“I am going,” said Clearwater, moving toward the door. “I hope I shall never see either of you again. I shall hound you both into poverty. Then--if you wish me to take the child, I’ll take it--provided you give me full possession.” “I shall remember,” said Helm, simply. His manner was that of a man who has nothing to say, who will answer any direct question with unruffled courtesy, who will listen as long as his visitor wishes to talk, and patiently. Clearwater, discouraged, cast about for some speech that would help him out of the room. He could find none. So he abruptly departed, feeling more uncomfortable than angry. He could not understand his own feelings, his unprecedented lack of spirit. It did not occur to him that Helm, matchless as a manager of men, and far Clearwater’s superior in intelligence, might have been responsible for this puzzling state of his. As soon as his father-in-law had had time to get clear of the house, Helm went up to his wife. The “fat one” was solemnly inspecting his bright blocks in the middle of the floor. Eleanor was sitting by the window, gazing out into the tree-tops. She slowly became conscious that her husband was at the threshold. She turned her eyes toward him. Said he: “He’s gone. He has agreed to yield. So the prosecution won’t be necessary.” Instead of the expression of relief he expected, she looked as if she had not heard. She came toward him; she laid her hands upon his shoulders and looked up at him. The “fat one” paused in the inspection of a block to observe them--his father and mother; he was trying hard to get acquainted with them, and to make them acquainted with him. Eleanor said: “I never knew until to-day what love meant--and that I loved you.” He laughed gently, and gently kissed her. There were tears in his eyes. The “fat one” dropped the block and opened wide his mouth and shut tight his eyes and emitted a lusty howl--the beginning of a series that was suspended by his lapsing into his bad habit of holding his breath. Eleanor caught him up and tried to shake him back to howling. But he continued to hold his breath, to grow a deeper and deeper purple. “If he only wouldn’t do that!” cried she. “I thought he was cured of it.” “Give him to me, mother,” said George, intensely alarmed, though he knew the baby would come out of it all right. He handled the “fat one” awkwardly, but it was touching as well as amusing to see the little creature in those long arms. He and Eleanor shook and patted and pleaded. But not until they were quite beside themselves did the “fat one” consent to resume. With a gurgle and gasp he suddenly expelled the long-held breath in a whoop and a shriek--a hideous sound, but how it thrilled those two frightened parents! “I really ought to spank him,” said Ellen with a hysterical laugh. “He does it on purpose.”