Again Alfred looked at her in amazement. Was it possible there was anything besides Baby worth wondering about? Whether there was or not, Zoie was no longer to be resisted and with a last regretful look at the crib, he resigned himself to giving his entire attention to his spoiled young wife. Gratified by her hard-won conquest, Zoie now settled herself in Alfred's arms. “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, 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. “You'd better take him, dear,” he said. To the young husband's astonishment, Zoie waved him from her in terror, and called loudly for Aggie. But no sooner had Aggie appeared on the scene, than a sharp whistle was heard from the pavement below. “Pull down the shade!” cried Zoie frantically.