that she tell him all about it later.

When she had gone, he sat there, thinking about the girl. Sue was very much like her mother, Polly. Dark-haired with light bones, she had the quick and easy movements of a born dancer. And her eyes sparkled with dancing lights. Sue, like Polly, was a born flirt, but a flirt out of sheer interest in life. She was so much the image of her mother, both in face and build and also temperament, that he wondered who her father was. Certainly there was not much of any of the men visible in her.

What would Marcia mean to the children? With a start he came back to his problem. There was nothing apparent of the maternal instinct in her. But then, neither was there in Joan, either; and Joan was a perfectly good member of the clan.

Oh, sometimes they laughed at Joan for being much too serious about her part. She was the artist and the self-acknowledged arbiter of good taste, the monitor of the proper way. She was the gracious hostess when visitors were at hand. To her the clan had conceded the job of deciding the arrangement of the rooms. To her the girls turned for advice in how to dress. And her advice was good. With some real though limited talent as an artist, she had the touch of instinct, the sense of rightness, and the drive to be unsatisfied with anything but what was right. And she, conceding that children were necessary and even desirable in their places, still deplored the havoc they could wreak. She was not a good manager of the children.

But then, he thought, why should she be? The clan had other purposes than to raise children; that was one of the important needs the clan fulfilled, but it was only one. In fact, it was one of the strengths of the clan that the different members had separate talents they could bring to it. Each with his own value, each unique. With the separateness that let them complement each other to form the whole. This was their strength.

No, Marcia was not greatly maternal, certainly—but this was not important. But he could not quite decide what was important.

HE WAS still puzzling over it when Betsy bounced into the kitchen.

"Whew," she said, giving him a light kiss, "what a day!" She pulled out a mirror from her pocket and looked into it. "I think I'm going to have a red nose. That sun was bright and hot; I hope none of the kids got too much. But they will keep dashing into the water, and it's hard to catch them again to get them to put their shirts on. I think Timmy's back is a little red, but I guess it won't be too much." She collapsed violently into a chair.

Tom smiled at her. It was refreshing to see anyone who could be tired in such a dynamic way. "You look as if you had a day," he said.

"We did," she said, looking happy. She heaved herself up to get a cup and saucer and to pour herself a cup of coffee. Then, sitting down, she looked at him. "And what have you been doing?" she asked him.

"Oh, buzzing around town," he told her. "And brooding."

"Brooding?" she asked. He explained to her what the situation was, telling her that they must soon decide what to do about Marcia—whether to accept her as a member of the clan or not. He told her that only by accepting the girl could they get the job at Eltron Electronics that they wanted. And he told her Ricky's thinking that the thing must be decided that night, and warned her of the coming caucus. The words boiled out of him; when he was through, he slumped down, suddenly tired.

Betsy cocked her head and studied him. There was a soft look in her eyes of the sort she usually saved for the children. "Why has it upset you?" she asked.

"Upset me?" Tom seemed surprised. "Well, yes, I suppose it has. Sue was in here, and I got to thinking of the kids. What this'll mean to them."

"The kids?" She looked surprised. "Why should this mean anything to the kids? Anything special, that is?"

"Well, if we turn her down, we got to take the Universal job," he explained. "And that means moving. Moving's always hard on kids. And if we accept her, then the kids'll have a lot to do with her."

"I assume she won't roast them live over the coals," Betsy said. "And I think the kids are tough enough to take almost anything else." She snickered. "You don't see them as much as I do. If you did you'd know they were a lot tougher than they look, the delicate little things!"

"Oh, I'm not talking about that," he said. "I don't expect her to bat them around or anything. But I just wonder how they'll take to her."

She shrugged. "If they don't like her, they can always come to me. Or Rita. Or Polly or Esther or Sandy. Or even Joan, providing they don't mess up the livingroom while they do it. The kids will get along, don't worry.

"As a matter of fact," she went on, "that's a funny thing. One of the chief arguments against the clans is that it doesn't single out a man and a woman as the parents of a child. This is supposed to do something to the child—make him insecure, somehow. But as far as I can see, it makes him more secure. In the first place, he's got that many more parents to choose from, and he can usually find one at least in the mood and with the time to give him what he needs at the moment. Then, too, the clan can afford to have one or two of its people completely concentrated on the children at any given time. And that job can get sort of passed around so nobody gets fed up with it.

"Or, rather, if a person does get fed up with the kids, she doesn't have to force herself to be halfway decent to them; she doesn't have to have anything to do with them at all until she gets over her blues. So most of the time, the kids get the kind of attention they ought to get, and they get it from a person who's in the mood to give it. Personally, I think that they're a lot better off under this system, and you'd have a hard time telling me any different."

"They do look healthy and happy," he said.

"They sure do." She looked proud and satisfied. "I'd hate to be the one to try to keep up with them if they were any healthier. Or any fuller of ideas."

"That's why I hate to risk it," he told her. "Everything's going so well now.... The kids are so obviously.... But I take it you don't think there's much risk?"

"No." Her tone was incisive. "Any storms she can cook up, the kids can stand better than you and I can."

"Maybe you're right," Tom conceded. "But what about yourself? You think she is apt to make 'storms'?"

BETSY shrugged. "There's always storms when you take in a new member. You have to adjust; and, even more, the new one has to adjust. And adjustments aren't ever easy. I remember when I came in. I had some bad times—and I was brought up in a clan, too; I knew what I was getting into. But still there were times when it hurt. When I felt lost. When I didn't know what you people were like. When I felt like a stranger, not knowing your private jokes and unconscious language. When I felt out of place and alone.

"There were plenty of times when this happened, but I stuck it out. And I learned. I learned what made you people tick, and why you did some of the things you did. I grew into being a part of you. Now I am one of the clan, legally, socially, and in my inmost self.

"That's my story. Marcia will have a lot harder time; she doesn't even know what a clan is. She's not only never been a part of one, but the people she has been with have sneered at them, and made no effort to understand. She hasn't even been able to get along with one husband; she's going to have a hard time learning to get along with seven. Not to mention six co-wives. Chances are she's been spoiled, made the center of things without due cause. She was an only child,