lizing hint of curl in
his soft, surprisingly thick, fawn-colored hair. Already, it was quite
evident that he had his mother's sensitive, affectionate nature. If only
his father had picked him up, occasionally, had talked to him now and
then, he scarcely could have resisted the little fellow's crowing,
sweet-tempered, responsive charm, but resentment at the annoyance of his
presence was now excessive. For the present, Martin's only concern in
his son consisted in seeing to it that his effacement was as nearly
complete as possible.

The long-impending clash came one evening after a sultry, dusty day when
Rose, occupied with a large washing in the morning and heavy work in
the dairy in the afternoon, realized with compunction that never had she
come so near to neglecting her boy. Tired and hot from fretting, he had
been slow about going to sleep, and was just dozing off, when Martin
came in, worn out and hungry.

"Isn't supper ready yet?"

"All but frying the sausage," Rose answered, achieving a pleasant tone
in spite of her jadedness. "He's almost turning the corner--hear his
little sleepy song? Sit down and cool off. I'll have it ready by the
time you and the boys are washed."

Under its thick coat of tan, Martin's face went white. "I've had enough
of this," he announced levelly. "You'll put him down and fry that meat."

"Wait just a minute," she coaxed; "he'll be off for the night and if you
wake him, he'll cry and get all worked up."

"You heard what I said." His tone was vibrant with determination. "How
am I going to keep hired men if you treat them like this? When they come
in to eat, they want to find their food on the table."

"This doesn't often happen any more and they know, good and well, I make
it up to them in other ways," returned Rose truthfully.

For answer, he crossed over to her quickly, reached down and took the
baby from her.

"What are you going to do with him?" she demanded, a-tremble with rage
and a sense of impotent helplessness, as, avoiding her quick movement,
Martin went into the bedroom.

"Let him go to sleep as other children do, while you finish getting
supper. Do you want to make a sissy of him?"

"A lot you care what he becomes!" she flashed, conflicting impulses
contending for mastery, as Billy, now thoroughly awake and seeing
his mother, began to cry, pleading to her with big blue eyes and
out-stretched arms to take him. She started forward, but Martin stepped
between hersel