ed at him hopelessly. "Do go and brush your
hair. If you could see how you've tousled it you would."

He gave her a dazed glance and strode from the room.

Jane looked after him placidly. "Didn't he talk funny!" she murmured.

"Yes, dear," said Mrs. Baxter. She shook her head and uttered the
enigmatic words, "They do."

"I mean Willie, mamma," said Jane. "If it's anything about Miss Pratt.
he always talks awful funny. Don't you think Willie talks awful funny if
it's anything about Miss Pratt, mamma?"

"Yes, but--"

"What, mamma?" Jane asked as her mother paused.

"Well--it happens. People do get like that at his age, Jane."

"Does everybody?"

"No, I suppose not everybody. Just some."

Jane's interest was roused. "Well, do those that do, mamma," she
inquired, "do they all act like Willie?"

"No," said Mrs. Baxter. "That's the trouble; you can't tell what's
coming."

Jane nodded. "I think I know," she said. "You mean Willie--"

William himself interrupted her. He returned violently to the doorway,
his hair still tousled, and, standing upon the threshold, said, sternly:

"What is that child wearing her best dress for?"

"Willie!" Mrs. Baxter cried. "Go brush your hair!"

"I wish to know what that child is all dressed up for?" he insisted.

"To please you! Don't you want her to look her best at your tea?"

"I thought that was it!" he cried, and upon this confirmation of his
worst fears he did increased violence to his rumpled hair. "I suspected
it, but I wouldn't 'a' believed it! You mean to let this child--you
mean to let--" Here his agitation affected his throat and his utterance
became clouded. A few detached phrases fell from him: "--Invite MY
friends--children's party--ye gods!--think Miss Pratt plays dolls--"

"Jane will be very good," his mother said. "I shouldn't think of not
having her, Willie, and you needn't bother about your friends; they'll
be very glad to see her. They all know her, except Miss Pratt, perhaps,
and--" Mrs. Baxter paused; then she asked, absently: "By the way,
haven't I heard somewhere that she likes pretending to be a little girl,
herself?"

"WHAT!"

"Yes," said Mrs. Baxter, remaining calm; "I'm sure I've heard somewhere
that she likes to talk 'baby-talk.'"

Upon this a tremor passed over William, after which he became rigid.
"You ask a lady to your house," he began, "and even before she gets
here, before you've even seen her, you pass judgment upon one of
the--one