Three children came up the stairway, caught sight of Miss O'Neill, and raced pell-mell across the deck to her.
The young woman's face was transformed. It was bubbling with tenderness, with gay and happy laughter. Flinging her arms wide, she waited for them. With incoherent cries of delight they flung themselves upon her. Her arms enveloped all three as she stooped for their hugs and kisses.
The two oldest were girls. The youngest was a fat, cuddly little boy with dimples in his soft cheeks.
"I dwessed myself, Aunt Sheba. Didn't I, Gwen?"
"Not all by yourself, Billie?" inquired the Irish girl, registering a proper amazement.
He nodded his head slowly and solemnly up and down. "Honeth to goodness."
Sheba stooped and held him off to admire. "All by yourself—just think of that."
"We helped just the teeniest bit on the buttons," confessed Janet, the oldest of the small family.
"And I tied his shoes," added Gwendolen, "after he had laced them."
"Billie will be such a big man Daddie won't know him." And Sheba gave him another hug.