Munty himself caught the refrain. He was recalled to a day when mud pies
had been to him also things of surpassing joy. There was a day when, a
naked and very ugly little boy, he had danced beside a mountain burn.

He looked upon his daughter and his daughter looked upon him; they were
friends for ever and ever. She rose; her fingers were so sticky with mud
that they stood apart; down her right cheek ran a fine black smear; her
knees were caked.

"Good heavens!" he exclaimed. She flung herself upon him and kissed him;
down his cheek also now a fine smear marked its way.

He looked at his watch--one o'clock. "Good heavens!" he said again. "I
say, old girl, we'll have to be going. Mother's got a party." He tried
ineffectually to cleanse his daughter's face.

"We'll come back," she cried, looking down triumphantly upon her
handiwork.

"We'll have to smuggle you up into the nursery somehow." But he added,
"Yes, we'll come again."


V

They hurried home. Very furtively Munty Boss fitted his key into the
Yale lock of his fine door. They slipped into the hall. There before
them were Mrs. Ross and two of her most splendid friends. Very fine was
Munty's wife in a tight-clinging frock of light blue, and wearing upon
her head a hat like a waste-paper basket with a blue handle at the back