annoying, I'm told. The nurses seem to know. We began adopting our
children as soon as we came into possession of my Uncle Joseph's
money. Up to that time, we had hesitated about having other people's
children on our hands and minds. Of course you'll understand that
poverty could never have stood in the way of our having children of
our own. God simply did not choose to give them to us. The old saying,
'a poor man for children,' did not work very well in my case. Mrs.
Bingle is ten years younger than I. She is a strong, normal woman. I
never could understand why--er--and neither could she, for that
matter. As soon as we came into this fortune, or, more accurately
speaking, after we had returned from our first trip to California and
a short visit to Chicago, we adopted Kathleen. She was the daughter of
a young woman who--but, never mind. We sha'n't go into that. She was
about two years old. At once it occurred to both of us that it would
be a fine idea to have a boy to grow up with her. So we called in the
stork. He happened to have a splendid, left-over, unclaimed two-year-
old boy in stock, so we took him. That was Frederick. Then, a friend
of mine--a widower who worked as a bookkeeper alongside of me, chap
named Jenkins--died very suddenly, leaving a little girl just under
eighteen months of age. That's how we got Marie Louise. And so it
goes, Mr. Flanders, right up to date. Henrietta and Guinevere are
almost twins. Six weeks between 'em. They--"

"You mean in respect to age or--"

"In respect to their arrival. Guinevere came much sooner than was
anticipated, you might say. Little Imogene came the twenty-sixth of
last September. She cries a good deal. I am inclined to think she's
getting her wisdom teeth."