"Beautiful," she said, trying to see the knitting.
"Aren't you glad I brought them?" still anxiously inquiring.
"Very"--she pushed them away. "You're soaked. Take off your things."
And little Bob, still holding his flowers, was stripped to his skin.
"Now lie down," said his mother. "I'm turning the heel."
He obeyed, but turbulently, and with much pretense, making believe to
fall and rolling on the sacks, a naked cherub writhing with laughter.
Finally, his mother had to stop her heel-turning to seize him by one
leg, drag him toward her, roll him up in the end of the blanket and
with a silencing slap say, "There, lie still." This quieted him. He
lay subdued save for a waving hand in which the flowers were still
imbedded and with which he made passes at the two girls, murmuring with
the thick utterance of rising sleep "Bu'full flowers." And in a moment
he slept, curled against his mother, his face angelic beneath the wet
hair.
When Susan came to the giving of her personal data--the few facts
necessary to locate and introduce her--her engagement was the item of
most interest.
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