was too much excited now to stand on ceremony, and he followed Lizzie
into the dining-room.

"This won't do, Dudley. These wild young ones of yours--"

"Wait a minute, Marshall," interrupted Amos, with a dignity that he had
brought with him from New England. "Margery is all right, so we can go
over this thing calmly. Sit down and listen to Lydia's story. Tell
him, Lydia."

Lydia left her place and crowded up against her father's side. Old
Lizzie was holding the baby.

"It was like this," Lydia began. "Baby and me were going to play by
ourselves under the willows. Then Kent, he came and he played pirates
with us."

"Why wasn't Kent out playing with the boys?" interrupted Marshall.

Lydia's eyes widened. "Why, I'm as good as a boy to play with, any
day! Mostly he does play with other boys, but when they aren't round,
he and I play pirates. And then, right after we'd had our lunch,
Margery she came along and Kent and I were mad--"

The child paused uncomfortably and rubbed her curly yellow head with
her thin little hand in an embarrassed way.

"Why were you mad, Lydia?" In spite of himself, Marshall's voice was
softening, as Amos had known it would. Lydia made a deep appeal
somehow to the tenderness of men.