John. Right? of course 'tis. Now give me the baby.
Tom. To serve in the same style? No, I thank you; it's a tenderer bit than Kitty.
Kitty. Tom, don't be silly!
Mrs. Maynard. I'll take him, Tom, the little darling. (Takes baby.)
Tom (reluctantly giving it up). Certainly, only handle him gently: I'm terribly anxious.
Mrs. Maynard (sits on settle. John helps Kitty off with her things). Oh, you little beauty!
Tom (leans on mantle, back, and watches her). The picture of his daddy: that's what they all say. Is his nose all right? Ain't much of it, but, if the frost got at it, good-by nose. Take care! Oh, Lord, I thought you had dropped him. Hey, Johnny, look up: he's a smart one for a three-months' older. Hadn't I better take him?
Kitty. Tom, do you suppose Mrs. Maynard don't know how to handle a baby?
Tom. Well, I don't know, Kitty; they break awful easy. You just keep your eye on him until I put up the horse. (Going; returns.) Does he look all right, Mrs. Maynard?
Mrs. Maynard. Right! don't you see he's wide awake?