I’ve seen it for some weeks, but have not spoken, feeling sure it would come right in time.”

“I’m afraid it won’t.  If I ask him to stay, he’ll think I’m jealous, and I wouldn’t insult him by such an idea.  He doesn’t see that I want him, and I don’t know how to tell him without words.”

“Make it so pleasant he won’t want to go away.  My dear, he’s longing for his little home, but it isn’t home without you, and you are always in the nursery.”