Carol, like a goddess of plenty dispensing royal favors, dumped the smiling child on the bed and David promptly seized her. By this time Connie had made her arrangements with the driver, and escorted herself calmly into the house, trailing the family to the porch, gently readjusting Julia who was nearly turned upside down by the fervor of her papa and mama, and informed David that she wanted to shake hands. Thus recalled, David did shake hands, and looked pleased when she commented on how well he was looking. But in her heart, Connie, the young, untouched by sorrow, alive with the passion for work, was crying out in resentment. Big, buoyant, active David reduced to this. Carol, radiant, glowing, gleaming Carol,--this subdued gentle woman with the thin face and dark circles beneath her eyes. "Oh, it is wrong," thought Connie,--though she still smiled, for hearts are marvelous creations, holding such sorrow, and hiding it well. When their wraps were removed, Julia sat on David's table, with David's hand squeezing her knees, and Carol clutching her feet, and with Connie, big and bright, sitting back and watching quietly, and telling them startling and imaginary tales of the horrors she had encountered on the train. David was entranced, and Carol was enchanted. This was their baby, this brilliant, talented, beautiful little fairy,--and Carol alternately nudged David's arm and tapped his shoulder to remind him of the dignity of his fatherhood. But in one little hour, she remembered that after all, David was her job, and even crowy, charming little Julia must not crowd him aside, and she hastened to prepare the endless egg-nog. Then from the kitchen window she saw the auto, still standing before their door. "Oh, my gracious!" she gasped. "We forgot that driver." She got her purse and hurried outside, but the driver was gone, and only the car remained. Carol was too ignorant of motor-cars to observe that it was a Harmer Six, she only wondered how on earth he could go off and forget his car. She carried the puzzle to David, and he could not solve it. "Are you able to walk at all, David?" asked Connie. "Yes, indeed," he said, sitting up proudly, "I can walk half a block if there are no steps to climb." "Come out in front and we'll investigate," she suggested. When they reached the car, and it took time for David walked but slowly, he promptly looked at the name plate. "Harmer Six," he read. "Why this is Jerry's kind of car." "Yes, it is his kind," explained Connie. "He and Prudence sent this one out for you and Carol and Julia. They have just established an agency here, and he has made arrangements with the dealer to take entire care of it for you, sending it up when you want it, calling for it when you are through, keeping it in repair, and providing gas and oil,--and the bill goes to Jerry in Des Moines."