could possibly be
true that Oliver loved the children less passionately than she did.

"I've got to get to work now, dear," he said, rising. "I haven't had a
quiet breakfast since Harry first came to the table. Don't you think
Marthy might feed him upstairs again?"

"Oh, Oliver! It would break his heart. He would think that he was in
disgrace."

"Well, I'm not sure that he oughtn't to be. Now, Lucy's all right. She
behaves like a lady--but if you consider Harry an appetizing table
companion, I don't."

"But, dearest, he's only a baby! And boys are different from girls. You
can't expect them to have as good manners."

"I can't remember that I ever made a nuisance of myself."

"Your father was very strict with you. But surely you don't think it is
right to make your children afraid of you?"

The genuine distress in her voice brought a laugh from him.

"Oh, well, they are your children, darling, and you may do as you please
with them."

"Bad papa!" said Harry suddenly, chasing the last drop of syrup around
his plate with a bit of bread crumb.

"Oh, no, precious; good papa! You must promise papa to be a little
gentleman or he won't let you breakfast with him any more."

It was Virginia's proud boast that Harry's smile would melt even his
great-uncle, Cyrus, and she watched him with breathless rapture as he
turned now in his high chair and tested the effect of this magic charm
on his father. His baby mouth broadened deliciously, showing two rows of
small irregular teeth; his blue eyes shone until they seemed full of
sparkles; his roguish, irresistible face became an incarnation of infant
entreaty.

"I want to bekfast wid papa, an' I want more 'lasses," he remarked.

"He's a fascinating little rascal, there's no doubt of that," observed
Oliver, in response to Virginia's triumphant look. Then, bending over,
he kissed her on the cheek, before he picked up his newspapers and went
into his study at the back of the parlour.

Some hours later, at their early dinner, she reported the result of her
visit to the Treadwells.

"It is too awful, Oliver. Aunt Belinda has not spoken yet, and she can't
move the lower part of her body at all. The doctor says she may live for
years, but he doesn't think she will ever be able to walk again. I feel
so sorry for her and for poor Susan. Do you know, Susan engaged herself
to John Henry last night just before her mother was paralyzed, and they
were to be married in December. But