"Deviltry, often. At nine they are too old to spank, too young to reason with--it's the dangerous age, at least the outer circle of the dangerous age." Martin tested the second sandwich. "And the prescription? What do you prescribe for the dangerous age?" Doris felt that it was best to edge toward the vital centre by circuitous routes. "Barrels and bungholes or what stands for barrels and bungholes--a good school where a mixture of discipline with home ideals prevail. I know of several where giddy little flappers are marvellously licked into shape without danger of breaking. I've felt for some time that your kids needed--well, not love and care, surely, but a practical understanding." "Why didn't you tell me, David?" "People never appreciate what they do not pay for. Now that you have offered up this tribute to the animal of me, I know you are ready for the other." "The other, David?" "Yes, the best of me. That always belongs to you." This was daring, and it sent Doris to cover while she caught her breath. David calmly ate on. After the sandwiches there was a bit of fruit cake made from the recipe handed down from the days of Grandfather Fletcher. "David, do you think mothers, I mean real mothers, have divine intuitions about their children? Intuitions that, well, say, adopted mothers never have?" "No, I don't. The majority of mothers are vamps. They think they have a strangle hold on their offspring; a right to mould or bully them out of shape. The best school I know is run by a woman who says it takes her a year to shake off the average mother; after that the child becomes an individual and you can get a line on it." "That's startling, David. It's hard, too, on mothers." "Oh! I don't know. I often think if mothers could be friends to their children, _real friends_, I mean, and not claim what no human being has a right to claim from another, they'd reap a finer reward. I'd hate to love a person from duty. The fifth commandment is the only one with a promise. It needs it! What is the stuffing in this third sandwich, Doris? It comes mighty near perfection." "I never give away the tricks of my trade, David! And let me tell you, you are mighty like a sandwich yourself--light and shade in layers; but I reckon you are right about the friend part in mothers. Then, too, I think an adopted mother has this to her credit--she doesn't dare presume." "No, often she bullies. She thinks she paid for the right. After all, the best any of us can do for a child is to set it free; point out the channels and keep the lights burning!" "David, you are wonderful. You should have had children." The tears were in Doris's eyes. "Oh! I don't know--I'd have to have too many other things tacked on. All children are mine now, in a sense." David pushed the tray away and leaned luxuriously back in his chair. "Now," he said, with his peculiar smile that few rarely saw, "let's have it! The skirmish is over."