"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. In a moment the child had been placed astride the big
garden roller and a preliminary tug was given to set it in motion.
From the hollow depths of the cylinder came an earsplitting roar,
drowning even the vocal efforts of the squalling baby, and
immediately afterwards there crept forth a white-pinafored infant
with a mop of tow-coloured hair tied over one temple with a pale
blue ribbon. There was no mistaking either the features or the
lung-power of the new arrival.
"Our own little Erik," screamed Mrs. Momeby, pouncing on him and
nearly smothering him with kisses; "did he hide in the roly-poly
to give us all a big fright?"
This was the obvious explanation of the child's sudden
disappearance and equally abrupt discovery.
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