But she had turned to a happier memory. “You know you can’t play the part of Little Eva very long, even when you begin quite early. And I was just a little bit of a thing when I played it first.” She laughed heartily. “I couldn’t even speak plain. I used to say ‘U’kle Tom’! How they laughed at me! ‘U’kle Tom!’ It’s really a hideous word, isn’t it? ‘Uncle,’ and ‘aunt,’ too. You can see that the man who framed up those words never thought very highly of uncles and aunts. Just compare those words with ‘father’ and ‘mother’! Aren’t they lovely? Father!” she spoke the word musingly. “Father!” Her body drooped forward slightly, and her face was pitched up so that she was gazing into space. “Beautiful words, and mother! ... mother!” Her voice had become a yearning whisper. Baron touched her shoulders with gentle hands. “Don’t, child!” he implored her. She aroused herself as from a dream. Her eyes brightened. She looked at him searchingly. “You thought ... I believe I was, too!” She sprang to her feet. “I really do intend to pick up a lot of things while I am here,” she added briskly. She walked across the floor. “An imitation of a person of class,” she said. She moved with studied elegance. “You see,” she exclaimed, turning to him, “I can’t do it at all right! I ought to beat that.” She returned to her starting-point. “See if I do it any better,” she said. Mrs. Baron appeared in the doorway, but neither Baron nor the child saw her. Again Bonnie May crossed the room. This time she assumed a slightly careless air, and looked airily at imaginary objects to right and left. Her movement was slightly undulating. She turned to Baron suddenly: “What you have to do is to be really proud, without thinking about it. I know how it ought to be done, but it’s hard to get the hang of it. If you don’t get it just right you’re likely to look like a saleslady.” She discovered Mrs. Baron, who stood rather scornfully in the doorway. “Oh, Mrs. Baron!” she exclaimed. She was somewhat dismayed. She thought of adopting a conciliatory course. “You could show us just what I mean, if you would,” she said. “I came to say that dinner is ready,” said Mrs. Baron. “Could show you what?” “Won’t you please come here--quite over to this end of the room? Now please go out. We’ll come right away.” Mrs. Baron regarded her sternly. Bonnie May flushed and her glance became softly appealing. She took Mrs. Baron’s hand and patted it. “I’m not being rude, really,” she declared. “It’s as if we were asking you to settle a bet, you know.” “I don’t understand at all.” “Well, please don’t be angry. If you are, it will spoil everything.” Mrs. Baron turned to her son. He was telegraphing to her an earnest appeal, in which she read an assurance that she was not to be made ridiculous, even from the extraordinary view-point of Bonnie May. “Did you understand that dinner is ready?” she asked. “Yes, mother. We’ll be right down.” Mrs. Baron left the room.