Our Mutual Girl was face to face with the problem she had dreaded. On her breakfast tray lay a note from Mrs. Knickerbocker. “Dear Margaret,” it ran, “I am at Southampton for a few days. Before I return, you must make some arrangement about that little waif. I cannot let you keep the child. Indeed, you will have to choose between her and “Your Auntie.” The first thing Margaret did was to indulge in a good cry. By the time she had eaten her dainty breakfast, she had an inspiration; she would motor up to Westchester and consult her friend, Edith. Edith and the family were going away in the morning on a month’s trip. The house would be kept open, and why should not Margaret have the use of it? Then she could move Baby Lily there, and Lewis could turn nurse, and if Aunt Abbie could come on immediately from Maryland to act as chaperone. Why, this would solve everything. And so it was settled. Next day Our Mutual Girl shopped for Baby Lily and then took her to a photographer’s. And there she, Aunt Sally and Edith’s brother, Ned, who was in town and begged to help, spent an exciting three quarters of an hour. But perhaps you know what it means to get a baby’s picture taken! Even after all three of Lily’s devoted admirers had gone down on their hands and knees and “played bear,” the photographer, who was one of the old-fashioned sort still employing the time-honored “little bird” trick, had great difficulty in catching Lily at her best. Aunt Abbie came, and Margaret moved immediately to Edith’s house. She was there only a day or two when one afternoon, as she was crossing the grounds, a mysterious woman appeared, thrusting a package into her hand, and then vanished as suddenly as she had come. By the note attached, Margaret learned that the stranger was Lily’s mother. And the parcel contained an old-fashioned jewel, rare and valuable, which was her one legacy to her baby daughter. Meanwhile, Our Mutual Girl’s days passed blissfully. All was sweet content, with gentle Aunt Abbie, her beloved baby and faithful Lewis, in this beautiful country place. She had written to Mrs. Knickerbocker, telling her exactly how she had solved the dilemma, but had received no reply. Would this mean a break between them? For the first time in her life Margaret longed for independence. Why should she not keep her patrician aunt, who had been so good to her, for her friend always and yet persuade her to let her live her own life under the motherly protection of Aunt Abbie?