antly, he turned his steps toward the nursery, and,
with a frown, knocked and pushed open the door.

"Is Mrs. Henshaw here?" he demanded, not over gently.

Absolute silence greeted his question. The man saw then that there was
no one in the room save a baby sitting on a mat in the middle of the
floor, barricaded on all sides with pillows.

With a deeper frown the man turned to go, when a gleeful "Ah--goo!"
halted his steps midway. He wheeled sharply.

"Er--eh?" he queried, uncertainly eyeing his small son on the floor.

"Ah--goo!" observed the infant (who had been very lonesome), with
greater emphasis; and this time he sent into his father's eyes the most
bewitching of smiles.

"Well, by George!" murmured the man, weakly, a dawning amazement driving
the frown from his face.

"Spgggh--oo--wah!" gurgled the boy, holding out two tiny fists.

A slow smile came to the man's face.

"Well, I'll--be--darned," he muttered half-shamefacedly, wholly
delightedly. "If the rascal doesn't act as if he--knew me!"

"Ah--goo--spggghh!" grinned the infant, toothlessly, but entrancingly.

With almost a stealthy touch Cyril closed the door back of him, and
advanced a little dubiously toward his son. His countenance carried a
mixture of guilt, curiosity, and dogged determination so ludicrous that
it was a pity none but baby eyes could see it. As if to meet more
nearly on a level this baffling new acquaintance, Cyril got to his
knees--somewhat stiffly, it must be confessed--and faced his son.

"Goo--eee--ooo--yah!" crowed the baby now, thrashing legs and arms about
in a transport of joy at the acquisition of this new playmate.

"Well, well, young man, you--you don't say so!" stammered the
growingly-proud father, thrusting a plainly timid and unaccustomed
finger toward his offspring. "So you do know me, eh? Well, who am I?"

"Da--da!" gurgled the boy, triumphantly clutching the outstretched
finger, and holding on with a tenacity that brought a gleeful chuckle to
the lips of the man.

"Jove! but aren't you the strong little beggar, though! Needn't tell me
you don't know a good thing when you see it! So I'm 'da-da,' am I?"
he went on, unhesitatingly accepting as the pure gold of knowledge the
shameless imitation vocabulary his son was foisting upon him. "Well, I
expect I am, and--"

"Oh, Cyril!" The door had opened, and Marie was in the room. If she gave
a start of surprise at her husband's unaccustomed attitude, she quickly
c