“How we do miss the children!” said Mrs. Dunlee.
And they agreed that they missed the “Prince Imperial,” as they called the baby, more than any one of the others. He was such a rollicking prince, never speaking a single word, but ruling his loving subjects by laughter and tears, and sometimes by a wave of his royal hand.
At four o’clock he was brought home in Mrs. Porter’s arms, beaming with joy; but refused to tell where he had been, or who had given him the string of pretty shells he wore on his neck. He only smiled and cooed, and mamma knelt at his feet, and said he was “the sweetest baby ever was born.”
Then Lucy came home with two of her cousins. She had visited a photographer with Aunt Jessie, and a man had “tooken her picture.”
“He kissed his hand to me, papa, and then he tooked it. But I don’t know where it is now.”
“Did you keep still, little daughter?”
“Oh, yes, papa; I kept just as still! I was very gemplumly.”
It had long been Lucy’s ambition to be “gemplumly, just like Jimmy.”
In a few minutes the two older girls came home. They brought a box full of wild-flowers, and were rather flushed and tired and talkative. Very hungry too; for a “tramp dog” had eaten most of their luncheon. Edy was afraid if she didn’t have something to eat in one minute, her head would fly into pieces, it ached so hard.
“We can’t allow that,” said mamma. “Go into the dining-room, every one of you! Draw up your chairs to the table, and I’ll bring you a plate of bread and butter.”