“Aren’t you gettin’ some tired of holdin’ me?” inquired Jimmy, with a stealthy little wriggle of protest. “You know I’m six, an’ Peg says I’m hefty for my age.”
Barbara laughed faintly, and the little boy slipped from her arms with alacrity and stood before her, eyeing her searchingly.
“I bought you a birfday present with my fi’ cents,” he said, “but you wouldn’t wait to see it.”
“You bought me a birthday present?” cried Barbara. “Why, Jimmy Preston! Show it to me; I can’t wait a minute longer.”
Jimmy walked soberly across to the table. The first glow of his enthusiasm had vanished, and he frowned a little as he untied the pink string.
“Maybe you won’t like it,” he said modestly. “It’s a picture, an’—an’ it—sparkles. I fought—no; I mean I thought it was pretty, an’ that you’d like it, Barb’ra.”
“Like it, boy! I should say so! It’s the most beautiful birthday present I ever had.” Barbara spoke with convincing sincerity and her eyes suddenly wrinkled with fun—the fun Jimmy loved. “I’d really like to kiss you six times—and one to grow on, if you’ll allow me, sir,” she said.
Jimmy considered this proposition for awhile in silence. “You don’t kiss Peg,” he objected at last.
“Mercy no! I should hope not!” laughed Barbara.
She seized the child firmly and planted four of the seven kisses on his hard pink cheeks. “Now two more under your curls in the sweet place,” she murmured. “And the last one in the sweetest place of all!” And she turned up his round chin and sought the warm white hollow beneath like a homing bee.