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Fisher, Dorothy Canfield, 1879-1958

"The Brimming Cup"

"Is that masculine jealousy, or real
affection?" she asked herself, and then, "Oh, what a _beast_! To be
analyzing my own children!" And then, "But how am I ever going to know
what they're like if I don't analyze them?"
The dog, seeing the children standing up, half ready to go out, began
barking and frisking, and wriggling his way to where they stood all
intertwined, stood up with his fore-paws against Paul. The kitten had
been startled by his approach and ran rapidly up Marise as though she
had been a tree, pausing on her shoulder to paw at a loosened hair-pin.
Marise let herself go on this wave of eager young life, and thrust down
into the dark all the razor-edged questions. "Oh, children! children!
take the kitten off my back!" she said, laughing and squirming. "She's
tickling me with her whiskers. Oh, _ow_!" She was reduced to helpless
mirth, stooping her head, reaching up futilely for the kitten, who had
retreated to the nape of her neck and was pricking sharp little
pin-pointed claws through to the skin. The children danced about chiming
out peals of laughter. The dog barked excitedly, standing on his
hind-legs, and pawing first at one and then at another. Then Paul looked
at the clock, and they all looked at the clock. The children, flushed
with fun, crammed on their caps, thrust their arms into coats, bestowed
indiscriminate kisses on their mother and the kitten, and vanished for
the morning, followed by the dog, pleading with little whines to be
taken along too.


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