'But he is such a little chap,' he concluded, 'it seems hardly possible for us to take him.'
Here, however, Stanislaus gave over his leg-swinging and took it upon himself to remonstrate.
'I ain’t little,' he said firmly. Slipping off his chair, he drew himself up very straight, and began patting himself all over. 'Feel me,' he urged, 'dest feel me, I’m weally big. Feel my arms,' he held these chubby members out to Miss Lyman. 'An’ my legs,—' he patted them,—'why ve’re aw-ful big!' His serious little mouth rounded itself to amazement at the bigness of his legs.
It was beyond human nature, or at least beyond Miss Lyman’s nature, to resist the appeal of his eager voice and patting baby hands. Obediently she ran an inquiring touch over his soft body, which was still plump babyhood, not having as yet thinned to boyhood.
'Why,' she said, turning gravely to Mr. Lincoln, 'he does look rather small, but when you feel him, you find he is really quite big.'
'Does he feel big enough for us to take?' Mr. Lincoln demanded.
'Oh, I think so!' she answered quickly, one arm slipping about the little boy’s shoulders.
'An’ I’ll be five ve twenty-second of March,' Stanislaus threw in to overbalance the argument in his favor.
He snuggled himself confidingly against Miss Lyman, and fell to playing with the many jingling attachments of her chatelaine.
'I heard vese tinkly fings when you was comin’ ’w-a-y a-w-a-y outside, 'fore you o-pened ve door,' he murmured softly.