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    An iron hoop bounded through the area railings of a suburban house and played havoc with the kitchen window. The woman waited, anger in her eyes, for the appearance of the hoop's owner. Presently he came.

    "Please, I've broken your window," he said, "and here's Father to mend it."

    And, sure enough, he was followed by a stolid-looking workman, who at once started to work, while the small boy took his hoop and ran off.

    "That'll be four bits, ma'am," announced the glazier when the window was whole once more.

    "Four bits!" gasped the woman. "But your little boy broke it - the little fellow with the hoop, you know. You're his father, aren't you?"

    The stolid man shook his head.

    "Don't know him from Adam," he said. "He came around to my place and told me his mother wanted her winder fixed. You're his mother, aren't you?"

    And the woman shook her head also. - Ray Trum Nathan.

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