“I shall imitate your frankness,” she replied, laughing; “you are not near so nigh of kin to him as I feared.”

“I have not forgotten that you thought me identical with him,” he could not forbear saying.

“I did not mean to hurt your feelings,” she answered, with deepening color.

“Oh, you were not to blame in the least,” he said good-naturedly.  “I deserved it.”

“You must remember, too,” she continued, deprecatingly, “that I am a city girl, and not acquainted with country ways, and so have charity.”  Then she added earnestly, “We do not want to put a constraint on your family life, or make home seem less homelike to you all.”

Mrs. Jocelyn with Belle and the children were descending the stairs.  “I misunderstood you, Miss Jocelyn,” said Roger, with a penitent look, and he hastily strode away.

“I’ve disarmed him,” thought Mildred, with a half smile.  She had, a little too completely.

Belle claimed her old place with Roger, and their light wagon was soon lost in the windings of the road.

“Millie,” whispered Belle, as the former joined her at church, “what could you have said to Roger to make him effervesce so remarkably?  I had to remind him that it was Sunday half a dozen times.”

“What a great boy he is!” answered Mildred.

“The idea of my teaching him sobriety seemed to amuse him amazingly.”

“And no wonder.  You are both giddy children.”

“Until to-day, when you have turned his head, he has been very aged in manner.  Please let him alone hereafter; he is my property.”

“Keep him wholly,” and the amused look did not pass from Mildred’s face until service began.

Dinner was even a greater success than breakfast.  Mrs. Jocelyn had become better acquainted with Mrs. Atwood during the drive, and they were beginning to exchange housekeeping opinions with considerable freedom, each feeling that she could learn from the other.  Fearing justly that a long period of poverty might be before them, Mrs. Jocelyn was awakening to the need of acquiring some of Mrs. Atwood’s power of making a little go a great way, and the thought of thus becoming able to do something to assist her absent husband gave her more animation than she had yet shown in her exile.  Mildred ventured to fill her vase with some hardy flowers that persisted in blooming under neglect, and to place it on the table, and she was greatly amused to see its effect on Roger and Mr. Atwood.  The latter stared at it and then at his wife.

“Will any one take some of the flowers?” he asked at last, in ponderous pleasantry.

“I think we all had better take some, father,” said Roger.  “I would not have believed that so little a thing could have made so great a difference.”

“Well, what is the difference?”

“I don’t know as I can express it, but it suggests that a great deal might be enjoyed that one could not put in his mouth or his pocket.”