Chapter Four.
Babies.
There was plenty to think of all that day. Mary’s little head had never been so full, and before bedtime came she began to feel quite sleepy.
It had been a very happy day, even though everything seemed rather strange. Their father would have liked to stay with them, but he was obliged to go away. Nurse—I mean Artie’s and Mary’s own nurse—was very good to them, and so were cook and all the other servants. The birthday dinner was just what Mary liked—roast chicken and bread-sauce and little squirly rolls of bacon, and a sponge-cake pudding with strawberry jam. And there was a very nice tea, too; the only pity was that baby could not have any of the good things, because, as nurse explained, she had no teeth.
“She’ll have some by next birthday, won’t she?” asked Leigh.
“I hope so, poor dear,” said nurse, “though she’ll scarcely be able to eat roast chicken by then.”
“Why do you say ‘poor dear’?” asked Leigh.
“Because their teeth coming often hurts babies a good deal,” said nurse.
“It would be much better if they were all ready,” said Leigh. “I don’t see why they shouldn’t be. Baby’s got hands and eyes and everything else—why shouldn’t she have teeth?”
“I’m sure I can’t say, Master Leigh,” nurse answered. “There’s many things we can’t explain.”