At the sound of wheels, little Agnes ran to the door, peeped out, screamed with joy, and flew back into the parlour crying out,—
"Clarice, Clarice, here's Lizzie and Donald in the shanderadan, and Lizzie's baby in a scarlet shawl!"
For the bit of colour pleased the child's eye, used only to the black dresses of her sisters and herself; though when Agnes first put on her mourning, she had felt a little important, the frock being actually new, and not some one's dress cut down to suit her!
Lizzie, springing to the ground, carried her baby into the house. In the parlour, she found Clarice, with her baby beside her, and her face lighted up with joy and welcome.
"Oh, Lizzie, dear Liz," she exclaimed, "is that really you? I saw the horse's head, and wondered what could be coming. Aymer and Guy are in the fields, but Helen is only in the garden. Oh, Lizzie, show me your baby, and kiss me. I'm so glad you have come!"
The baby was unpacked from among his shawls and blankets, and the two infants were critically compared. The Egerton baby had black eyes, and the Anderson baby had blue, otherwise they were somewhat alike.
Agnes danced with glee, exclaiming, "I'm his aunt, Lizzie! Clarice says so. She says I'm just as much his aunt as Helen or herself."
"Very true, Aggie! But, stranger still, baby here is my baby's uncle, just as much as Aymer or Guy."
But this was too much for Agnes. She sat down and stared gravely at the two babies, uncle and nephew.
"I see Donald has gone round to the stable," said Lizzie. "Had I not better go out to the garden and call Helen, Clarice?"