ot, very crumpled, very solemn, and very much out of tune with one
another, they were astonished to see a little eager-faced boy dash out
of the house and run wildly to meet them, shouting as he came.

"Why, Lawrence _Marshall_!" cried his mother, picking him up in strong
arms; "how ever in the world did you get here!"

"Father brungded me," cried the child, clasping her tightly around the
neck. "We got so lonesome for Mother we couldn't wait."

And then Sylvia had stamped on her mind a picture which was to come
back later--her father's face and eyes as he ran down the steps to
meet his wife. For he looked at his daughters only afterwards, as they
were all walking along together, much excited, everybody talking at
once, and hanging on everybody's arm."... Yes, Buddy's right! We
found we missed you so, we decided life wasn't worth it. You don't
know, Barbara, what it's like without you--you don't _know_!"

Her father's voice sounded to Sylvia so loud, so gay, so vital, so
inexpressibly welcome.... She leaped up at his face like a young
dog, for another kiss. "Oh, I'm _awfully_ glad you came!" she cried,
wondering a little herself at the immensity of her relief. She thought
that she must get him by himself quickly and tell him her side of that
hospital story, before her mother and Judith began on any virtuous
raptures over it.

But there was no consecutive talk about anything after they all were
joyfully gathered in their ugly, commonplace boarding-house bedroom.
They loosened collars and belts, washed their perspiring and dusty
faces, and brushed hair, to the tune of a magpie chatter. Sylvia did
not realize that she and her father were the main sources of this
volubility, she did not realize how she had missed his exuberance, she
only knew that she felt a weight lifted from her heart. She had been
telling him with great enjoyment of the comic opera they had seen, as
she finished putting the hairpins into her freshly smoothed hair, and
turned, a pin still in her mouth, in time to be almost abashed by the
expression in his eyes as he suddenly drew his wife to him.

"Jove! Barbara!" he cried, half laughing, but with a quiver in his
voice, "it's hell to be happily married! A separation is--well, never
mind about it. I came along anyhow! And now I'm here I'll go to see
Vic of course."

"No, you won't," said Judith promptly. "She's gone back. To get Arnold
out of a scrape."

Mrs. Marshall explained further, and incide