“Don’t you think it’s happier as it is?” inquired Dick, poking the baby gingerly with a tentative finger.
“It? It’s your son, Dick. Take him up at once. I want to see you together. Now, isn’t he splendid?”
“Little beggar’s not a scrap like you,” grumbled Dick.
“No,” said Georgia, with entire satisfaction; “every one says he’s the image of you.”
“Oh no; not really?” protested Dick in dismay.
“Why not? He’s a beautiful baby. Look what lovely eyes he has. And see how good he is; mens aequa in arduis ought to be his motto, I always say.”
“Oh, very well; if he feels it a hardship for me to hold him, I quite agree,” and the baby was returned with elaborate gentleness to the basket which served as a cradle.
“Dick, aren’t you pleased? Don’t you really like him?” Georgia’s eyes were full of tears.
“Like him? My dear girl, in a day or two I shall be prouder of him than you are. But you see, it’s you I’ve been thinking of all this time, and I can’t think of anything else yet. I want to sit by you and look at you and hold your hand for hours and hours, and think of nothing but that I’ve got you again.”
“I won’t accept compliments at my baby’s expense,” laughed Georgia through her tears.