Taking first the usual feminine precaution of
looking to see that no motor-car was on the distant horizon,
Rose-Marie dashed at the child and bore it, despite its
vigorous opposition, in through the portals of Elsinore.
The child's furious screams had already announced the fact
of its discovery, and the almost hysterical parents raced
down the lawn to meet their restored offspring. The
sthetic value of the scene was marred in some degree by
Rose-Marie's difficulty in holding the struggling infant,
which was borne wrong-end foremost towards the agitated
bosom of its family. ``Our own little Erik come back to
us,'' cried the Momebys in unison; as the child had rammed
its fists tightly into its eye-sockets and nothing could be
seen of its face but a widely gaping mouth, the recognition
was in itself almost an act of faith.
``Is he glad to get back to Daddy and Mummy again?''
crooned Mrs. Momeby; the preference which the child was
showing for, its dust and buttercup distractions was so
marked that the question struck Clovis as being
unnecessarily tactless.
``Give him a ride on the roly-poly,'' suggested the father
brilliantly, as the howls continued with no sign of early
abatement.
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