Annoyed at being interrupted in the midst of his lullaby, to three,

Alfred looked up to see Maggie, hatless and out of breath, bursting into

the room, and destroying what was to him an ideally tranquil home scene.

But Maggie paid no heed to Alfred's look of inquiry. She made directly

for the side of Zoie's bed.

"If you plaze, mum," she panted, looking down at Zoie, and wringing her

hands.

"What is it?" asked Aggie, who had now reached the side of the bed.

"'Scuse me for comin' right in"--Maggie was breathing hard--"but me

mother sint me to tell you that me father is jus afther comin' home from

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work, and he's fightin' mad about the babies, mum."

"Sh! Sh!" cautioned Aggie and Zoie, as they glanced nervously toward

Alfred who was rising from his place beside the cradle with increasing

interest in Maggie's conversation.

"Babies?" he repeated, "your father is mad about babies?"

"It's all right, dear," interrupted Zoie nervously; "you see," she

went on to explain, pointing toward the trembling Maggie, "this is our

washerwoman's little girl. Our washerwoman has had twins, too, and it

made the wash late, and her husband is angry about it."

"Oh," said Alfred, with a comprehensive nod, but Maggie was not to be so

easily disposed of.

"If you please, mum," she objected, "it ain't about the wash. It's about

our baby girls."

"Girls?" exclaimed Zoie involuntarily.

"Girls?" repeated Alfred, drawing himself up in the fond conviction that

all his heirs were boys, "No wonder your pa's angry. I'd be angry too.

Come now," he said to Maggie, patting the child on the shoulder and

regarding her indulgently, "you go straight home and tell your father

that what HE needs is BOYS."

"Well, of course, sir," answered the bewildered Maggie, thinking that

Alfred meant to reflect upon the gender of the offspring donated by her

parents, "if you ain't afther likin' girls, me mother sint the money

back," and with that she began to feel for the pocket in her red flannel

petticoat.

"The money?" repeated Alfred, in a puzzled way, "what money?"

It was again Zoie's time to think quickly.

"The money for the wash, dear," she explained.

"Nonsense!" retorted Alfred, positively beaming generosity, "who talks

of money at such a time as this?" And taking a ten dollar bill from his

pocket, he thrust it in Maggie's outstretched hand, while she was trying

to return to him the original purchase money. "Here," he said to the

astonished girl, "you take this to your father. Tell him I sent it to

him for his babies. Tell him to start a bank account with it."




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