dn't Mr. Martin write you that he thought it one of the strongest
plays ever written in America--and I'm sure that is a great deal for a
manager to say. Nobody could read a line of it without seeing that it is
a work of genius."

For an instant he appeared to draw assurance from her praise; then his
face clouded, and he responded doubtfully:

"But you thought just as well of 'April Winds,' and nobody would look at
that."

"Well, that was perfect too, of its kind, but of course they are
different."

"I never thought much of that," he said, "but I honestly believe that
'The Beaten Road' is a great play. That's my judgment, and I'll stand by
it."

"Of course it's great," she returned emphatically. "No, Harry, you can't
have any more syrup on your buckwheat cake. You have eaten more already
than sister Lucy, and she is two years older than you are."

"Give it to the little beggar. It won't hurt him," said Oliver
impatiently, as Harry began to protest.

"But he really oughtn't to have it, Oliver. Well, then, just a drop. Oh,
Oliver, you've given him a great deal too much. Here, take mamma's plate
and give her yours, Harry."

But Harry made no answer to her plea, because he was busily eating the
syrup as fast as he could under pressure of the fear that he might lose
it all if he procrastinated.

"He'll be sick before night and you'll have yourself to blame, Oliver,"
said Virginia reproachfully.

Ever since the babies had come she had assumed naturally that Oliver's
interest in the small details of his children's clothes or health was
perpetually fresh and absorbing like her own, and her habit of not
seeing what she did not want to see in life had protected her from the
painful discovery that he was occasionally bored. Once he had even tried
to explain to her that, although he loved the children better than
either his plays or the political fate of nations, there were times when
the latter questions interested him considerably more; but the humour
with which he inadvertently veiled his protest had turned the point of
it entirely away from her comprehension. A deeper impression was made
upon her by the fact that he had refused to stop reading about the last
Presidential campaign long enough to come and persuade Harry to swallow
a dose of medicine. She, who seldom read a newspaper, and was innocent
of any desire to exert even the most indirect influence upon the
elections, had waked in the night to ask herself if it