Wild Wings. Margaret Piper Chalmers

hand.

      "I know, dear boy. I am very glad to have you and Tony. But Larry is a habit, like Philip. You mustn't mind my missing him."

      "Course I don't mind, Granny. I was just jossing. I don't blame you a bit for missing Larry. He is a mighty good thing to have in the family. Wish I were half as valuable."

      "You are, sonny. I am so happy to be having you here all summer."

      "Maybe not quite all summer. I'll be going off for little trips," he prepared her gently.

      "Youth! Youth! Never still—always wanting to fly off somewhere!"

      "We all fly back mighty quick," comforted Ted. "There come the kiddies."

      A patter of small feet sounded down the hall. In the next moment they were there—sturdy Eric, the six year old, apple-cheeked, incredibly energetic, already bidding fair to equal if not to rival his cousin Ted's reputation for juvenile naughtiness; and Hester, two years younger, a rose-and-snow creation, cherubic, adorable, with bobbing silver curls, delectably dimpled elbows and corn flower blue eyes.

      Fresh from the tub and the daily delightful frolic with Daddy, they now appeared for that other ceremonial known as saying good-night to Granny.

      "Teddy! Teddy! Ride us to Granny," demanded Eric hilariously, jubilant at finding his favorite tall cousin on the spot.

      "'Es, wide us, wide us," chimed in Hester, not to be outdone.

      "You fiends!" But Ted obediently got down on "all fours" while the small folks clambered up on his back and he "rode" them over to the bed, their bathrobes flying as they went. Arrived at the destination Ted deftly deposited his load in a giggling, squirming heap on the rug and then gathering up the small Hester, swung her aloft, bringing her down with her rose bud of a mouth close to Granny's pale cheeks.

      "Kiss your flying angel, Granny, before she flies away again."

      "Me! Me!" clamored Eric vociferously, hugging Ted's knees. "Me flying angel, too!"