her mother's face and saw there only a suppressed irritation. Her smile wilted.
"Well, Sara, what is it?" said Alice, calmly, still showing no pleasure at the sight of her daughter. "Why did you interrupt me?"
"I didn't mean to interrupt," quavered Sara, "I only came to tell you—I love you!" The sentence ended in the whisper of a little sob. She bowed her head, and as slowly as any funeral procession, and as sadly, started for the door.
Sara with head down and heartbroken was a spectacle no human mother could have witnessed unmoved. Alice called her back—they were in each other's arms. It was an emotional and disturbing moment.
Again she took Sara into her confidence. Again Sara went away. Again Alice applied herself to writing.
From below came the noise of conflict. Alice dashed down the stairs. Sara pointed a tragic finger at Robert.
"He threw a book at me," she announced.
"It didn't hit you," said Robert.
"It hit me in the feelings," said Sara, "and hurt 'em awful! It hurts feelings to have books thrown at 'em, Robert Marcey! Yes, and why did he throw a book at me, Mother? Because I tried to kiss him—that's all! Just because I tried to kiss him, he throws books at me!" Here Sara's wrongs overwhelmed her, and she wept.
"And why—why do I have to throw books?" Robert planted himself before his mother. "I told her I didn't want to be kissed. I told her to leave me alone. I told her I wanted to read. She came in and kissed me, and I told her not to. She came in and kissed me a third time, and I told her I'd throw a book at her if she kissed me again, and she came right on top of that and kissed me some more. So I threw the book. I could have hit her, if I'd wanted to, but I just threw it to warn her.
