wful!"

"Well, you don't own the yacht club, you know, Babbie," Ted supplied
sweetly.

"Well," said Barbara, rising, and speaking quickly in a low voice, "of
course the whole family, including Addie and Hee, can troop down there
if they want to, but I think it's too bad that I can't do a thing in
this family without being tagged by a bunch of _kids_!"

The door closed behind her; they could hear her running upstairs.

"Now she'll cry; she's getting to be an awful cry baby," said Janey,
wide eyed, pleasurably excited.

"Doesn't seem very well, does she, Mummie? Not a bit like herself," said
the head of the house, raising mild eyebrows.

"Now, never mind; she's just a little bit tired and excited over this
'Amazon' thing," Mrs. Toland assured him cheerfully, "and she'll have a
little talk with Mother by and by, and be her sweet self again by lunch
time!"

The little episode was promptly blotted out by the rising tide of
laughter and conversation that was usual at breakfast. Miss Toland
presently drifted into the study for some letter writing. Jim took a
deep porch rocker, and carried off the morning papers. Richie, sitting
at his father's left, squared about for one of the eager rambling talks
of which he and his father never tired. The doctor's blue eyes twinkled
over his theories of religion, science, history, poetry, and philosophy.
Richie's lean, colourless face was bright with interest. Ted
volunteered, as she often volunteered of late, to go for the mail, and
sauntered off under a red parasol, and Mrs. Toland slipped from the
table just in time to waylay her oldest son in the hall.

"Not going to catch the 9:40, Ned?" she asked.

"Sure pop I am!" He was sorry to be caught, and she saw it under his
bluff, pleasant manner.

"You couldn't take the 10:20 with Dad and Jim?"

"I've got to meet Reynolds at half-past ten, Mother," the boy said
patiently.

"Reynolds!" she frowned. "Don't like my fine big boy to have friends
like that--" His eyes warned her. "Friends that aren't as fine and dear
and good as he is!" she finished, her hands on his shoulders.

"Reynolds is all right," said Ned, bored, and looking coldly beyond her.

"And you'll be home for dinner, Ned?"

"Sure! Unless the Orpheum should be awfully long. In that case we may
get a bite somewhere."

"Try to be home for dinner," persisted the mother. And, as if to warrant
the claim on his consideration, she added: "I paid the Cutter bill
myself,