round me! I suppose its because, though he is provoking, he is never
irritating. And he's as much of a fool as I was at his age! That keeps
me fair to him. Well, he has _stuff_ in him, that boy. He's as truthful
as Edith; an appalling tribute, I know--but you like it in a cub. And
there's no flapdoodle about him; and he never cried baby in his life.
And he has imagination and music and poetry! Edith is a nice little clod
compared to him."

The affection of these two people for Maurice could hardly have been
greater if he had been their son. "Mother loves Maurice better 'an she
loves me," Edith used to reflect; "I guess it's because he never gets
muddy the way I do, and tracks dirt into the house. He wipes his feet."

"What do you suppose," Mrs. Houghton said, remembering this summing up
of things, "Edith told me this morning that the reason I loved Maurice
more than I loved her--"

"What!"

"Yes; isn't she funny?--was because he 'wiped his feet when he came into
the house.'"

Edith's father stopped whistling, and smiled: "That child is as
practical as a shuttle; but she hasn't a mean streak in her!" he said,
with satisfaction, and began to whistle again. "Nice girl," he said,
after a while; "but the most rationalizing youngster! I hope she'll get
foolish before she falls in love. Mary, one of these days, when she
grows up, perhaps she and Maurice--?"

"Matchmaker!" she said, horrified; then objected: "Can't she