ALICE was not even to be allowed to weep in peace. She had not had time to finish comfortably, not to get half way through, indeed, before a tremendous racket in front of her house made her look out of the window. A voice which was at once both deep and flat was saying:
"Tom Marcey! Ataboy! Tom Marcey, old scout! Ahoy! Avast!"
These cries were accentuated by the honking of a motor horn of the largest size. A car had drawn up in front of the Marceys' house. From this there burst a regiment—in fact, everything seemed to be bursting. A plump lady who came tottering up the walk on precipitously high heels was bursting from an expensive lingerie waist. From where she was Alice could observe a sunburst of the largest size upon her ample bosom. Four children, two stout ones, and two gimlet-eyed lean ones, gamboled about her. She could hear the man's voice:
"Well, Tom, old scout! At last—at last!" And she heard Tom crying in pleased surprise:
"Well, old Bill Mullins!"
"Meet Mrs. Mullins!" Bill shouted. "Some baby, eh, what?"
By this time all the Marcey children had joined the others, and it seemed to Alice that the children had multiplied miraculously, like the loaves and fishes. There seemed to be at least sixteen Marceys and eighty-
