"Don't say no more now for a while, children." Mr. Isadore Binswanger inserted a toothpick between his lips and stretched his limbs out at a hypotenuse from the chair. "I'm done. I knew the old man would jump all over me." "Izzy, you and Poil go on now; for the theater you won't catch the seven-ten car if you don't hurry. Leave it to me, Poil; I can tell by your papa's voice we got him won. How he fusses like just now don't make no difference; you know how your papa is. Here, Poil, lemme help you with your coat." "I--I don't want to go, mamma!" "_Ach_, now, Poil, you--" "If you're coming with me you'd better get a hustle. I ain't going to hang around this graveyard all evening." Her brother rose to his slightly corpulent five feet five and shook his trousers into their careful creases. His face was a soft-fleshed rather careless replica of his mother's, with a dimple-cleft chin, and a delicate down of beard that made his shaving a manly accomplishment rather than a hirsute necessity. "Here on the sideboard is your hat, Poil--powder a little around your eyes. Just leave papa to me, Poil. _Ach_, how sweet that hat with them roses out of stock looks on you! Come out here the side way--_ach_, how nice it is out here on the porch! How short the days get--dark nearly already at seven! Good-by, children. Izzy, take your sister by the arm; the whole world don't need to know you're her brother." "Leave the door on the latch, mamma." "Have a good time, children. Ain't you going to say good-by to your papa, Poil? Your worst enemy he ain't. Julius, leave Billy alone--honest, he likes that cat better as his family. Tell your papa good-by, Poil." "I--said--good-by." "She should say good-by to me only if she wants to. Izzy, when you go out the gate drive back that rooster--I'll wring his little gallivantin' neck if he don't stop roosting in that bush!" "Good night, children; take good care of the cars." "Good night, mamma...papa." The gate clicked shut, and the two figures moved into the mist of growing gloom; over their heads the trees met and formed across the brick sidewalk a roof as softly dark as the ceiling of a church. Birds chirped. Mrs. Binswanger leaned her wide, uncorseted figure against a pillar and watched them until a curve in the avenue cut her view, then she dragged a low wicker rocker across the veranda. "We can sit out on the porch a while yet, Julius. Not like midsummer it is for your rheumatism." "Ya, ya. My slippers, Becky." "Here." "Ya, ya." "Look across the yard, will you, Julius. The Schlossmans are still at the supper-table. Fruit gelatin they got. I seen it cooling on the fence. We got new apples on the side-yard tree, you wouldn't believe, Julius. To-morrow I make pies." "Ya, ya." The light tulle of early evening hung like a veil, and through it the sad fragrance of burning leaves, which is autumn's incense, drifted from an adjoining lawn.