"I bit him, jus' to make him let go. An'--an' he was softer'n I thought he was. I never knew such a soft baby." The little girl hung her head before her father's stern look; her voice threatened to break in a sob. "I didn't think--Dick--was--so--so full of--juice," she quavered. "Did you really bite your dear little brother till the blood came, Doris? I can't believe it!" Sam glanced inquiringly at his wife; but she held her peace, her eyes drooped upon the sewing in her hands. "I--I didn't b'lieve it either--at first," Doris said quickly. "I thought it was jus'--red paint." "Why, Doris Brewster!" piped up Carroll, unable to contain himself longer; "that's a reg'lar fib!" "Had Dick been playing with red paint?" interrogated Sam gravely, his eyes fixed upon the culprit who was beginning to fidget uneasily in his arms. "N-o, daddy," confessed the child in a whisper. Her father considered her answer in silence for a moment or two; then he looked over at his wife. "Elizabeth," he said. "Isn't it time for these young persons to go to bed?" She glanced up at the clock. "I think it is, dear," she replied. "But----" He checked her with a quick look. "I shall have to think this over," he said, setting Doris upon her feet. Then he put his arm about his son and kissed him. "Good-night, Carroll." Doris, dimpling and rosy, lifted her eager little face to her father's; but he deliberately put her aside. "Aren't you going to kiss me, too, daddy?" wailed the child, in a sudden passion of affection and something akin to fear. "I love you, daddy!" "I'm a little afraid of you, Dorry," her father said gravely. "I'm not sure that you are entirely safe to--kiss." "But I wouldn't bite you, daddy! I _wouldn't_!" "Why wouldn't you?" "Because I--because I love you." "I always supposed you loved Baby Dick," said her father, turning away from the piteous, grieved look in her eyes; "but it seems I was mistaken." "But, daddy, I do! I do love Dick! I love him more'n a million, an'----" "Good-night, Doris." There was stern finality in Sam's voice, though his eyes were wet. Elizabeth led the two children away, Doris shaken with sobs and Carroll casting backward glances of troubled awe at his father who continued to look steadily into the fire. He still sat in his big chair, his face more sober and thoughtful than its wont, when his wife returned. "I'm afraid Doris will cry herself to sleep to-night," she said doubtfully. He made no reply. "You wouldn't like to go up and kiss her good-night, Sam?" "Better one night than a hundred," he said, ignoring her suggestion. Then he bent forward and poked the fire with unnecessary violence. "Poor little girl," he murmured. A light broke over her face. "Do you think this is the natural penalty?" she asked. A wailing sob floated down to them from above in the silence that followed her question.