Then he advanced again, lunging
slowly along, uttering the while a menacing "Mew! Mew! Mew!"
His mother had no heart for his fun. She could scarcely summon the
strength and attention requisite for this fantastic infantile foolery
when all her capacities were enlisted to support her dignity in the
presence of this man, necessarily inimical, censorious, critical, who had
once meant so much in her life. But she could not rebuff the baby! She
would not humble his spirit! She must enter into his jest, whatever the
effort cost her.
It was poor acting certainly. She affected fright, as the child expected.
She cowered dismayed. "Oh, oh!" she cried, watching his erratic approach.
"What _is_ that?" She pretended flight, but sank into a chair, apparently
overpowered. She gazed down at the child with the lifted hands of horror
as he clasped the folds of her gown, his eyes shining with fun, his teeth
glittering between his red lips, his laughter rippling with delight. "Me
scared oo,' mamma," he squealed ecstatically.
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