Mrs. Carey often found herself leaning on Nancy nowadays; not as a dead weight, but with just the hint of need, just the suggestion of confidence, that youth and strength and buoyancy respond to so gladly.  It had been decided that the house should be vacated as soon as a tenant could be found, but the “what next” had not been settled.  Julia had confirmed Nancy’s worst fears by accepting her aunt’s offer of a home, but had requested time to make Gladys Ferguson a short visit at Palm Beach, all expenses being borne by the Parents of Gladys.  This estimable lady and gentleman had no other names or titles and were never spoken of as if they had any separate existence.  They had lived and loved and married and accumulated vast wealth, and borne Gladys.  After that they had sunk into the background and Gladys had taken the stage.

“I’m sure I’m glad she is going to the Fergusons,” exclaimed Kathleen.  “One month less of her!”

“Yes,” Nancy replied, “but she’ll be much worse, more spoiled, more vain, more luxurious than before.  She’ll want a gold chicken breast now.  We’ve just packed away the finger bowls; but out they’ll have to come again.”

“Let her wash her own finger bowl a few days and she’ll clamor for the simple life,” said Kathleen shrewdly.  “Oh, what a relief if the Fergusons would adopt Julia, just to keep Gladys company!”

“Nobody would ever adopt Julia,” returned Nancy.  “If she was yours you couldn’t help it; you’d just take her ‘to the Lord in prayer,’ as the Sunday-school hymn says, but you’d never go out and adopt her.”

Matters were in this uncertain and unsettled state when Nancy came into her mother’s room one evening when the rest of the house was asleep.

“I saw your light, so I knew you were reading, Muddy.  I’ve had such a bright idea I couldn’t rest.”

“Muddy” is not an attractive name unless you happen to know its true derivation and significance.  First there was “mother dear,” and as persons under fifteen are always pressed for time and uniformly breathless, this appellation was shortened to “Motherdy,” and Peter being unable to struggle with that term, had abbreviated it into “Muddy.”  “Muddy” in itself is undistinguished and even unpleasant, but when accompanied by a close strangling hug, pats on the cheek, and ardent if somewhat sticky kisses, grows by degrees to possess delightful associations.  Mother Carey enjoyed it so much from Peter that she even permitted it to be taken up by the elder children.

“You mustn’t have ideas after nine P.M., Nancy!” chided her mother.  “Wrap the blue blanket around you and sit down with me near the fire.”

“You’re not to say I’m romantic or unpractical,” insisted Nancy, leaning against her mother’s knees and looking up into her face,—­“indeed, you’re not to say anything of any importance till I’m all finished.  I’m going to tell it in a long story, too, so as to work on your feelings and make you say yes.”