"Tock," repeated the infant, pointing to the mantel.
"Yes," cried Frances, delighted, "it is a clock. You see, mother, he thought I said clock. That is English."
"You don't mean it! But let him alone, Wink, and see what he will do."
The visitor showed plainly that he had a mind of his own. He did not wish to be petted and kissed, but preferred to walk around the room on a tour of investigation. Presently he paused before a table and remarked earnestly, "Book."
"Can't you find a picture-book for him?" asked Mrs. Morrison.
There happened to be an old animal book in the box they were unpacking, and, getting it out, Frances and the baby sat together on the new rug and turned the leaves, the latter never failing to say, "ion," "effunt," "tiger," as the case might be, with unvarying correctness and great enthusiasm.
In the midst of this there came a modest little tap at the door, and when Mrs. Morrison opened it, there stood a girl of about Frances' age. Her red calico dress was very fresh, her cheeks as rosy as the infant's, and her flaxen hair was drawn tightly back and braided in a long tail.
"Is the baby here?" she asked.
"No, no," came in decided tones from the visitor.
This made them all laugh, even the baby himself seeming to think it a good joke.