“My goodness!” he said. “What on earth you doin’ to that baby?”
Chattering in the busiest and most important way, they had taken Willamilla from the wagon and had settled which one was to have the “first turn.” This fell to Daisy, and holding Willamilla in her arms rather laboriously—for Willamilla was fourteen months old and fat—she began to walk up and down, crooning something she no doubt believed to be a lullaby.
“It’s my turn,” Elsie said. “I’ve counted a hunderd.”
“No fair!” Daisy protested at once. “You counted too fast.” And she continued to pace the sidewalk with Willamilla while Elsie walked beside her, insisting upon a rightful claim.
“Here!” Laurence said, coming up to them. “Listen! You’re holdin’ him all sprawled out and everything—you better put him back in the wagon. I bet if you hold him that way much longer you’ll spoil somep’m in him.”
“Him?” Both of his fair friends shouted; and they stared at Laurence with widening eyes. “Well, I declare!” Elsie said pettishly. “Haven’t you even got sense enough to know it’s a girl, Laurence Coy?”
“It is not!”
“It is, too!” they both returned.
“Listen here!” said Laurence. “Look at his name! I guess that settles it, don’t it?”
“It settles it he’s a girl,” Daisy cried. “I bet you don’t even know what her name is.”