It was bad preparation for a visit to the Siebensternstrasse.  Mrs. Boyer, finding her vanity gone, convinced that she was an absurdity physically, fell back for comfort on her soul.  She had been a good wife and mother; she was chaste, righteous.  God had been cruel to her in the flesh, but He had given her the spirit.

“Madame wishes not the gown?  It is beautiful—­see the embroidery!  And the neck may be filled with chiffon.”

“Young woman,” she said grimly, “I see the embroidery; and the neck may be filled with chiffon, but not for me!  And when you have had five children, you will not buy clothes like that either.”

All the kindliness was gone from the visit to the Siebensternstrasse; only the determination remained.  Wounded to the heart of her self-esteem, her pride in tatters, she took her way to the old lodge and climbed the stairs.

She found a condition of mild excitement.  Jimmy had slept long after his bath.  Harmony practiced, cut up a chicken for broth, aired blankets for the chair into which Peter on his return was to lift the boy.

She was called to inspect the mouse-cage, which, according to Jimmy, had strawberries in it.

“Far back,” he explained.  “There in the cotton, Harry.”

But it was not strawberries.  Harmony opened the cage and very tenderly took out the cotton nest.  Eight tiny pink baby mice, clean washed by the mother, lay curled in a heap.

It was a stupendous moment.  The joy of vicarious parentage was Jimmy’s.  He named them all immediately and demanded food for them.  On Harmony’s delicate explanation that this was unnecessary, life took on a new meaning for Jimmy.  He watched the mother lest she slight one.  His responsibility weighed on him.  Also his inquiring mind was very busy.

“But how did they get there?” he demanded.

“God sent them, just as he sends babies of all sorts.”

“Did he send me?”

“Of course.”

“That’s a good one on you, Harry.  My father found me in a hollow tree.”

“But don’t you think God had something to do with it?”

Jimmy pondered this.

“I suppose,” he reflected, “God sent Daddy to find me so that I would be his little boy.  You never happened to see any babies when you were out walking, did you, Harry?”

“Not in stumps—­but I probably wasn’t looking.”

Jimmy eyed her with sympathy.

“You may some day.  Would you like to have one?”

“Very much,” said Harmony, and flushed delightfully.

Jimmy was disposed to press the matter, to urge immediate maternity on her.

“You could lay it here on the bed,” he offered, “and I’d watch it.  When they yell you let ’em suck your finger.  I knew a woman once that had a baby and she did that.  And it could watch Isabella.”  Isabella was the mother mouse.  “And when I’m better I could take it walking.”

“That,” said Harmony gravely, “is mighty fine of you, Jimmy boy.  I—­I’ll think about it.”  She never denied Jimmy anything, so now she temporized.