“Go upstairs and look at him, my dear fellow! Pine little chap as you could wish to see.”
In truth he was a healthy nine-pounder of a son, guaranteed by nurse and mother to be the finest baby ever born, and seated by his wife’s bedside, Francis gave vent to his jubilation.
“Now,” he said triumphantly, “I have everything I want. I really am a lucky fellow. Jolly little beggar, eh? Seems to me—I don’t know if I’m right—but I do think he looks different from the rest!”
The wife smiled, but Francis was right; everybody said he was right. The longed-for boy was in truth an extraordinarily comely infant, and each week of his life he blossomed into fuller charm. His well-shaped head was covered with golden curls and when he lay asleep (and he obligingly slept most of his time) it was a pleasure to observe the delicate promise of his features. He had obviously elected to resemble his handsome father, and the father was complacently grateful for the fact.—
Mrs Manning observed with amazement that Francis nursed this baby, positively nursed him in his arms, and was quite disappointed when, on returning from the city, he failed to find him awake.
“Are his eyes changing colour yet?” he would ask. “I want them to be blue. Blue eyes would look so well with his yellow hair.” But the baby’s eyes remained a dull, clouded grey. “Not blue yet!” Francis would repeat. “How long is it before they begin to change? Fine big eyes, aren’t they? I want to make the little beggar look at me, but he won’t. Why does he stare at the ceiling?”
“It’s the electric light,” said his wife; but the next morning, when the lights were turned off, the baby still stared blankly upward.
“Why the dickens does he stare at the ceiling?” Francis asked again.
Gradually, imperceptibly, a growing anxiety began to mingle with his joy, and the anxiety was connected with those staring eyes. He would not put his thoughts into words; but he watched his wife’s face, and saw in it no reflection of his own fears. Then for a time he would banish the dread; and anon it would recur.
Were the boy’s eyes all right? Was it really natural that he should be always staring up? Ridiculous nonsense! Of course it was all right. Things had come to a pretty pass when he took to worrying himself, while his wife, who knew a thousand times more about babies, remained untroubled and serene. Bother the child’s eyes! ... He would think about them no more.