at.

From above came a sweet, high, little call, "Mo-o-o-ther!" Oh, a
respite--Mark was awake!

His mother sprang upstairs to snatch at him as he lay, rosy and smiling
and sleepy. She bent over him intoxicated by his beauty, by the
flower-perfection of his skin, by the softness of his sleep-washed eyes.

She heard almost as distinctly as though the voice were in her ear, "Oh,
you mothers use your children as other people use drugs. The
child-habit, the drug-habit, the baby-habit, the morphine habit . . . two
different ways of getting away from reality." That was what Marsh had
said one day. What terribly tarnishing things he did say. How they did
make you question everything. She wondered what Neale would say to them.

She hoped to have a letter from Neale today. She hoped so, suddenly,
again, with such intensity, such longing, such passion that she said to
herself, "What nonsense that was, that came into my head, out on the
road in the dark, the other night, that Neale and I had let the
flood-tide of emotion ebb out of our hearts! What could have put such a
notion into my head?" What crazy, fanciful creatures women are! Always
reaching out for the moon. Yes, that must have been the matter with her
lately, that Neale was away. She missed him so, his strength and courage
and affection.

"I'm awfully hungry," remarked Mark in her ear. "I feel the hole right
_here_." He laid a small shapely hand on the center of his pajama-clad
body, but he kept the other hand and arm around his mother's neck, and
held her close where he had pulled her to him in his little bed. As he
spoke he rubbed his peach-like cheek softly against hers.

A warm odor of sleep and youth and clean, soaped skin came up from him.
His mother buried her face in it as in a flower.

"Ooh!" he cried, laughing richly, "you're tickling me."

"I _mean_ to tickle you!" she told him savagely, worrying him as a
mother-cat does her kitten. He laughed delightedly, and wriggled to
escape her, kicking his legs, pushing at her softly with his hands,
reaching for the spot back of her ear. "I'll tickle _you_," he crowed,
tussling with her, disarranging her hair, thudding his little body
against her breast, as he thrashed about. The silent house rang with
their laughter and cries.

They were both flushed, with lustrous eyes, when the little boy finally
squirmed himself with a bump off the bed and slid to the floor.

At this point the kitten came walking in, innocen