'Why, the child wouldn't have had its bib on, only I saw to it,' he said, in a voice that increased in excitement as he dwelt on the enormity. 'Dear me,' said Dot, 'that was very careless of Peggie, I must really speak to her about it.' 'I shall shake you some day, Dot,' Larrie said, 'shake you till your teeth rattle. Sometimes I can hardly keep my hands off you.' His brow was gloomy, his boyish face troubled, vexed. And Dot laughed. Leaned against the fence skirting the road that seemed to run to eternity, and laughed outrageously. Larrie stopped too. His face was very white and square-looking, his dark eyes held fire. He put his hands on the white, exaggerated shoulders of her muslin dress and turned her round. 'Go back to the bottom of the hill this instant, and pick up the child and carry it up here,' he said. 'Go and insert your foolish old head in a receptacle for _pommes-de-terre_,' was Dot's flippant retort. Larrie's hands pressed harder, his chin grew squarer. 'I'm in earnest, Dot, deadly earnest. I order you to fetch the child, and I intend you to obey me,' he gave her a little shake to enforce the command. 'I am your master, and I intend you to know it from this day.' Dot experienced a vague feeling of surprise at the fire in the eyes that were nearly always clear, and smiling, and loving, then she twisted herself away. 'Pooh,' she said, 'you're only a stupid overgrown, passionate boy, Larrie. You my master! You're nothing in the world but my husband.' 'Are you going?' he said in a tone he had never used before to her. 'Say Yes or No, Dot, instantly.' 'No,' said Dot, stormily. Then they both gave a sob of terror, their faces blanched, and they began to run madly down the hill. Oh the long, long way they had come, the endless stretch of red, red road that wound back to the gold-tipped wattles, the velvet grass, and their baby! Larrie was a fleet, wonderful runner. In the little cottage where they lived, manifold silver cups and mugs bore witness to it, and he was running for life now, but Dot nearly outstripped him. She flew over the ground, hardly touching it, her arms were outstretched, her lips moving. They fell down together on their knees by their baby, just as three furious, hard-driven bullocks thundered by, filling the air with dust and bellowing. The baby was blinking happily up at a great fat golden beetle that was making a lazy way up the wattle. It had lost its 'comforter' and was sucking its thumb thoughtfully. It had kicked off its white knitted boots, and was curling its pink toes up in the sunshine with great enjoyment. 'Baby!' Larrie said. The big fellow was trembling in every limb.