“Oh, there never was such a good baby, Miss, and Tom worships it. She’s as good as gold.”
“She?” cried Cynthia. “Is it a she?”
“Oh, yes, Miss,” cried the young mother, proudly.
“How funny!” said Cynthia. “It might be anything, it is so round and soft.”
“Would you mind feeling how heavy she grows, Miss Julia?” said the young mother and the baby was duly handed to Julia, who held it to her cheek, and then gazed lovingly at the little thing, her eyes wearing a curious wistful aspect, full of tenderness, while the young mothers face lit up with pleasure.
“Isn’t it heavy, Miss?” she said.
“Wonderfully,” replied Julia quietly, and with as much decision as if her life had been spent in the management of babies.
“She don’t know!” laughed Cynthia. “I don’t believe she ever had hold of one before. Here, give it to me.”
“No; let it stay,” said Julia softly, and to the young mother’s great satisfaction, for she seemed rather scared lest Cynthia should let it fall in tossing it up and down.
“She gets heavier every day, Miss, and Tom says it’s wonderful now for a baby a month old.”