holiday talk. I tell you, you simply can't preach the spirit of anniversaries into people's hearts without a few of the symbols. Now my children, Mrs. Jesse, feel all the sweet old sentiments there are to feel, about Christmas and Easter and Thanksgiving; and it's because I haven't been lazy and told 'em I hadn't time for colored Easter eggs and Christmas-trees, and flour paste and valentines—such things. The result is, grown-up as they are, they're all just counting on their big Fourth of July dinner at the house next Thursday, with salmon and peas and ice-cream, and the fireworks at night in the empty lot. Winifred and Elsie are coming home especially. You see, we Harveys would feel as if the bottom had dropped out, without our celebration. I tell you, Mrs. Jesse, keeping up old customs together is what makes a family strong, and rich in traditions, I think; or a country either, for that matter. But there! I'm preaching. Myron says I'm like a victrola; set the needle on one of my half-dozen records, and I'm started, and no stopping me."
She broke off gayly into a laugh, fastened her thread with three repeated little jerks, stuck the needle, point down, into the front of her waist and held up the petticoat.
"For Linda's baby," she announced—"this
