Well, I sat still and counted, and my mother jabbed him in the wound nine times in all by actual count with that identical taunt. Then poor old dad, who had been stalking back and forth like the tiger over in Balboa Park, bolted without a word. He went down to Washington for a couple of days. When he came back, he just quietly announced that he was going to Paris. 'You may say, to work on my book—for an indefinite period.' Mother said in her most impervious manner: 'Very well, then: go.' Father replied,—as frosty as a wedding cake,—'Thank you, I will.' Then they both bowed. It was like a play. Dorothy and I came in from the wings and offered friendly mediation; in vain. Father packed up and went. Dolly and I don't think either of them is quite sensible."
"H-m," I said reflectively, "h-m-m—What is your mother doing now?"
"Why she's done—we've all done—California from Mount Shasta to Tia Juana, specializing on the Missions and the juniper trees from Palestine that the padres planted. But now we're doing religion. We've settled down in Santo Espiritu with Aunt Alice and our tutor,—Dolly and I call him Father Blakewell to his
