'Niece?' said the Stranger.
'Wife,' roared John.
'Indeed?' observed the Stranger. 'Surely? Very young!'
He quietly turned over, and resumed his reading. But, before he
could have read two lines, he again interrupted himself to say:
'Baby, yours?'
John gave him a gigantic nod; equivalent to an answer in the
affirmative, delivered through a speaking trumpet.
'Girl?'
'Bo-o-oy!' roared John.
'Also very young, eh?'
Mrs. Peerybingle instantly struck in. 'Two months and three da-
ays! Vaccinated just six weeks ago-o! Took very fine-ly!
Considered, by the doctor, a remarkably beautiful chi-ild! Equal
to the general run of children at five months o-old! Takes notice,
in a way quite wonderful! May seem impossible to you, but feels
his legs al-ready!'
Here the breathless little mother, who had been shrieking these
short sentences into the old man's ear, until her pretty face was
crimsoned, held up the Baby before him as a stubborn and triumphant
fact; while Tilly Slowboy, with a melodious cry of 'Ketcher,
Ketcher'--which sounded like some unknown words, adapted to a
popular Sneeze--performed some cow-like gambols round that all
unconscious Innocent.
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