“But he’s like Teddo, all the same,” persisted Doris, “an’ we ought to call him Teddo.”
Then Mother asked what about calling him after Uncle Harry, and they were all thunderstruck to think they had not thought of that before.
“Of course we will!” cried Mollie.
“Yes, ’cause only for Uncle he might never be here,” said Doris, seriously; “’cause everything’s different since Uncle came.”
So it was decided to call him Henry, which would, of course, mean “Harry,” or “Hal,” or “Har.” But he was nearly always called “The Baby,” and so Baby still kept her name as merely “Baby.”
Dadda made him a cart—a box with wooden wheels—and it was fitted up with cushions, and the baby spent many hours there as the weeks went on, and would lie and coo and laugh for ever so long, and the children would crowd round and talk to him. They declared that he answered them, and they were sure he knew each and every one of them and was the most wonderful baby that ever lived. Doris declared that he called her “Doris” one morning as plain as anything; and she said that she loved babies, and when she grew up she would like to have about a hundred.
“Ugh! they’ll be like rabbits!” Eileen answered. “It would be awful to have that many.”
But Doris said she didn’t care.
Willie would beg to be allowed to drag the cart down the road and give the “little chap” a ride, and sometimes Mother would let him, until she found out that he would sometimes leave the cart with her precious treasure and rush off after a bright-winged bird or butterfly.
“But look here, Mrs. Hudson, it’s only for a minute or two, and the baby doesn’t mind—not a bit! He’s great chums with me——”