“I suppose,” he reflected, “God sent Daddy to find me so that I would be his little boy. You never happened to see any babies when you were out walking, did you, Harry?”
“Not in stumps—but I probably wasn't looking.”
Jimmy eyed her with sympathy.
“You may some day. Would you like to have one?”
“Very much,” said Harmony, and flushed delightfully.
Jimmy was disposed to press the matter, to urge immediate maternity on her.
“You could lay it here on the bed,” he offered, “and I'd watch it. When they yell you let 'em suck your finger. I knew a woman once that had a baby and she did that. And it could watch Isabella.” Isabella was the mother mouse. “And when I'm better I could take it walking.”
“That,” said Harmony gravely, “is mighty fine of you, Jimmy boy. I—I'll think about it.” She never denied Jimmy anything, so now she temporized.
“I'll ask Peter.”
Harmony had a half-hysterical moment; then: