Only once Carol came back to earth, “Mercy, Connie, taxis cost a fortune out here.”

“This isn’t a taxi,” said Connie, “it is just a car.”

But Carol did not even hear her answer, for Julia, enchanted at being so lavishly enthroned in the attention of any one, lifted her lips for another noisy kiss, and Carol was deaf to the rest of the world.

Her one idea now was to get this precious, wonderful, matchless creature home to David as quickly as possible.

“Hurry, hurry,” she begged.  “Make him go faster, Connie.”

“He can’t,” said Connie, laughing.  “Do you want to get us pinched for speeding the first thing?”

And Julia, catching the word, immediately pinched both her auntie and her mama, to show them she knew what they were talking about.  And Carol was stricken dumb at the wonderful, unbelievable cleverness of this remarkable infant.

When the car stopped before her cottage, she forgot her manners as hostess, she forgot the baggage, and the driver, and even sister Connie.  She just grabbed Julia in her arms and rushed into the cottage, back through the kitchen to the sleeping porch in the rear, and stood gloating over her husband.

“Look, look, look,” she chanted.  “It is Julia, she is ours, she is here.”  David sat up in bed, his breath coming quickly.

Carol, like a goddess of plenty dispensing royal favors, dumped the smiling child on the bed and David promptly seized her.

By this time Connie had made her arrangements with the driver, and escorted herself calmly into the house, trailing the family to the porch, gently readjusting Julia who was nearly turned upside down by the fervor of her papa and mama, and informed David that she wanted to shake hands.  Thus recalled, David did shake hands, and looked pleased when she commented on how well he was looking.  But in her heart, Connie, the young, untouched by sorrow, alive with the passion for work, was crying out in resentment.  Big, buoyant, active David reduced to this.  Carol, radiant, glowing, gleaming Carol,—­this subdued gentle woman with the thin face and dark circles beneath her eyes.  “Oh, it is wrong,” thought Connie,—­though she still smiled, for hearts are marvelous creations, holding such sorrow, and hiding it well.

When their wraps were removed, Julia sat on David’s table, with David’s hand squeezing her knees, and Carol clutching her feet, and with Connie, big and bright, sitting back and watching quietly, and telling them startling and imaginary tales of the horrors she had encountered on the train.  David was entranced, and Carol was enchanted.  This was their baby, this brilliant, talented, beautiful little fairy,—­and Carol alternately nudged David’s arm and tapped his shoulder to remind him of the dignity of his fatherhood.

But in one little hour, she remembered that after all, David was her job, and even crowy, charming little Julia must not crowd him aside, and she hastened to prepare the endless egg-nog.  Then from the kitchen window she saw the auto, still standing before their door.