“Because your mother’s family want you to have every advantage, Alice.” Edith spoke quietly, waving off an interruption from Theodore with a flick of her hand, “You must be grateful for them and for the education they are able to give you. A girl like you is born with an obligation to make the most of herself and I am sure you will, as I hope my own children will too.” “That sounds like a lecture,” fretted Alice. “I’ll get enough lectures from my aunts and grandmother. They are always lecturing me to be a lady and I think ladies are stupid. I’d like to go to Dakota with Father and be a cowgirl. I ride better then the boys do now.” “Your aunt will probably see to it that you have riding lessons in New York,” Edith said. “I know about those. Side saddle and a derby hat and horses so slow and stodgy they won’t gallop. I had some the last time I was there at grandmother’s, with a silly groom leading the horse around by the bridle.” Edith sighed. She had devotedly tried to do her best for Theodore’s daughter but Alice, like her father, had been born a rebel with an individuality that would always resent any set pattern of behavior. At least, Edith comforted herself, the responsibility was not hers alone nor could she reproach herself if inherited traits were too strong. Thank goodness there was no rampant individuality in her own small daughter! Ethel was usually as placid as a Dutch housewife, though she could not be imposed upon and always stood stubbornly for her own rights. Dinner was not quite over when two small figures appeared at the dining room door. In their nightclothes Kermit and Ethel stood there, their small feet blue with cold. “Go back to bed quickly, you’ll catch your death of cold!” their mother scolded, herding them back toward the stairway. “I’ll come along,” said Theodore. “I’ll just go back and find the chivalry book, as Ted calls it.” “You spoil them,” protested his wife. “They were up before dawn this morning.” “Early yet,” he made excuse, “only a little after eight.” “It’s almost nine,” she corrected. “Supper was late because Christmas upset the household routine. Jump in bed, both of you. Kermit, wait—we’ll have to wipe off the bottoms of your feet. You forgot your slippers again.” “They fall off. Anyway, they’re not so very dirty.” “Too black for the sheets.” Mame came in then as Edith was tucking the covers around Ethel. “They slipped out when I was back in my room,” she explained. “Kermit is always slipping out of his bed. He’d sleep under it half the time if I didn’t watch him, makes me feel like tying him into it.” “I can untie knots,” he said defiantly, “or I could chew the rope in two.” “Don’t be saucy,” his mother said, sponging the thin grimy toes. “Run along, Mame, Colonel Roosevelt is coming up to read to them.” “It’ll be battles or Injun fighting and get them all stirred up and excited,” grumbled Mame as she went out.