Laine nodded at first one child and then the other. "What very piggy
relations I have," he said, opening his napkin. "Not a word of
greeting to an ancient uncle, but just an announcement of what there
is to eat. One would think you were starving."

"We are." Dorothea laid down her napkin and got up. "Excuse me for
leaving my seat, but mother 'said we could have a good time to-night,
and we can't if we're particular about manners. I hate manners. I
guess I get it from you, Uncle Winthrop. I heard Miss Robin French
say you didn't have any. She said she'd invited you to her house a
dozen times, and you'd never been once, or made a party call or
anything."

"What's a party call?" Channing's mouth was full of soup. "What's a
party call, Uncle Winthrop?"

"It's the penalty one has to pay for being invited where one doesn't
want to go. What were you saying, Dorothea?"

"I've forgotten. Channing is just as rude as if he were somebody!
Oh yes--I started to say I'm sorry we were piggy about mentioning the
food first. We've been crazy to see you. We had something to tell
you. I think I'll sit down here right by you; it's too far off
behind those flowers, and I'll kiss you now if you don't mind." And
Dorothea's arms were around her uncle's neck and her cheek was laid
lovingly to his.

"Of course." Laine unfastened the arms, drew the child's head down,
kissed her, and patted the little hands before sending their owner to
her seat. "Being the beginning of a woman you kiss and make up,