Reed. “I’ve never had time for things like that. I’ve just lived a quiet home life.”

“Perhaps you’re to be envied,” said Mrs. Steele, studying the other woman’s strong, sweet face. “But I’m sure the club has been the loser thereby.”

Thurlow’s heart suddenly swelled with pride, and he gave his mother a tender look. He would never forget Mrs. Steele’s appreciation of his mother. Neither would Rilla, who was standing just within the pantry door, caught before she could slip upstairs.

“And now,” said Mrs. Steele, “I feel just like a thief coming here to try to steal your home away. It’s lovely. Isn’t it going to be too hard for you to leave it?”

A quick look of pain came into Mrs. Reed’s eyes, but she smiled through it.

“Hard? Yes. But we’ll be glad to get the chance to sell it. We’ve been unfortunate, like a good many others these days.”

“Yes, your son has been telling me. But now, since it had to come, I’m glad that we are to profit by it. Will it be all right for me to look the house over? I want to tell the rest of my committee about it before we meet with the man who is giving the property to our club as a memorial to his wife.”

Then Mrs. Steele was all practicality, asking questions, exclaiming over this and that pleasant feature of the house.

“I think it’s just what we want,” she said at last as, Rilla having been driven out from her hiding, the Reeds stood finally together and watched for their fate from those lips. “We’ll need another bath perhaps, some few alterations in partitions, but on the whole it is quite well planned for our purpose, and I’m positive the rest of the committee will agree with me. We have our meeting at ten tomorrow morning, and I should say by afternoon, if all goes well, we will be ready to sign the papers. But I would like to bring the rest of the committee, with Mr. Stanwood, our donor, to see the place before the papers are signed. Would it be inconvenient for you if we were to drive around sometime during the morning, say about half past eleven? Oh, thank you. Then I’m sure we shall find ready response from the other members!”

“She knows her onions,” said Rilla softly as she turned from the window where she had been watching the taillight of the Steele car disappear into the evening.

“Yes,” said Thurlow decidedly, “she knows all her vegetables, Rill, very well indeed.”

“Well, who is she?” asked Rilla. “And where did you pick her up, and what’s it all about? Isn’t it about time you told us the whole thing? Come springing a highbrow like that on us when we were starving to death for our dinner and never explaining a thing, and me with my kitchen apron on, caught in the pantry. Sit right down and explain yourself.”

“Not a word,” said the mother, laughing, “until dinner is on the table. Thurlow hasn’t even had any lunch, I’m quite sure; and as for the rest of us, we’ll all be sick if we get so excited. And, Rilla, quick! I smell the stew burning! If we have to eat stew day after day, it’s better to have it before it burns. You take it up, and I’ll get the coffee on. Hurry. Whatever news there is will keep, good or bad, till we’ve started dinner.”

So presently they were seated at the table, and Thurlow was telling his story amid a fire of questions from his sister and an interested, thoughtful silence from their mother.

“Well,” said Rilla when the tale was finally concluded and they couldn’t think of another question to ask, “I refuse to believe in it till it happens.