brings the cries--lots of times."

He had seated himself on the floor. The puppy was in spasms of excitement
over the discovery of a considerable expanse of bare legs.

"Are they sorry they're not as old as somebody else?" he asked, trying to
get his legs out of the puppy's lurching reach.

"No, they're usually able to endure the grief brought them by that
thought."

"Aunt Kate?"

"Oh--_yes_?" It was a good story.

"Would Miss Ann be sorry she's not as old as you?"

"Hateful, ungrateful little wretch!"

"Aunt Kate?"

"I am all attention, Wayneworth," she said, with inflection which should
not have been wasted on ears too young.

"Do you know, Aunt Kate, sometimes I don't know just what you're
talking about."

"No? Really? And this from your sex to mine!"

"Do you always say what you mean, Aunt Kate?"

"Very seldom."

"Why not?"

"Somebody might find out what I thought."

"Don't you want them to know what you think, Aunt Kate?" he pursued,
making a complete revolution and for the instant evading the
frisking puppy.

"Certainly not."

"But why not, Aunt Kate?"--squirming as the puppy placed a long warm lick
right below the knee.

"Oh, I don't know." The story was getting better. Then, looking up with
Kate's queer smile: "It might hurt their feelings."

"Why would it--?"

"Oh, Wayneworth Jones! Why were you born with your brain cells screwed
into question marks?--and _why_ do I have to go through life getting them
unscrewed?"

She actually read a paragraph; and as there she had to turn a page she
looked over at Ann. Ann's puppy had joined Worth's on the floor and
together they were indulging in bites of puppyish delight at the little
boy's legs, at each other's tails, at so much of the earth's atmosphere
as came within range of their newly created jaws craving the exercise of
their function. Mad with the joy of living were those two collie pups on
that essentially live and joyous morning.

And Ann, if not mad with the joy of living, seemed sensible of the wonder
of it. "Days in Florence" open on her lap, hands loose upon it, she was
looking off at the river. From hard thoughts of other days Kate could
see her drawn to that day--its softness and sunshine, its breath of the
river and breath of the trees. Folded in the arms of that day was Ann
just then. The breeze stirred a little wisp of hair on her temple--gently
swayed the knot of ribbon at her throat. The spring was wooing Ann; her
face