Chapter 7 - Page 2

aroused to the deepest admiration, and when he proceeded to produce quite a large memorandum book with a view to taking an immediate list of all required articles, and established rules, she could scarcely contain her delight.

"I want to do it all up in the proper way," he said.

Thereupon he was borne into the house and a consultation of the most serious practical nature was held. Piles of the last baby's pretty garments being produced to illustrate any obscure point. The sight of those garments with their embroidery and many frills fired Tom with new enthusiasm. He could not resist the temptation to pick up one after another of the prettiest and most elaborate and hold them out at arm's length, his fingers stuck through the sleeves the better to survey and display them to advantage.

"Yes," he kept saying, "that's the kind of thing she wants--pretty and with plenty of frills."

He seemed to set his heart especially upon this abundance of frills and kept it in view throughout the entire arrangements. Little Mrs. Rutherford was to take charge of the matter, purchasing all necessaries and superintending the work of placing it in competent hands.

"Why," she said, laughing at him delightedly, "she'll be the best dressed baby in the county."

"I'd like her to be among the best," said Tom, with a grave face, "among the best."

Whereupon Mrs. Rutherford laughed a little again, and then quite suddenly stopped and regarded him for a moment with some thoughtfulness.

"He has some curious notions about that baby, mother," she said afterwards. "I can see it in all he says. Everyone mightn't understand it. I'm not sure I do myself, but he has a big, kind heart, that Tom de Willoughby, a big, kind heart."

She understood more clearly the workings of the big, kind heart before he left them the next morning.

At night after she had put her child to sleep, she joined him on the front porch, where he sat in the moonlight, and there he spoke more fully to her.

He had seated himself upon the steps of the porch and wore a deeper reflective air, as he played with a spray of honeysuckle he had broken from its vine.

She drew up her rocking-chair and sat down near him.

"I actually believe you are thinking of that baby now," she said, with a laugh. "You really look as if you were."

"Well," he admitted, "the fact is that's just what I was doing--thinking of her."

"Well, and what were you thinking?"

"I was thinking--" holding his spray of honeysuckle between his thumb and forefinger and looking at it in an interested way, "I was thinking about what name I should give her."

"Oh!" she said, "she hasn't any name?"