"Oh, I know!" with a triumphant laugh, "At the Home—some fathers brought their children and cried—one of them did—because he was so bad he didn't think he was fit to have a child near him. I had tiptoed into the matron's office, and I heard him!"
"Perhaps he didn't want to support the brat," I scoffed to cover up my wonder.
"Well, and do you think he will?" Alicia snatched at my words. "A man who ran away from them, loafing round for years? Oh, it will be easy, Uncle Ranny!" she chuckled. "He couldn't fool us!"
"And why, my little Portia, couldn't he?"
"Because," said Alicia thoughtfully, "he will always be thinking of himself and we—won't."
"You mean," I pressed, delightedly, "he'll be self-conscious and give himself away, the while we are clothed in our rectitude?"
"Yes!" she cried, with a laugh. "We'll be thinking of Jimmie and Laura and Randolph—and it's always easier to think what to do when you're thinking of somebody else—not of yourself."
"And did you discover that also in the matron's office at the Home?" I leaned toward her in amazement.
"No," she bent her gaze downward, "I learned that right here."
I kissed Alicia upon the cheek. It lies heavy at my door that I have shown her too little affection in the past merely because she is not related to me. It startled me to realize that dear to me as Laura's children are, Alicia is the dearest of them all.