His wife surveyed him with wide, sad eyes. "Oh, Sam!" she murmured, "how can you talk like that? Carroll tries to be a good boy and help me all he can. But Doris——"
"Don't you worry about the little girl," advised her husband, laying a soothing hand on hers. "She's all right."
"She ought not to quarrel with the other children; or disobey me. You know that, Sam."
"Of course not. You'll have to make her toe the mark, Betty."
"But how, Sam? I've tried. I'm positively worn out trying."
The man pursed up his lips in an inaudible whistle. "Upon my word, Betty," he broke out at length, "I don't know as I can tell you. We don't stand for whipping, you know. Beating small children always struck me as being a relic of the dark ages; and I know I could never stand it to see a child of mine cower before me out of physical fear. But we mustn't spoil 'em!"
"Marian Stanford whips Robbie every time he disobeys," Elizabeth said after a lengthening pause. "She uses a butter-paddle—the kind I make those little round balls with; you know it has a corrugated surface. She says it is just the thing; it hurts so nicely. But I'm sure Robbie Stanford is far naughtier than Carroll ever thinks of being."
Her husband broke into a helpless laugh which he promptly repressed at sight of her indignant face.
"You oughtn't to laugh, Sam," she told him, in a tone of dignified reproof. "You may not think it very important—all this about the children; but it is. It is the most important thing in the world. Even Marian Stanford says——"
"Why do you discuss the subject with her?" interrupted Sam. "You'll never agree; and whatever we do with our own children, we mustn't force our views on other people."