"You—what, Doris?"
"I bit him, jus' to make him let go. An'—an' he was softer'n I thought he was. I never knew such a soft baby."
The little girl hung her head before her father's stern look; her voice threatened to break in a sob. "I didn't think—Dick—was—so—so full of—juice," she quavered.
"Did you really bite your dear little brother till the blood came, Doris? I can't believe it!"
Sam glanced inquiringly at his wife; but she held her peace, her eyes drooped upon the sewing in her hands.
"I—I didn't b'lieve it either—at first," Doris said quickly. "I thought it was jus'—red paint."
"Why, Doris Brewster!" piped up Carroll, unable to contain himself longer; "that's a reg'lar fib!"
"Had Dick been playing with red paint?" interrogated Sam gravely, his eyes fixed upon the culprit who was beginning to fidget uneasily in his arms.
"N-o, daddy," confessed the child in a whisper.