y are warranted to blend." Then quite suddenly:

"David, it's about the children. They are over nine. What happens,
physiologically, when children--girls--are--are nearly ten?"

"Deviltry, often. At nine they are too old to spank, too young to reason
with--it's the dangerous age, at least the outer circle of the dangerous
age." Martin tested the second sandwich.

"And the prescription? What do you prescribe for the dangerous age?"
Doris felt that it was best to edge toward the vital centre by
circuitous routes.

"Barrels and bungholes or what stands for barrels and bungholes--a good
school where a mixture of discipline with home ideals prevail. I know of
several where giddy little flappers are marvellously licked into shape
without danger of breaking. I've felt for some time that your kids
needed--well, not love and care, surely, but a practical understanding."

"Why didn't you tell me, David?"

"People never appreciate what they do not pay for. Now that you have
offered up this tribute to the animal of me, I know you are ready for
the other."

"The other, David?"

"Yes, the best of me. That always belongs to you."

This was daring, and it sent Doris to cover while she caught her breath.
David calmly ate on. After the sandwiches there was a bit of fruit cake
made from the recipe handed down from the days of Grandfather Fletcher.

"David, do you think mothers, I mean real mothers, have divine
intuitions about their children? Intuitions that, well, say, adopted
mothers never have?"

"No, I don't. The majority of mothers are vamps. They think they have a
strangle hold on their offspring; a right to mould or bully them out of
shape. The best school I know is run by a woman who says it takes her a
year to shake off the average mother; after that the child becomes an
individual and you can get a line on it."

"That's startling, David. It's hard, too, on mothers."

"Oh! I don't know. I often think if mothers could be friends to their
children, _real friends_, I mean, and not claim what no human being has
a right to claim from another, they'd reap a finer reward. I'd hate to
love a person from duty. The fifth commandment is the only one with a
promise. It needs it! What is the stuffing in this third sandwich,
Doris? It comes mighty near perfection."

"I never give away the tricks of my trade, David! And let me tell you,
you are mighty like a sandwich yourself--light and shade in layers; but
I reckon you are rig