"You haven't told me what you did all the time that you were away," she

reminded him.

"Oh, there was plenty to do," answered Alfred.

"Did you think of me every minute?" she asked jealously.

"That would be telling," laughed Alfred, as he pinched her small pink

ear.

"I wish to be 'told,'" declared Zoie; "I don't suppose you realise it,

but if I were to live a THOUSAND YEARS, I'd never be quite sure what you

did during those FEW MONTHS."

"It was nothing that you wouldn't have been proud of," answered Alfred,

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with an unconscious expansion of his chest.

"Do you love me as much as ever?" asked Zoie.

"Behave yourself," answered Alfred, trying not to appear flattered

by the discovery that his absence had undoubtedly caused her great

uneasiness.

"Well, SAY it!" demanded Zoie.

"You know I do," answered Alfred, with the diffidence of a school boy.

"Then kiss me," concluded Zoie, with an air of finality that left Alfred

no alternative.

As a matter of fact, Alfred was no longer seeking an alternative. He was

again under the spell of his wife's adorable charms and he kissed her

not once, but many times.

"Foolish child," he murmured, then he laid her tenderly against the

large white pillows, remonstrating with her for being so spoiled, and

cautioning her to be a good little girl while he went again to see about

Baby.

Zoie clung to his hand and feigned approaching tears.

"You aren't thinking of me at all?" she pouted. "And kisses are no

good unless you put your whole mind on them. Give me a real kiss!" she

pleaded.

Again Alfred stooped to humour the small importunate person who was so

jealous of his every thought, but just as his lips touched her forehead

his ear was arrested by a sound as yet new both to him and to Zoie. He

lifted his head and listened.

"What was that?" he asked.

"I don't know," answered Zoie, wondering if the cat could have got into

the room.

A redoubled effort on the part of the young stranger directed their

attention in the right direction.

"My God!" exclaimed Alfred tragically, "it's Baby. He's crying." And

with that, he rushed to the crib and clasped the small mite close to his

breast, leaving Zoie to pummel the pillows in an agony of vexation.

After vain cajoling of the angry youngster, Alfred bore him excitedly to

Zoie's bedside.




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