he threw the chairs about with
increasing irritation, then giving up the search, he started hatless
toward the hallway. It was then that a soft babyish voice reached his
ear.

"Have you lost something, dear?" cooed Zoie.

Alfred hesitated. It was difficult to lower his dignity by answering
her, but he needed his headgear. "I want my hat," he admitted shortly.

"Your hat?" repeated Zoie innocently and she glanced around the room
with mild interest. "Maybe Mary took it."

"Mary!" cried Alfred, and thinking the mystery solved, he dashed toward
the inner hallway.

"Let ME get it, dear," pleaded Zoie, and she laid a small detaining hand
upon his arm as he passed.

"Stop it!" commanded Alfred hotly, and he shook the small hand from his
sleeve as though it had been something poisonous.

"But Allie," protested Zoie, pretending to be shocked and grieved.

"Don't you 'but Allie' me," cried Alfred, turning upon her sharply. "All
I want is my hat," and again he started in search of Mary.

"But--but--but Allie," stammered Zoie, as she followed him.

"But--but--but," repeated Alfred, turning on her in a fury. "You've
butted me out of everything that I wanted all my life, but you're not
going to do it again."

"You see, you said it yourself," laughed Zoie.

"Said WHAT," roared Alfred.

"But," tittered Zoie.

The remnants of Alfred's self-control were forsaking him. He clinched
his fists hard in a final effort toward restraint. "You'd just as well
stop all these baby tricks," he threatened between his teeth, "they're
not going to work. THIS time my mind is made up."

"Then why are you afraid to talk to me?" asked Zoie sweetly.

"Who said I was afraid?" demanded Alfred hotly.

"You ACT like it," declared Zoie, with some truth on her side. "You
don't want----" she got no further.

"All I want," interrupted Alfred, "is to get out of this house once and
for all and to stay out of it." And again he started in pursuit of his
hat.

"Why, Allie," she gazed at him with deep reproach. "You liked this place
so much when we first came here."

Again Alfred picked at the lint on his coat sleeve. Edging her way
toward him cautiously she ventured to touch his sleeve with the brush.

"I'll attend to that myself," he said curtly, and he sank into the
nearest chair to tie a refractory shoe lace.

"Let me brush you, dear," pleaded Zoie. "I don't wish you to start out
in the world looking unbrushed," she pouted. Then with a sly