“Indeed I do love them. What a little beauty. Do you think she would be frightened if you gave her to me, just for a minute?”
“I don’t think she would,” said Dulcie; “she let me take her, and she doesn’t seem shy.”
Miss Polly held out her arms, and Dulcie put the smiling, crowing baby into them, and with a little cooing sound the invalid cuddled the child to her heart.
“Oh, the darling,” she murmured, “the precious little darling! That’s right, put your head down on my shoulder. You know I love babies, don’t you? What is her name, Dulcie?”
“Her name is—is Mary,” gasped Dulcie, who was finding considerable difficulty in keeping the tremor out of her voice.
“Mary,” repeated Miss Polly, softly; “that is my little niece’s name, but they call her Polly.”
“They call this one Polly, too,” said Daisy, coming to her sister’s relief, “at least we think they do. We don’t know her father and mother very well. We never saw them till this morning.”
Daisy was very much embarrassed, but Miss Polly was too much absorbed in the baby to notice anything unusual in her manner.
“Look at her dimples,” she cried, admiringly, “and her hair is going to curl beautifully when she is a little older.”
“She likes you; she’s patting your cheek,” cried Daisy, joyfully. “Oh, Miss Polly dear, wouldn’t you love to have her all the time—to live in the same house, I mean?”