"Isn't he beautiful!" exclaimed Rebecca. "Come straight to me!"
and she stretched out her arms.

The child struggled to its feet, and tottered, wavering, toward
the warm welcome of the voice and eyes. Rebecca was all mother,
and her maternal instincts had been well developed in the large
family in which she was next to the eldest. She had always
confessed that there were perhaps a trifle too many babies at
Sunnybrook Farm, but, nevertheless, had she ever heard it, she
would have stood loyally by the Japanese proverb: "Whether
brought forth upon the mountain or in the field, it matters
nothing; more than a treasure of one thousand ryo a baby precious
is."

"You darling thing!" she crooned, as she caught and lifted the
child. "You look just like a Jack-o'-lantern."

The boy was clad in a yellow cotton dress, very full and stiff.
His hair was of such a bright gold, and so sleek and shiny, that
he looked like a fair, smooth little pumpkin. He had wide blue
eyes full of laughter, a neat little vertical nose, a neat little
horizontal mouth with his few neat little teeth showing very
plainly, and on the whole Rebecca's figure of speech was not so
wide of the mark.

"Oh, Emma Jane! Isn't he too lovely to go to the poor farm? If
only we were married we could keep him and say nothing and nobody
would know the difference! Now that the Simpsons have gone away
there isn't a single baby in Riverboro, and only one in Edgewood.
It's a perfect shame, but I can't do anything; you remember Aunt