wall-paper there is in the world, and the name of every carpet, and
the name of every curtain, and the name of--everything. And I haven't
got any house at all--"

Then startlingly, without the slightest warning, she pitched forward
suddenly on her face and lay clutching into the turf--a little
dust-colored wisp of a boyish figure sobbing its starved heart out
against a dust-colored earth.

"Why--what's the matter!" gasped Barton. "Why!--Why--Kid!" Very
laboriously with his numbed hands, with his strange, unresponsive
legs, he edged himself forward a little till he could just reach her
shoulder. "Why--Kid!" he patted her rather clumsily. "Why, Kid--do you
mean--"

Slowly through the darkness Eve Edgarton came crawling to his side.
Solemnly she lifted her eyes to Barton's. "I'll tell you something
that Mother told me," she murmured. "This is it: 'Your father is the
most wonderful man that ever lived,' my mother whispered to me quite
distinctly. 'But he'll never make any home for you--except in his
arms; and that is plenty Home-Enough for a wife--but not nearly
Home-Enough for a daughter! And--and--"

"Why, you say it as if you knew it by heart," interrupted Barton.

"Why, of course I know it by heart!" cried little Eve Edgarton almost
eagerly. "My mother whispered it to me, I tell you! The things that
people shout at you--you forget in half a night. But the things that
people whisper to you, you remember to your dying day!"