she entered the dining-room. An extraordinarily long, thin man was
stretched out in one arm chair, Amos in the other.

"You ought to sit in the parlor, Dad," said Lydia, reproachfully.

"It's too stuffy," said Amos.

"Oh, hello, young Lydia!" said the tall man. "Come here and let me
look at you."

Levine drew the child to his knee. She looked with a clear
affectionate gaze on his thin smooth-shaven face, and into his tired
black eyes.

"Why do you always say 'young' Lydia?" asked the child.

"That's what I want to know, too," agreed Amos.

"Because, by heck! she's so young to be such an old lady." He smoothed
the short curly hair with a gesture that was indescribably gentle. "I
tell you what, young Lydia, if you were ten years older and I were ten
years younger--"

Lydia leaned against his knee and took a large bite of cake. "You'd
take me traveling, wouldn't you, Mr. Levine?" she said, comfortably.

"You bet I would, and you should have your heart's desire, whatever
that might be. If any one deserves it you do, young Lydia."

Amos nodded and Lydia looked at them both with a sort of puzzled