Christmas! An' a boy! An' she doin' well!
No wonder that ol' turkey-gobbler sets up on them rafters blinkin' at me so peaceful! He knows he's done passed a critical time o' life.
You've done crossed another bridge safe-t, ol' gobbly, an' you can afford to blink—an' to set out in the clair moonlight, 'stid o' roostin' back in the shadders, same ez you been doin'.
You was to 've died by ax-ident las' night, but the new visitor thet's dropped in on us ain't cut 'is turkey teeth yet, an' his mother—
Lord, how that name sounds! Mother! I hardly know 'er by it, long ez I been tryin' to fit it to 'er—an' fearin' to, too, less'n somethin' might go wrong with either one.
I even been callin' him "it" to myself all along, so 'feerd thet ef I set my min' on either the "he" or the "she" the other one might take a notion to come—an' I didn't want any disappointment mixed in with the arrival.
But now he's come,—an' registered, ez they say at the polls,—I know I sort o' counted on the boy, some way.
Lordy! but he's little! Ef he hadn't 'a' showed up so many of his functions spontaneous, I'd be oneasy less'n he mightn't have 'em; but they're there! Bless goodness, they're there!
An' he snez prezac'ly, for all the world, like my po' ol' pap—a reg'lar little cat sneeze, thess like all the Joneses.
Well, Mr. Turkey, befo' I go back into the house, I'm a-goin' to make you a solemn promise.