in bed and eyed him.

"Have you come to punish me?" she asked.

"Something like that."

"Go ahead," said she.

He sat down on the edge of her bed and looked at her. Max was right;
she was no prize beauty, with her baby face like an old woman's, with
her nondescript features, her short brown hair. But her eyes were
disturbing--big dusky, wise eyes, with no effect of childishness.

"Look here, Isabelle, why do you act like this?" That was regular
parent-talk, so she made no answer.

"Here you are, four years old, and you can't behave at your own party,"
he continued.

"I hate parties."

"Well, but you have to have parties."

"Why?"

"Oh, all children do."

"Nasty things! I hate 'em all, except Patsy."

"Hate those nice little girls?"

"Yes!"--hotly.

"And those handsome boys?"

"Yes. They're ugly. Patsy is handsome."

"Why are you so crazy about this Patsy?"

"Because he always does what I say." Wally stifled a smile.

"But don't you know you mustn't take off your clothes before mixed
company?"

"But we were playing barbarian."

"Well, you shouldn't play that kind of game."

"Why not?"

"Because----" He floundered. "Now, look here, you must never take off
your clothes again."

"Not when I go to bed?"--with interest.

"I mean before people."

"Not before Miss Wilder, or Mary?"

"Don't be stupid," he exploded. "You know what I mean--before boys and
girls."

"Why not?"

"Because it isn't nice. Don't you know what modesty is?"

"No; what is it?"

"It's--it's--well, it's just that you mustn't show your body to people."

"Isn't my face my body?"

"That's different. Everybody shows his face." She considered that.

"If everybody showed their bodies it would be nice, wouldn't it?"

"No," Wally said, harshly, because he felt she was making a fool of him.

"But the barbarians never wore any clothes, and they were nice."

"That's different. They didn't know any better."

"Didn't they? Why didn't God tell them any better?"

"I don't know."

"Did Jesus wear clothes?" she inquired.

"Who?" he demanded, caught unawares.

"Jesus. You know, God's boy," she replied, earnestly.

"Of course he wore clothes," Wally protested.

"Why didn't he tell the barbarians?"

"O Lord, I don't know. This has got nothing to do with your performance
this afternoon," Wally urged, trying to get back to the subject and on
to solid ground.

"What kind of punishing are you going to do?" she inquired.