GENTLE reader, the summer is ended, and 

 the autumn far advanced. And as the 

 season has ripened, so in varying degree 

 have we. 



The big little girl has stretched beyond the 

 boundaries of her summer frocks, and clamors to 

 have her hair tied up and hid with monster 

 ribbon bows. The big boy has symptoms of the 

 trying time when he will roll his trousers toward 

 his knees, be melancholy and "sporty" by turns, 

 and refer to himself and the like as men. But 

 Mother has nursed him through chicken-pox 

 and measles, and will bring him safely even out 

 of this. 



Dear Mother, who used to play with her crow- 

 ing babies on the floor, is still as old as they. 

 Swiftly and unconsciously she adjusts herself 

 to them. Her joys and her duties change and 

 bring her growth. 



Only the o. m. seems stationary, her children 

 always young, her round of life unchanging. 

 She knows that she is slowly crystallizing, and 

 only prays that the crystal may be clear and many- 

 faceted, with all its angles true. 



Father has come back and says that there is 

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