"Yes, she is heavy," Mrs. Lowe said.
Then the child cried in her pretty patois:
"Pleese frow Mary up an' catch her."
"Oh, ho," Catherwood exclaimed gaily, "so that is what Mary wants, is it? Well then, here goes."
"Careful, Mary daughter," the mother cautioned, smiling.
Catherwood never before had felt his strength as keenly as he did that moment. It had for him, then, a definite, precise meaning; even a value; yes, an incalculable value.
"Frow up Mary 'n' catch her like farver do," the child urged.
He tossed her into the air.
"There!" he said as she left his arms.