ows and pigs
(pictographs as primitive as those which line the walls of cave
dwellings in Arizona) on which she gazed in ecstasy, silent till she
suddenly discovered that this effigy meant a cow, then she cried out,
"tee dee moomo!" with a joy which afforded me more satisfaction than any
acceptance of a story on the part of an editor had ever conveyed. Each
scrawl was to her a fresh revelation of the omniscience, the magic of
her father--therefore I drew and drew while her recreant mother sat on
the other side of the fire and watched us, a wicked smile of
amusement--and relief--on her lips.

My daughter was preternaturally interested in magazines,--that is to say
she was (at a very early age) vitally concerned with the advertising
columns, and forced me to spend a great deal of time turning the pages
while she discovered and admired the images of shoes, chairs, tables and
babies,--especially babies. It rejoiced her to discover in a book the
portrait of a desk which was actually standing in the room, and in
matching the fact with the artistic reproduction of the fact, she was,
no doubt, laying the foundation of an esthetic appreciation of the
universe, but I suffered. Only when she was hungry or sleepy did she
permit me, her art instructor, to take a vacation.

In the peaceful intervals when she was in her bed, her mother and I
discussed the question, "Where shall we make our winter home?"

My plan to take another apartment in New York seemed of a reckless
extravagance to Zulime, who argued for Chicago, and in the end we
compromised--on Chicago--where her father and brother and sister lived.
November found us settled in a furnished apartment on Jackson Park
Avenue, and our Christmas tree was set up there instead of in the
Homestead, which was the natural place for it.

Another phase of being Daddy now set in. To me, as a father, the City by
the Lake assumed a new and terrifying aspect. Its dirt, its chill winds,
its smoke appeared a pitiless league of forces assaulting the tender
form of my daughter. My interest in civic reforms augmented. The
problems of street cleaning and sanitary milk delivery approached me
from an entirely different angle. My sense of social justice was
quickened.

In other ways I admitted a change. Something had gone out of my world,
or rather something unexpected had come into it. I was no longer
whole-hearted in my enjoyment of my Club. My study hours were no longer
sacred. My cherub daught