"Tom, I don't believe that, and I don't believe you do, either--it isn't the good the money does those who receive; it's the good it does the giver. And the good it does the giver is measured by the amount of sacrifice--the degree of himself that he puts into it--can't you understand, Tom? I'd give my soul if you could understand." "Well, I can't understand, Laura," impatiently; "that's your father's sentimental side. Of all the fool things," the Judge slapped the book sheet viciously, "that the old man has put into your head--sentiment is one of the foolest. I tell you, Laura, money talks. There are ten languages spoken in South Harvey, and money talks in all of them, and one dollar does as much as another, and that's all there is to it." She rose with a little sigh. "Well," she said gently, "we won't quarrel." The wife looked intently at the husband, and in that flash of time from beneath her consciousness came renewed strength. Something primeval--the eternal uxorial upon which her whole life rested, possessed her and she smiled, and touched her husband's thick, black hair gently. For she felt that if the spiritual ties for the moment had failed them, she must pick up some other tie. She was the nest builder indomitable. If the golden thread should drop--there is the string--the straw--the horse hair--the twig. So Laura Van Dorn picked up an appeal to her husband's affections and continued her predestined work. "Tom," she said, with her smile still on her face, "what I really and truly wanted to tell you was about Lila." The mention of the child's name brought quick light to the mother's face. "Lila--think of it, Tom--Lila," the mother repeated with vast pride. "You must come right out and see her. About an hour ago, she sat gazing at your picture on my dresser, and suddenly without a word from me, she whispered 'Daddy,' and then was as shy for a moment, then whispered it again, and then spoke it out loud, and she is as proud as Punch, and keeps saying it over and over! Tom--you must come out and hear it." Perhaps it was a knotty point of law that held his mind, or perhaps it was the old beat of the hoofs on the turf of the Primrose Hunt that filled his ears, or the red coat of the fox that filled his eyes. He smiled graciously and replied absently: "Well--Daddy--" And repeated "Daddy--don't you think father is--" He caught the cloud flashing across her face, and went on: "Oh, I suppose daddy is all right to begin with." He picked up his law book and the woman drew nearer to him. She put her hand over the page and coaxed: "Come on, Tom--just for a little minute--come on out and see her. I know she is waiting for you--I know she is just dying to show off to you--and besides, the new rugs have come for the living-room, and I just couldn't unpack them without you. It would seem so--old--old--old marriedy, and we aren't going to be that." She laughed and tried to close the law book.