True to her sex, she proceeded to grasp all he had--the poker. Steve held on for safety, but Miss Baby wielded it, and straightway the fire sent forth a shower of sparks that went frolicking up the chimney in pure glee. "Steve," said Nannie, pointing to them, "look! See how prone to sin you are." But Steve had no time for his derelictions; he was busy studying the wonderful baby. "Nannie," he said, "this marks an epoch; and it's Constance's birthday." "It's your birthday, too, you dear old stupid!" laughed Nannie. "Why, so it is. I never realized before that we were twins." "He never realizes anything about himself, does he, baby?" The baby gave a great assenting dab at the fire, necessitating a prompt examination of all her gear to see if she had caught anywhere. "He's always thinking of other people and forgetting himself, isn't he, baby?" Another dab still bigger and another overlooking. "Oh, my dear!" stammered Steve. "Just you hush," said Nannie imperiously. "And he's too foolish and forgetful of himself to dream that there's a birthday dinner almost ready in the dining-room and some be-au-ti-ful things under somebody's plate." Here Steve was helplessly and hopelessly embarrassed, but Nannie snatched the baby and went on: "And he's a regular stupid old know-nothing, isn't he, baby?" And she made the baby give the poker such a thrust of sympathy that it stuck fast in the fire. "Whew!" she exclaimed, jerking it out. "How hot that fire is! I'm fairly cooked!" There was a peculiar expression on Steve's face, and all at once Nannie remembered a newspaper clipping that had dropped from one of his note-books that day when she cleared his desk. A sudden thought struck her and caused her to pause with the poker in mid air. "Have you been cooking me, sir?" she asked in awful tones, taking her seat as a judge might take his bench. Steve's color started and a strange smile dawned upon his face. His very looks convicted him. Now it was Nannie who was flushing, and so prettily, pursing up her bewitching mouth in the old way. "Am I done?" she asked presently in a lower tone. "To a turn!" he replied. "Then I think I'll get off the spit, by your leave, sir," she said with saucy bravado. And she arose to move back from the fire. "Steve!" she cried, "you are _devouring_ me!" THE END.