"
In January Jims was five months old and Rilla celebrated the anniversary
by shortening him.
"He weighs fourteen pounds," she announced jubilantly. "Just exactly
what he should weigh at five months, according to Morgan."
There was no longer any doubt in anybody's mind that Jims was getting
positively pretty. His little cheeks were round and firm and faintly
pink, his eyes were big and bright, his tiny paws had dimples at the
root of every finger. He had even begun to grow hair, much to Rilla's
unspoken relief. There was a pale golden fuzz all over his head that was
distinctly visible in some lights. He was a good infant, generally
sleeping and digesting as Morgan decreed. Occasionally he smiled but he
had never laughed, in spite of all efforts to make him. This worried
Rilla also, because Morgan said that babies usually laughed aloud from
the third to the fifth month. Jims was five months and had no notion of
laughing. Why hadn't he? Wasn't he normal?
One night Rilla came home late from a recruiting meeting at the Glen
where she had been giving patriotic recitations. Rilla had never been
willing to recite in public before. She was afraid of her tendency to
lisp, which had a habit of reviving if she were doing anything that made
her nervous. When she had first been asked to recite at the Upper Glen
meeting she had refused. Then she began to worry over her refusal.
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