"Lydia! I shan't call again."
"Coming, Dad! Good night, Kent. Face tag!"
"Face tag yourself, smarty. Maybe I'll be over, to-morrow, if I ain't got anything better to do."
Lydia sauntered slowly up to the kitchen steps. "Well, I haven't anything pleasant at all to look forward to now," she thought. "The circus parade is over and I've returned the balloon. Gee, yes, there is too! I didn't eat my cake yet!"
She turned up the lamp in the kitchen and foraged in the cake box, bringing out the cake Lizzie had saved for her. With this in her hand she entered the dining-room. An extraordinarily long, thin man was stretched out in one arm chair, Amos in the other.
"You ought to sit in the parlor, Dad," said Lydia, reproachfully.
"It's too stuffy," said Amos.
"Oh, hello, young Lydia!" said the tall man. "Come here and let me look at you."
Levine drew the child to his knee. She looked with a clear affectionate gaze on his thin smooth-shaven face, and into his tired black eyes.
"Why do you always say 'young' Lydia?" asked the child.