there, his great bulk made her seem smaller than she really was.
With her hair down and her little red slippers dangling half a yard
from the floor, she seemed a child. McEachern, looking at her, found
it hard to realize that nineteen years had passed since the moment
when the doctor's raised eyebrows had reproved him for his
monosyllabic reception of the news that the baby was a girl.

"Do you know what the time is?" he said. "Two o'clock."

"Much too late for you to be sitting here smoking," said Molly,
severely. "How many cigars do you smoke a day? Suppose you had
married someone who wouldn't let you smoke!"

"Never stop your husband smoking, my dear. That's a bit of advice
for you when you're married."

"I'm never going to marry. I'm going to stop at home, and darn your
socks."

"I wish you could," he said, drawing her closer to him. "But one of
these days you're going to marry a prince. And now run back to bed.
It's much too late--"

"It's no good, father dear. I couldn't get to sleep. I've been
trying hard for hours. I've counted sheep till I nearly screamed.
It's Rastus' fault. He snores so!"

Mr. McEachern regarded the erring bull-dog sternly.

"Why do you have the brutes in your room?"