mother must decide. He's so busy he hasn't time to see about
children. He has to make the money to buy us--"

"Milk." Channing pushed his plate back. "I hate milk. Gee! I'm
full. You can have my salad, Dorothea, if you'll give me your
ice-cream. It didn't make you sick the day you ate all that lady
left."

"You ate leavings!" Laine's voice made effort to be horrified.
"Dorothea Warrick ate leavings from a lady's plate!"

"It wasn't leavings. She didn't touch it. I was peeping through the
door and I heard her say she never ate trash. It was grand. Nobody
told me not to eat it, and I ate."

"An inherited habit, my dear." Laine put the almonds, the olives,
and the mints beyond the reach of little arms. "Once upon a time
there was a lady who lived in a garden and she ate something she
ought not to have eaten and thereby made great trouble. She had been
told not to, but being a woman--"

"I know about her. She was Eve." Dorothea took some almonds from
her uncle's plate and put one in her mouth. "She was made out of
Adam's rib, and Adam was made out of the dust of the earth. Ever
since she ate that apple everybody has been made of dust, Antoinette
says."

Channing sat upright, in his big blue eyes doubt and distress. "Was
Dorothea and me made out of dust, Uncle Winthrop?"