a moment he said, scowling a little,
and not looking up:

"A fellow like that has pretty smooth sailing. Rich, the son of a big
man, traveling all he wants to, studio in New York, clubs--"

"Oh, Richard has his troubles," Sidney said. "His wife is very
delicate, and they lost their little girl... Are you angry with me
about anything, Barry?" she broke off, puzzled and distressed, for this
unresponsive almost sullen manner was unlike anything she had ever seen
in him.

But a moment later he turned toward her with his familiar sunny smile.

"Why didn't you say so before?" he said sheepishly.

"Say--?" she echoed bewilderedly. Then, with a sudden rush of
enlightenment, "Why, Barry, you're not JEALOUS?"

A second later she would have given much to have the words unsaid. They
faced each other in silence, the colorviolently.

"Yes, you shall, darling. But listen, do you want to hear the
tick-tock? Oh, Paul, sit still just one minute!"

"Awn ge' DOWN," said Paul, distinctly, every fibre of his small being
headed, as it were, for the pebbly shingle where it was daily his
delight to dig.

"But say 'deck' first, sweetheart, say 'Deck, I love you,'" besought
the mistress of the Hall.

"Deck!" shouted Paul obediently, eyes on the river.

"And a sweet kiss!" further stipulated Mrs. Burgoyne, and grabbed it
from his small, red, unresponsive mouth before she let him toddle away.
"Yes," she resumed, going on with the tucking of a small skirt, "Joanna
and Jeanette and the Adams boy have to write an essay this week about
the Battle of Bunker Hill, so I read them Holmes' poem, and they acted
it all out. You never