"Children, what do you say?" asked Father Golden. "You're old enough
to have your opinion, even the youngest of you."

"Oh, keep him! keep him!" clamored the three younger children.

Adam and Lemuel exchanged a glance of grave inquiry.

"I guess he'd better stay, father!" said Adam.

"I think so, too!" said Lemuel; and both gave something like a sigh
of relief.

"Then that's settled," said Father Golden, "saying and supposing
that no objection turns up. Next thing is, what shall we call this
child?"

All eyes were fixed on the baby, who, now full of warm milk, sat
throned on Mother Golden's knee, blinking content.

It was a pretty picture: the rosy, dimpled creature, the yellow
floss ruffled all over his head, his absurd little mouth open in a
beaming smile; beaming above him, Mother Golden's placid face in its
frame of silver hair; fronting them, Father Golden in his big
leather chair, solid, comfortable, benevolent; and the five children,
their honest, sober faces lighted up with unusual excitement. A
pleasant, homelike picture. Nothing remarkable in the way of setting;
the room, with its stuffed chairs, its tidies, and cabinet organ, was
only unlike other such rooms from the fact that Mother Golden
habitually sat in it; she could keep even haircloth from being