"Halloa, Kidlets! Come along down!" came the shout of a manly voice. There was a stampede, and a race as to who should get there first. Molly arrived a bad third, but it was she who was first for him, for he went towards her and picked her up. She put her free arm around his neck, but instead of making him her little speech she exclaimed as he kissed her—
"Why, Daddy, your chin is full of splinters!"
The boys delivered their presents, and were kissed or patted on the head, and thanked, before Molly parted with the flowers which she held so tightly in her little fist.
"Your Babyship is very kind," said her father, gratefully shaking her by the hand, and, laughing still, he put her down. Then he took her hint, and seriously began to shave.
They knew they mustn't talk to him whilst that important function was proceeding, so the three stood still, deeply absorbed as they watched the performance that fascinated them with its dangers and its hairbreadth escapes.
"Now I can kiss my little Mollikins and she won't complain." He put down the towel, took her up again, and rubbed his smooth cheek against hers.
"Daddy, tell me how old you are," she asked, looking into his eyes.
"Oh, how can I do that? It's a secret."
"Do whisper it," she coaxed. After a moment's hesitation he smilingly whispered something into her ear.
"Oh, what a 'tock of years!" she exclaimed.