Rachel: Oh! Ma dear, I hope not, not for the longest time, two long, long years at least. I just want to be silly and irresponsible, and have you to love and torment, and, of course, Tom, too.
Mrs. Loving (Smiling down at Rachel): You’ll not make me forget, young lady. Why are you late, Rachel?
Rachel: Well, Ma dear, I’m your pet poodle, and my hat is over my ear, and I’m late, for the loveliest reason.
Mrs. Loving: Don’t be silly, Rachel.
Rachel: That may sound silly, but it isn’t. And please don’t “Rachel” me so much. It was honestly one whole hour ago when I opened the front door down stairs. I know it was, because I heard the postman telling some one it was four o’clock. Well, I climbed the first flight, and was just starting up the second, when a little shrill voice said, “’Lo!” I raised my eyes, and there, half-way up the stairs, sitting in the middle of a step, was just the clearest, cutest, darlingest little brown baby boy you ever saw. “’Lo! yourself,” I said. “What are you doing, and who are you anyway?” “I’m Jimmy; and I’m widing to New York on the choo-choo tars.” As he looked entirely too young to be going such a distance by himself, I asked him if I might go too. For a minute or two he considered the question and me very seriously, and then he said, “’Es,” and made room for me on the step beside him. We’ve been everywhere: New York, Chicago, Boston, London, Paris and Oshkosh. I wish you could have heard him say that last place. I suggested going there just to hear him. Now, Ma dear, is it any wonder I am late? See all the places we have been in just one “teeny, weeny” hour? We would have been traveling yet, but his horrid, little mother came out and called him in. They’re in the flat below, the new people. But before he went, Ma dear, he said the “cunningest” thing. He said, “Will you tum out an’ p’ay wif me aden in two minutes?” I nearly hugged him to death, and it’s a wonder my hat is on my head at all. Hats are such unimportant nuisances anyway!
Mrs. Loving: Unimportant nuisances! What ridiculous language you do use, Rachel! Well, I’m no prophet, but I see very distinctly what is going to happen. This little brown baby will be living here night and day. You’re not happy unless some child is trailing along in your rear.
Rachel (Mischievously): Now, Ma dear, whose a hypocrite? What? I suppose you don’t like children! I can tell you one thing, though, it won’t be my fault if he isn’t here night and day. Oh, I wish he were all mine, every bit of him! Ma dear, do you suppose that “she woman” he calls mother would let him come up here until it is time for him to go to bed? I’m going down there this minute. (Rises impetuously).
Mrs. Loving: Rachel, for Heaven’s sake! No! I am entirely too busy and tired today without being bothered with a child romping around in here.
Rachel (Reluctantly and a trifle petulantly): Very well, then. (For several moments she watches her mother, who has begun to sew again. The displeasure vanishes from her face). Ma dear!
Mrs. Loving: Well.