"Oh! let Uncle Joe hold him," cried Millie, in ecstasy at the sight of the dawning intelligence on the baby's face.
"Me!" cried Bindle in horror, stepping back as if he had been asked to foster-mother a vigorous young rattlesnake. "Me 'old It?" He looked uncertainly at Mrs. Bindle and then again at Millie. "Not for an old-age pension."
"He'll make him cry," said Mrs. Bindle with conviction, hugging Little Joe closer and increasing the swaying movement.
"Oh yes, you must!" cried Millie gaily. "I'll take him, Auntie Lizzie," she said, turning to Mrs. Bindle, who manifested reluctance to relinquish the bundle.
"I might 'urt 'im," protested Bindle, retreating a step further, his forehead lined with anxiety.
"Now, Uncle Joe," commanded Millie, extending the bundle, "put your arms out."
Bindle extended his hands as might a child who is expecting to be caned. There was reluctance in the movement, and a suggestion that at any moment he was prepared to withdraw them suddenly.
"Not that way," snapped Mrs. Bindle, with all the scorn of a woman's superior knowledge.
Millie settled the matter by thrusting the bundle into Bindle's arms and he had, perforce, to clasp it.
He looked about him wildly, then, his eyes happening to catch those of Joseph the Second, he forgot his responsibilities, and began winking rapidly and in a manner that seemed entirely to Little Joe's satisfaction.