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WALTER BARRINGTON

is just the age to be afraid of getting chaffed, you see, and is very sensitive, poor lad! And I couldn't trust the little ones with servants."

"No," I replied, remembering my wife's words. "You cannot trust them to be careful when the little ones come out of the hot rooms and into the cold air." I dropped my voice and hesitated. "You have no wife, perhaps?"

"She is away just now. Yes, in the country for a time." He looked at me rather sharply, I fancied; then turned to the children. "That is my Lily over there, see—the pretty little dark girl. Doesn't she dance well? Look how light she is; you can hardly see her feet And that—no, not the girl with the red head——"

"That's my little girl," I said, not offended, for Milly was really the prettiest child in the room; but he did not seem to hear, and took no notice.

"You see that fine little chap leaning against the door, quite like a man of many seasons," he continued, laughing. "Isn't he a funny little fellow? That's my Bobby." He raised his voice. "Bobby, I want you."

Bobby did not pretend to hear till he was