"Do you think it matters?" he asked mildly, "what such a baby calls me?"
"Not to you, certainly," Miss Esperance replied promptly; "but I do think it matters for him. He is three now, and it's time he knew better."
"Surely three is not a very great age?" Mr. Wycherly pleaded.
"It is old enough for Edmund to want his own way, and generally to take it," Miss Esperance rejoined as she rose from the table; "and it is old enough for him to learn that he must be dutiful and obedient."
As Mr. Wycherly held the door open for her to go out, he remarked deferentially, "But, don't you think, dear Miss Esperance, that either 'Mr.' or 'Sir' is a somewhat formal mode of address to exact from such a baby?"
"I called my honoured father 'Sir' from the time I could speak at all, and when I was young it would never for one moment have been permitted to us to address any grown-up person otherwise than with respect," Miss Esperance continued, as she paused in the doorway. "I will see what I can do about it this very day. I feel sure that if we reason with that dear child, we can induce him to find some more suitable way of addressing you."
When Miss Esperance had gone, and Mr. Wycherly had shut his door, he shook his head and laughed. Two or three times lately he had tried a fall with Edmund, and that lusty infant invariably came off an easy victor.
It was the daily custom for both the little boys to visit Mr. Wycherly for a few minutes after breakfast, when biscuits were doled out and there was much cheery good-fellowship. Mr. Wycherly himself made periodical visits to Edinburgh to purchase these biscuits, which were adorned with pink and white sugar, and were of a delectable flavour. Once the biscuits were consumed—they had three each—Montagu settled down to his lessons, and Edmund, ever unwillingly, departed with Robina.
Through the open window that morning there floated an imperative baby voice. "See man," it insisted, "me go and see man."
Mr. Wycherly looked out and Edmund looked up. He stretched out his fat arms, balancing himself first on one foot and then on the other, as though poised for flight, while in the thrush-like tones that were always irresistible to Mr. Wycherly he gave his usual cry of "Uppie! Uppie! deah man."