wrong. She was still in the limbos of primitivism. She was young with
the babyhood of the world. To-day she danced up to her father with
her little thrill of laughter, at once as meaningless and as full of
meaning as the trill of a canary. She pursed up her little lips for a
kiss, she flung frantic arms of adoration around his neck. She clung
to him, when he lifted her, with all her little embracing limbs; she
pressed her lovely, cool, rosy cheek against his, and laughed again.

"Now go and kiss mamma," said Harry.

But the baby resisted with a little, petulant murmur when he tried to
set her down. She still clung to him. Harry whispered in her ear.

"Go and kiss mamma, darling."

But Evelyn shook her head emphatically against his face. Maria,
almost as radiant in her youth as the child, stood behind her. She
glanced uneasily at Ida. She held the white fur robes and wraps which
she had brought in from the sledge.

"Take those things out and let Emma put them away, dear," Ida said to
her. She smiled, but her voice still retained its involuntary
harshness.

Maria obeyed with an uneasy glance at little Evelyn. She knew that
her step-mother was angry because the baby would not kiss her. When
she was out in the dining-room, giving the fluffy white things to the
maid, she heard a shriek, half of grief, half of angry dissent, from
the baby. She immediately ran back into the parlor. Ida was removing
the child's outer garments, smiling as ever, and with seeming