"Why are they like mine ?" "Because he is a tiny miniature of you, you dear, silly old boy! You do not seem to understand that you are actually a father, Ronnie, with a little son of your own!" She looked up into his worn face, and saw the young glad joy of life creep slowly back into it.
"And his mouth, darling--his little mouth is just like yours; only, as I told you in the letter, when I kiss it--it does not kiss back, Ronnie." "What ?" cried Ronnie.

"What ?" Then he understood; and, this time, it was no mirage.

Ronnie's desert wanderings were over.
* * * * * "But don't you want to see your son ?" Helen asked, presently.
Ronnie leapt up.
"See him?
Why, of course I do! Oh, come on!...

Helen! What does one say to a very young baby ?" Helen followed him upstairs, laughing.
"That entirely depends upon circumstances.

One usually says: 'Did it ?' 'Is it then ?' or 'Was it ?' But I almost think present conditions require a more definite statement of fact.