His literary instincts began to stir. “How dare you? You are trying to kidnap my babies!” Clotilde demanded. It was a charming sight to watch the motions of her tiny fingers as she pursued her task; and though the posture she adopted was not the most favourable that might have been chosen for the display of her sylphlike figure, there was something in her attitude, and the glow of her countenance, lighted up by the mellow radiance of the setting sun falling upon her through the panes of the little dormer-window, that seemed to the youth inexpressibly beautiful. The door to the room in question was closed. Mike was in his blue jeans and a tee-shirt, and Lucy, knowing that Mrs.
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