; sit down, Ida," said
Harry, still with that tone of command which was so foreign to him.

Ida hesitated a second, then she sat down. She realized the grace and
policy of yielding in a minor point, when she had a large one in
view. Then, too, she was in reality rather vulnerable to a sudden
attack, for a moment, although she was always as a rule sure of
ultimate victory. She was at a loss, moreover, to comprehend Harry's
manner, which was easily enough understood. He wished to be the first
to ascertain Maria's sentiments with regard to going away to school.
Without admitting it even to himself, he distrusted his wife's
methods and entire frankness.

Presently Maria entered, leading little Evelyn, who was unusually
sturdy on her legs for her age. She walked quite steadily, with an
occasional little hop and skip of exuberant childhood.

She could talk a little, in disconnected sentences, with fascinating
mistakes in the sounds of letters, but she preferred a gurgle of
laughter when she was pleased, and a wail of woe when things went
wrong. She was still in the limbos of primitivism. She was young with
the babyhood of the world. To-day she danced up to her father with
her little thrill of laughter, at once as meaningless and as full of
meaning as the trill of a canary. She pursed up her little lips for a
kiss, she flung frantic arms of adoration around his neck. She clung
to him, when he lifted her, with all her little embracing limbs; she
pressed her lovely, cool, rosy cheek against his, and laughed again.

"Now go and kiss mamma," said Harry.

But the baby resisted with a little, petulant murmur when he tried to
set her down. She still clung to him. Harry whispered in her ear.

"Go and kiss mamma, darling."

But Evelyn shook her head emphatically against his face. Maria,
almost as radiant in her youth as the child, stood behind her. She
glanced uneasily at Ida. She held the white fur robes and wraps which
she had brought in from the sledge.

"Take those things out and let Emma put them away, dear," Ida said to
her. She smiled, but her voice still retained its involuntary
harshness.

Maria obeyed with an uneasy glance at little Evelyn. She knew that
her step-mother was angry because the baby would not kiss her. When
she was out in the dining-room, giving the fluffy white things to the
maid, she heard a shriek, half of grief, half of angry dissent, from
the baby. She immediately ran back into the parlor. Ida wa