d him. He seemed to
realize, as he sat there slowly moving his head up and down, that no
further advance was to be made along that line. So he took a deep
breath and sat up.

"Something will have to be done about getting a new teacher for that
school," he said with an appositeness which was only too painfully
apparent.

"I've already spoken to two of the trustees," I told him. "They're
getting a teacher from the Peg. It's to be a man this time."

Instead of meeting my eye, he merely remarked: "That'll be better for
the boy!"

"In what way?" I inquired.

"Because I don't think too much petticoat is good for any boy,"
responded my lord and master.

"Big or little!" I couldn't help amending, in spite of all my good
intentions.

Dinky-Dunk ignored the thrust, though it plainly took an effort.

"There are times when even kindness can be a sort of cruelty," he
patiently and somewhat platitudinously pursued.

"Then I wish somebody would ill-treat me along that line," I
interjected. And this time he smiled, though it was only for a
moment.

"Supposing we stick to the children," he suggested.

"Of course," I agreed. "And since you've brought the matter up I can't
help telling you that I always felt that my love for my children is
the one redeeming thing in my life."

"Thanks," said my husband, with a wince.

"Please don't misunderstand me. I'm merely trying to say that a
mother's love for her children has to be one of the strongest and
holiest things in this hard old world of ours. And it seems only
natural to me that a woman should consider her children first, and
plan for them, and make sacrifices for them, and fight for them if she
has to."

"It's so natural, in fact," remarked Dinky-Dunk, "that it has been
observed in even the Bengal tigress."

"It is my turn to thank you," I acknowledged, after giving his
statement a moment or two of thought.

"But we're getting away from the point again," proclaimed my husband.
"I've been trying to tell you that children are like rabbits: It's
only fit and proper they should be cared for, but they can't thrive,
and they can't even live, if they're handled too much."

"I haven't observed any alarming absence of health in my children," I
found the courage to say. But a tightness gathered about my heart, for
I could sniff what was coming.

"They may be all right, as far as that goes," persisted their lordly
parent. "But what I say is, too much cuddling and mollycoddl