“I know I oughtn’t to hold her while she is asleep, but she seems so wonderful I can’t bear to let her go. I think she is growing more like you, Edwin.”
“Like me! Nonsense! That would be a sad thing to have wished on the poor innocent when there are so many handsome folks in the Carmichael and Brown family from whom she could inherit real beauty.”
“But Edwin, you are handsome, I think. You are so noble looking.”
“All right, honey, have it your own way,” and he stooped and kissed her. “I will allow that the baby has inherited my bald head if you like—Hi there!” he called to Mr. Woodsmall, who was preparing to unlock the mail box, “I’ll come get it,” and he sprinted down the walk where the garrulous postman held him enthralled for a good fifteen minutes. A blue envelope with a foreign postmark told him there was a letter from Julia Kean that would be eagerly welcomed by Molly, but there was no stopping the flow of R. F. D.’s eloquence. The causes of the war being thoroughly threshed out, he finally took his reluctant departure.
“A letter from Judy Kean! Now you will have to put the baby down!”
So little Mildred was tenderly placed in her basket on the porch and Molly opened the voluminous epistle from the beloved Judy.
“Oh, Edwin, she is not coming home! I was afraid she would want to do something Judyesque. Only listen!” and Molly read the Giverny letter to her husband.
“What do you think Kent will say to this? I know he is very uneasy about her anyhow since the war broke out, and now—well, I’m glad I’m not in his shoes. She is not very considerate of him, I must say.”
“Oh, you men folks!” laughed Molly. “I can’t see how she could leave France until she knows something about her mother and father, and after all, I don’t believe Kent and Judy are engaged.”
“Not engaged! What do you think Kent has been doing this whole year in Paris if he wasn’t getting engaged?”