"Oh, Patty, that I should live to hear you talk such lingo! I thought you were going to be sensible."
"How can anybody be sensible with a baby like that! Isn't she the very wonderfullest ever! Oh, Billee, look at her angel smile!"
"Angel smile? More like a mountebank's grin! But I'm sure she means well.
And I'll agree she is the most wonderful thing in the world."
Bill tossed the child up and down, and chuckled at her evident appreciation of his efforts for her amusement.
"Be careful of my baby, if you please," and Patty eyed the performance dubiously. "Suppose you drop my child?"
"I hardly think I shall, ma'am. And, incidentally, I suppose she is my child?"
"No; a girl baby is always her mudder's own—only just her very own mudder's own. Give her to me! Let me has my baby,—my ownty-donty baby!"
Farnsworth obediently handed Patty her property, and put another pillow behind her as she sat in the low willow chair. Then he seated himself near, and adoringly watched his two treasures.
It was mid-April and the Farnsworths had been married more than a year. On their return from France, they had looked about for a home, and had at last found a fortunate chance to buy at a bargain a beautiful place up in Westchester County. It was near enough to New York for a quick trip and yet it was almost country.
The small settlement of Arden was largely composed of fine estates and attractive homes. This one which they had taken was broad and extensive, with hundreds of acres in lawns, gardens and woodland. It was called Wistaria Porch, because of an old wistaria vine which had achieved astounding dimensions and whose blooms in the spring and foliage later were the admiration of the whole countryside.