“Well, I don’t know,” was the reply. “It seems to me he has his papa’s dark eyes, but I can’t see any other resemblance.”
“Oh, I do!” Bessie replied with spirit. “Why, it is just his forehead and mouth, and his hair will be just the same beautiful brown when he grows up.”
The old lady was looking on reproachfully, and finally said, “Bessie, my dear, that child looks precisely like your own family. George at his age was just such an infant; you couldn’t tell them apart.”
George entered the room at that moment, and with his boisterous laugh said, “You don’t mean to say that I was ever such a little, soft, ridiculous lump of humanity as that, do you?”
“As like as two peas,” was the reply of his mother.
For my part I kept out of the discussion, for I must confess I could see no resemblance between the precious baby and any other mortal creature, except another baby of the same age. I thought they looked pretty much all alike, and was not prepared to deny that it was the exact counterpart of anybody at that particular stage of development.
“I tell you what, Bess,” said George, after the debate had fully subsided, “you must name that little chap for me.”
“Oh, no,” replied the proud mother, “that is all settled; his name is Charlie.”
Nothing had been said on the subject before, and I was a little startled at Bessie’s positive manner, for I thought even this matter would not be free from her mother’s dictation. The old lady seemed surprised and vexed. “George is a much better name, I think,” she said very quietly, keeping down her vexation, “but I thought perhaps you might remember your dear father in this matter. His name, you know, was Benjamin.”
“Yes, I know,” said Bessie, very firmly, “but I think there is one with a still higher claim, and the child’s name is Charles.”