ather did not look at him at all!

Everychild's heart pounded loudly. How could one go on speaking to a
person who would not even look? Yet he persisted. "Could you?" he
repeated.

His father moved a little, but still he did not look at Everychild. He
said rather impatiently: "Never mind now, son."

Then his mother spoke. She had glanced up from her magazine. "You've
left the door open, Everychild," she said.

Everychild put his kite down with care. He returned to the door. It
was a stubborn door. He pulled at it once and again. It closed with a
bang.

"Everychild!" exclaimed his mother. The noise had made her jump a
little.

"It always bangs when you close it," said Everychild.

"It wouldn't bang if you didn't open it," said his mother.

He returned and stood beside his father.

"You know you used to fix things for me," he said. He reflected and
brightened a little. "And play with me," he added. "Don't you
remember?"

But just then it seemed that his father and mother thought of something
to say to each other. Their manner was quite unpleasant. They talked
without waiting for each other to get through, and Everychild could not
understand a thing they were saying. He withdrew a little and waited.

But when his parents had talked a little while, rather loudly, his
father got up and went out. He put his hat on, pulling it down over
his eyes. And _he_ banged the door. But it was the outside door this
time, which never banged at all if you were careful.

And then his mother got up and went to her own room--which meant that
she mustn't be disturbed.

Everychild stood for a moment, puzzled; and then he thought of the
broken kite in his hands. He plucked at it slowly. You would have
supposed that he did not care greatly, now, whether the kite got mended
or not. But little by little he became interested in the kite. He sat
down on the floor and began to untangle the tail.

He scarcely knew when the inner door opened and the cook entered the
room.

She was a large, plain person. Her face was redder than Everychild's
mother's face, but not so pretty. Her eyes often seemed tired, but
never too tired to beam a little.

"Are you all alone, Everychild?" she asked. She did not wait for a
reply, but asked another question: "Is something wrong with your kite?"
And again without waiting for a reply she added: "Maybe I could fix it
for you!"

And she got down on the rug on her knees and to