Dear me, Aunt Hannah, the man that will grow
judgment and can it as you would a mess of peas,
has got his fortune made!''

``What an absurd child you are, Billy,'' laughed
Aunt Hannah. ``I used to tell Marie-- By the
way, how is Marie? Have you seen her lately?''

``Oh, yes, I saw her yesterday,'' twinkled Billy.
``She had a book of wall-paper samples spread
over the back of a chair, two bunches of samples
of different colored damasks on the table before
her, a `Young Mother's Guide' propped open
in another chair, and a pair of baby's socks in
her lap with a roll each of pink, and white, and
blue ribbon. She spent most of the time, after
I had helped her choose the ribbon, in asking me
if I thought she ought to let the baby cry and
bother Cyril, or stop its crying and hurt the
baby, because her `Mother's Guide' says a certain
amount of crying is needed to develop a baby's
lungs.''

Aunt Hannah laughed, but she frowned, too.

``The idea! I guess Cyril can stand proper
crying--and laughing, too--from his own
child!'' she said then, crisply.

``Oh, but Marie is afraid he can't,'' smiled