the way men have."

Bertrand Ballard looked down and patted his little daughter's head,
then caught her up and placed her on his knee. He realized suddenly
that his child was an entity unfathomed, separate from himself,
working out her own individuality almost without guidance, except such
as he and his Mary were unconsciously giving to her by their daily
acts and words.

"What books are those you have there? Don't you know you mustn't take
father's Shakespeare out and leave it on the grass?"

Betty laughed. "How did you know I had Shakespeare?"

"Didn't you say you 'Would like a part to tear a cat in'?"

"Oh, have you read 'Midsummer Night's Dream'?" She lifted her head
from his bosom and eyed him gravely a moment, then snuggled
comfortably down again. "But then, I suppose you have read everything."
Her father and Peter both laughed.

"Were you reading 'Midsummer Night's Dream' out there?"

"No, I've read that lots of times--long ago. I'm reading 'The Merry
Wives of Windsor' now."

"Mary, Mary, do you hear this? I think it's time our Betty had a
little supervision in her reading."

Mary Ballard came to the door from the tea table where she had been
arranging her little set of delicate china, her one rare treasure and
inheritance. "Yes, I knew she was reading--whatever she fancied, but I
thought I wouldn't interfere--not yet. I have so little time, for one
thing, and, anyway, I thought she might browse a bit. She's like a
calf in rare pastures, and I don't think she understands enough to do
her harm--or much good, either. Those things slide off from her like
water off a duck's back."

Betty looked anxiously up at her mother. What things was she missing?
She must read them all over again.

"What else have you out there, Betty?" asked her father.

Betty dropped her head shamefacedly. She never knew when she was in
the right and when wrong. Sometimes the very things which seemed most
right to her were most wrong. "That's 'Paradise Lost.' It was an old
book, father. There was a tear in the back when I took it down. I like
to read about Satan. I like to read about the mighty hosts and the
angels and the burning lake. Is that hell? I was pretending if the
bees swarmed that they would be the mighty host of bad angels falling
out of heaven."

Again Peter flung back his head and laughed. He looked at the child
with new interest, but Betty did not smile back at him. She did not
like being laughed at.

"It's tru