"Generation? Well, let me see," replied George smiling down at him. "We all come into the world at a different time, you know. If two men are born at the same time, we say they belong to the same generation."
Harold sat earnestly thinking. Then he asked hesitatingly.
"Then do you and Mus belong to the same generation?"
He thought a moment again, then said vaguely, "But if you and Mus belong to just the same generation, you must belong to one another."
"Wonderful child logic!" exclaimed George laughing.
"He tries so hard to reason, but his conclusions are usually deplorable," remarked Alma, stretching out her hand to Harold with a smile of indulgence.
Harold jumped down from George's lap, and ran to his mother's arms, to receive the petting that he had not yet outgrown. So fond of his mother, he was almost effeminate in his caresses of her.
George smiled gently as he watched them.
When Alma and he were alone in the library, he asked earnestly, "Alma, can you think of anything that you would not do for Harold?"
"What a foolish question! Of course not," she replied, looking her surprise.