"Oh, mother!"
"And here is little brother."
Daffodil's first feeling was disappointment. She had thought of some angelic beauty. He was red and crumpled up, and there was a crown of thick black hair, and his mouth was puckered up. The mother patted his little face.
"He will look better by and by," she said reassuringly.
"Mother, I was thinking—it came to me in the chair—isn't it old grandfather come back to us again to live his life over? You know, everything begins little. The flowers die, but they spring up again, most of them in the same places."
"Why, child, that is a pretty thought;" and the mother smiled. "And he will have his name, only Grandfather Carrick must have his in, so it will be Alexander Felix Duvernay."
"I don't want him to be called Sandy."
"I think he won't be. And, Daffodil, you won't mind—I mean, you won't feel jealous. We wanted him so much." There was a touch of anxiety in the mother's voice.
"Oh, no. Father asked me that. No, you may love him ever so much, while you love me as well."
"She takes it very calmly," said Gran'mere Bradin afterward. "Some children as old as she, and been the only one so long, would have made a great fuss. We have all spoiled her a little, but she has such a sweet temper. It is the Duvernay temper;" smiling.