ry, oh,
for everything--life, its beauty, all it means. And I was thinking this is
youth--no matter how old they happen to be--and that to feed it we have
schools. I was thinking how little we've done as yet, and of all that
we're so sure to do in the many, many years ahead. Do you see what I mean?"
she squeezed his hand.

"Welcome back to school," she said, "back into the hungry army of youth!...
Sh-h-h!"

Again the music had begun. And sitting by her side he wondered whether it
was because she knew that Laura's affair had made him feel old that Deborah
had brought him here.

* * * * *

They went to Edith's for supper.

The Cunninghams' apartment was on the west side, well uptown. It was not
the neighborhood which Edith would have chosen, for nearly all the nice
people she knew lived east of the park. But rents were somewhat lower here
and there was at least an abundance of fresh air for her family. Edith had
found that her days were full of these perplexing decisions. It was all
very simple to resolve that her children be old-fashioned, normal,
wholesome, nice. But then she looked into the city--into schools and
kindergartens, clothes and friends and children's parties, books and plays.
And through them all to her dismay she felt conflicting currents, clashes
between old and new. She felt New York. And anxiously she asked herself,
"What is old-fashioned? What is normal? What is wholesome? What is nice?"
Cautiously she made her way, testing and comparing, trying small
experiments. Often sharply she would draw in her horns. She had struck
something "common!" And she knew all this was nothing compared to the
puzzles that lay ahead. For from her friend, Madge Deering, whose girls
were well along in their 'teens, she heard of deeper problems. The girls
were so inquisitive. Dauntlessly Madge was facing each month the most
disturbing questions. Thank Heaven, Edith had only one daughter. Sons were
not quite so baffling.

So she had groped her way along.

When her father and Deborah arrived, placidly she asked them what they had
been doing. And when she heard that they had been at a concert on the
Sabbath, though this was far from old-fashioned and something she would not
have done herself, it did not bother her half so much as the fact that
Hannah, the Irish nurse, had slapped little Tad that afternoon. She had
never known Hannah to do it before. Could it be that the girl was tired or
s