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 at him. He swung her up, and she threw her arms around his neck and gave him a loud smacking kiss.

"Hello, Dirty-face! Who's been giving you chocolate?"

"Cussing Carrie."

She stiffened in his arms, flung herself backward, and then plunged toward him, with wet sticky kisses. He put her down, and pretended to scrub his face, while she doubled up with laughter, fat little hands on knees, shining silver hair swinging over red cheeks. She enjoyed life so, the miracles of flowers, animals, popping corn, the tracks of meadow mice on the snow, writing fairy tales for a little girl. She and Joe had examined these things together.

She pressed a gift on him now—a hot handful of stemless dandelions. How he adored his child! Playing alone, trying to pick up a much too big ball with a much too small hand, sitting down unexpectedly; her pink face when she had been naughty; asleep, wrapped away from him in innocent mystery.

Evelyn, an apron over her mauve gown, was gazing at herself in the hall mirror. She turned as they came in, her eyes shining. There was a note in her voice that he had not heard for a long time.

"Joe, Ralph Levinson's coming to dinner. Will you make some cocktails? I got out the Bacardi and lemons and things. Hope, you piggy-wiggy! Come and let mother wash you. What have you been doing to get so dirty, darling?"