A year had gone by, another spring was at hand; and little Helen was learning to toddle on her sturdy legs, a pink rose of a baby with short, dark curls.
“She is so good. Are all little children good?” Helen asked, smiling at Mrs. Arnold, who was paying one of her frequent visits.
“At this age, yes,” the elder woman replied dryly.
“And I have so little time to devote to her, now that the other baby has come,” Helen sighed.
“The other baby!” Mrs. Arnold gasped.
“Why, don’t you know? Haven’t you heard? I have just got a lovely boy,” Helen informed her.
“Here? You have him now?”
Helen nodded. “Come and see him. He is too young to bring out yet,” she explained.
She led the way to the small crib in the nursery, where a very young infant lay asleep.
“It is a fine child,” Mrs. Arnold announced gravely. “How many do you expect to—have?” she asked.