THEY met the children coming down the street, singing. Their faces were alight with love of all the world and one another. They sang in chorus:
Ske-legged Ma,
Ske-legged, ski-legged, bow-legged ma.
With them was Gladys Grayson. The two little girls disputed tenderly with one another for the privilege of helping dear Robert carry the chicken scraps, and he, with tender gallantry, carried the greatest burden of them.
They paused to dash upon their parents with fond embrace, and to the inquiries of,
"Why were you gone so long, my darlings?"
Sara replied: "'Twas because we had a nawful scrap! Oh, we scrapped! We fought!"
"What did you fight about?" Tom asked.
Recollections of injustice flooded over Sara. Her face darkened. She pointed her finger at Robert.
"'Twas he! He!" Tears trembled in her eyes. "'Twas he snatched my lovely tin-foil and threw it away and he wouldn't get it, but said I must go get it all alone, and I said, 'Why for must I get it alone?'"
"And you know why for!" said Robert. "If I had let you both go to get it together, you'd have beat it. I know you! And you said so yourself afterwards!"
"Why didn't you go get it, then? What was the idea of throwing it away?" his father demanded.
