But the girl had already closed the door behind her; he could hear her speak to someone in the sitting-room. There followed the sound of a man’s voice, speaking at length, and the low-toned murmur of a brief reply. Jimmy laid the small flat parcel containing the postal card on the kitchen table, and set the pail of molasses on a chair. There was a froth of sweetness all around the edge now, but Jimmy didn’t care. Vaguely heavy at heart he walked over to the window and looked out. Hitched to the post near the lilac bushes was a tall bay horse with a cropped tail. Behind the horse was a shining sidebar buggy with red wheels. The horse was stretching his sleek neck in an effort to reach the tender green shoots of the lilac bushes, his cropped tail switching irritably from side to side. Jimmy stared with round eyes. Presently the side door opened and Stephen Jarvis came out quickly, jamming his gray felt hat low upon his forehead. He untied the horse, jerking the animal’s head impatiently to one side as he did so, and stepped to the high seat; then, at a savage cut of the whip, the horse darted away, the gravel spurting from under his angry hoof-beats. “I’m glad I’m not that horse,” mused Jimmy, “an’ I’m glad—” he added, after a minute’s reflection—“‘at I’m not—him.” He was still thinking confusedly about the short-tailed horse and his owner, when he heard Barbara’s step behind him. The girl stooped, put both arms about the little boy, and laid her hot cheek on his. Then she laughed, rather unsteadily. “Kiss me quick, Jimmy Preston!” she cried. “I want to be loved—hard!” The child threw both arms fervently about his sister’s neck. “I love you,” he declared circumstantially, “wiv all my outsides an’ all my insides! I love you harder’n anyfing!” II FOR a long time (it seemed to Jimmy) after the last hoof-beat of the ill-tempered horse with the cropped tail had died away on the gravelled drive Barbara sat with the child in her arms, his curly head close against her cheek; her gray eyes bright with tears resolutely held in check. “Aren’t you gettin’ some tired of holdin’ me?” inquired Jimmy, with a stealthy little wriggle of protest. “You know I’m six, an’ Peg says I’m hefty for my age.” Barbara laughed faintly, and the little boy slipped from her arms with alacrity and stood before her, eyeing her searchingly. “I bought you a birfday present with my fi’ cents,” he said, “but you wouldn’t wait to see it.” “You bought me a birthday present?” cried Barbara. “Why, Jimmy Preston! Show it to me; I can’t wait a minute longer.” Jimmy walked soberly across to the table. The first glow of his enthusiasm had vanished, and he frowned a little as he untied the pink string. “Maybe you won’t like it,” he said modestly. “It’s a picture, an’—an’ it—sparkles. I fought—no; I mean I _thought_ it was pretty, an’ that you’d like it, Barb’ra.”