“Can I see her?”

“No, you can’t—­another of Baird’s fool notions.”

“Then where’s the baby?”

“Right in here.”

Silently in front of the cradle Bruce and Roger stood looking down with the content which comes to men on such occasions when there is no woman by their side expecting them to say things.

“I made it a rule in my family,” Roger spoke up presently, “to have my first look at each child alone.”

“Same here,” said Bruce.  And they continued their silent communion.  A few moments later, as they were leaving, Deborah came into the room and went softly to the cradle.  Downstairs they found that Allan had gone, and when Deborah rejoined them she said she was going to stick to her plan.  It was soon arranged that she and the youngsters should start on their journey the following day.

Back at home she threw herself into the packing and was busy till late that night.  At daybreak she was up again, for they were to make an early start.  Bruce came with his new automobile, the children were all bundled in, together with Deborah and their nurse, and a half hour later at the train Bruce and Roger left them—­Deborah flushed and happy, surrounded by luggage, wraps, small boys, an ice box, toys and picture books.  The small red hat upon her head had already been jerked in a scrimmage, far down over one of her ears.

“Don’t worry about us, Bruce,” she said.  “We’re going to have the time of our lives!” Bruce fairly beamed his gratitude.

“If she don’t marry,” he declared, as he watched the train move slowly out, “there’ll be a great mother wasted.”

CHAPTER VII

In the weeks which followed, Roger found the peace of his home so interrupted and disturbed by wedding preparations that often retreating into his den he earnestly told himself he was through, that a man with three grown daughters was a fool to show any sympathy with the utter folly of their lives.  Yield an inch and they took a mile!  It began one night when Deborah said,

“Now, dearie, I think you had better make up your mind to give Laura just the kind of wedding she likes.”

And Roger weakly agreed to this, but as time wore on he discovered that the kind of wedding Laura liked was a thing that made his blood run cold.  There seemed to be no end whatever to the young bride’s blithe demands.  The trousseau part of it he didn’t mind.  To the gowns and hats and gloves and shoes and trunks and jaunty travelling bags which came pouring into the house, he made no objection.  All that, he considered, was fair play.  But what got on Roger’s nerves was this frantic fuss and change!  The faded hall carpet had to come up, his favorite lounge was whisked away, the piano was re-tuned while he was trying to take a nap, rugs were beaten, crates and barrels filled the halls, and one whole bedroom stripped and bare was transformed into a shop where the wedding presents were displayed.  In the shuffle his box of cigars disappeared.  In short, there was the devil to pay!