cry since the day of Ferdinand Brandeis' death. She scrambled
out of her chair and thrust her head down next her mother's, so that her
hot, smooth cheek touched the wet, cold one. "Mother, don't! Don't Molly
dearie. I can't bear it. I'm going to cry too. Do you think I care for
old dresses and things? I should say not. It's going to be fun going
without things. It'll be like having a secret or something. Now stop,
and let's talk about it."

Molly Brandeis wiped her eyes, and sat up, and smiled. It was a watery
and wavering smile, but it showed that she was mistress of herself
again.

"No," she said, "we just won't talk about it any more. I'm tired, that's
what's the matter with me, and I haven't sense enough to know it. I'll
tell you what. I'm going to put on my kimono, and you'll make some
fudge. Will you? We'll have a party, all by ourselves, and if Mattie
scolds about the milk to-morrow you just tell her I said you could. And
I think there are some walnut meats in the third cocoa can on the shelf
in the pantry. Use 'em all."

CHAPTER SIX

Theodore came home at twelve o'clock that night. He had gone to Bauer's
studio party after all. It was the first time he had deliberately
disobeyed his mother in a really big thing. Mrs. Brandeis and Fanny had
nibbled fudge all evening (it had turned out deliciously velvety) and
had gone to bed at their usual time. At half past ten Mrs. Brandeis had
wakened with the instinctive feeling that Theodore was not in the house.
She lay there, wide awake, staring into the darkness until eleven. Then
she got up and went into his room, though she knew he was not there.
She was not worried as to his whereabouts or his well-being. That same
instinctive feeling told her where he was. She was very angry, and a
little terrified at the significance of his act. She went back to bed
again, and she felt the blood pounding in her head. Molly Brandeis had a
temper, and it was surging now, and beating against the barriers of her
self-control.

She told herself, as she lay there, that she must deal with him coolly
and firmly, though she wanted to spank him. The time for spankings was
past. Some one was coming down the street with a quick, light step. She
sat up in bed, listening. The steps passed the house, went on. A half
hour passed. Some one turned the corner, whistling blithely. But, no, he
would not be whistling, she told herself. He would sneak in, quietly. It
was a little after twelve