The baby nestled comfortably in his big, powerful arms, and Patty sat
back in her chair and watched them both.

"What a pleasure," she said, complacently, "to be wife and mother to two
such fine specimens of humanity! She grows more and more like you every
day, Little Billee."

"Well, if this yellow fuzz of a head and this pinky peach of a face
is like anybody in the world except Patty Farnsworth, I'll give up!
Why, she's the image of you,--except when she makes these grotesque
grimaces,--like a Chinese Joss."

"Stop it! You shan't call my baby names! She's a booful-poofle! She's a
hunny-bunny! She's her mudder's pressus girly-wirly,--so she wuz!"

"Oh, Patty, that I should live to hear you talk such lingo! I thought you
were going to be sensible."

"How can anybody be sensible with a baby like that! Isn't she the very
wonderfullest ever! Oh, Billee, look at her angel smile!"

"Angel smile? More like a mountebank's grin! But I'm sure she means well.
And I'll agree she is the most wonderful thing in the world."

Bill tossed the child up and down, and chuckled at her evident
appreciation of his efforts for her amusement.

"Be careful of my baby, if you please," and Patty eyed the performance
dubiously. "Suppose you drop my child?"