s can change theirselves. You'se a
pretty, pretty man--now. Now, Jamie dear. You next," she added, with
feminine assurance. And with clumsy but willing enough hands Sunny Oak
contrived to cleanse his charges.

By the time his task was accomplished perfect good-will reigned all
round, and the climax was reached when the yellow pup returned of its
own accord, and was promptly hugged to Jamie's affectionate little
bosom.

The next thing was to prepare the children's supper. This was a far
more serious matter for the loafer. But he finally achieved it, having
learnt, by the process of cross-questioning the girl, what was usual
and therefore expected. However, it was not without some difficulty
that he succeeded in providing an adequate meal, which consisted of
bread and milk, with bread and molasses as a sort of dessert. For
himself, he was forced to fare off a tin of lobster and tea. Still,
his difficulties were not of much consequence so long as the children
were satisfied. And any bother to himself was his own fault, in having
relied for a moment on Sandy Joyce's ideas of a menu.

Supper over and the table cleared, he decided on further catechizing
little Vada on points that still were a mystery to him. So, with Jamie
busy on the floor endeavoring to solve the mystery of the pup's
wagging tail, he lit his pipe and took Vada on his knee. He
endeavored to recall incidents of his own childhood; to remember
something of his own early routine. But somehow nothing was very
clear.

He had washed the children and given them food. Those things seemed to
him to be perfectly sound. Well, what next? It was a little difficult.
He glanced at the sun. Surely bed would be quite in order. Bed--ah,
yes, that was a happy thought. He remembered now, when he was young he
always used to get himself into trouble purposely so they would send
him to bed. But with this thought came the regretful recollection that
his predilection for bed was quickly discovered, and his further
penalties took the form of the buckle end of his father's waist-belt.
However, he put the proposition with much tact.

"Say, kiddies," he began, "how soon does your momma put you to bed?"

Vada shook her wise little head.

"Momma don't. Poppa does."

"And when's that?" he inquired, driving at his point deliberately.

"When momma says."

Vada was fastening and unfastening the man's dirty waistcoat with
great interest.

"An' when does your momma say it?" Sunny