"I do.

Of _course_ I do! I'm just tired, I guess.

Goodnight, Sweetheart." She was late in getting to sleep and late in waking.
When he finally sat down to the hurriedly spread breakfast-table, Mr.
Porne, long coffeeless, found it a bit difficult to keep his temper.
Isabel was a little stiff, bringing in dishes and cups, and paying no attention to the sounds of wailing from above.
"Well if you won't I will!" burst forth the father at last, and ran upstairs, returning presently with a fine boy of some eleven months, who ceased to bawl in these familiar arms, and contented himself, for the moment, with a teaspoon.
"Aren't you going to feed him ?" asked Mr.Porne, with forced patience.
"It isn't time yet," she announced wearily.

"He has to have his bath first." "Well," with a patience evidently forced farther, "isn't it time to feed me ?" "I'm very sorry," she said.

"The oatmeal is burned again.