of development. I don't mind saying to you, Force, she's my favourite.
It's a dreadful thing to say, but I'd rather lose any one of them--or
all of them--than to lose Kathie. I love her with all my heart."

Flanders was shaking hands with the small boys, Mrs. Bingle looking on
with placid approval.

"What's your name, my little man?"

"Abraham."

"Ahem!" coughed Mrs. Bingle, with a violent start.

"Reginald, sir," gasped he whose memory was still faithful when under
the pressure of excitement.

"I see," said Flanders, smiling down into Mrs. Bingle's embarrassed
eyes. "Lapsus linguae, Mrs. Bingle."

"My French is very--" began Mrs. Bingle plaintively.

"Do you like Santa Claus, Reginald?" interrupted Flanders.

"I like him better'n I do Dickens," confessed Reginald with
considerable positiveness. "Say, what's your name?"

"My name is Dick."

"Gee! Deadwood Dick, the road-agent? The feller Melissa is always
telling us about? Hey, kids, here's--"