"Mother, isn't it fine?" you said.
"Fine, dearie?"
"Yes, Mother, everything ... 'specially—"
"Yes, sweetheart?"
"—'specially just having Father."
Father gave a little jump; seized you; crushed you in his arms, stars shining in his brimming eyes.
"Little chap—little chap," he cried, but could get no further, till by-and-by—
"Mother," he said—and his voice was clear and strong—"Mother, with a little chap like that and two girls like you and Lizbeth—"
His voice caught, but he shook it free again.
"—any man could begin—all over again—and win," he said.