would carry into their own middle age a wholesome dread of her anger.
Margaret faltered, and merely scowled.

"I don't like to see that expression on your face, dearie," her mother
said, as she might have said it to an eight-year-old child. "Be my
sweet girl! Why, marriage isn't marriage without children, Mark. I've
been thinking all week of having a baby in my arms again,--it's so
long since Rob was a baby."

Margaret devoted herself, with a rather sullen face, to her dessert.
Mother would never feel as she did about these things, and what was
the use of arguing? In the silence she heard her father speak loudly
and suddenly.

"I am not in a position to have my children squander money on concerts
and candy," he said. Margaret forgot her own grievance, and looked up.
The boys looked resentful and gloomy; Rebecca was flushed, her eyes
dropped, her lips trembling with disappointment.

"I had promised to take them to the Elks Concert and dance," Mrs.
Paget interpreted hastily. "But now Dad says the Bakers are coming
over to play whist."

"Is it going to be a good show, Ted?" Margaret asked.

"Oh," Rebecca flashed into instant glowing response. "It's going
to be a dandy! Every one's going to be there! Ford Patterson is
going to do a monologue,--he's as good as a professional!--and
George is going to send up a bunch of carrots and parsnips! And
the Weston Male Quartette, Mark, and a playlet by the Hunt's