The first
time I was nearly frightened to death, for father and mother were both
away--father always is away, it seems to me, when any of this household
gets sick. But Susan was cool as a fish and knew just what to do, and by
morning Jims was all right. That child is a cross between a duck and an
imp. He's a year and four months old, trots about everywhere, and says
quite a few words. He has the cutest little way of calling me
"Willa-will." It always brings back that dreadful, ridiculous,
delightful night when Ken came to say good-bye, and I was so furious and
happy. Jims is pink and white and big-eyed and curly-haired and every
now and then I discover a new dimple in him. I can never quite believe
he is really the same creature as that scrawny, yellow, ugly little
changeling I brought home in the soup tureen. Nobody has ever heard a
word from Jim Anderson. If he never comes back I shall keep Jims always.
Everybody here worships and spoils him--or would spoil him if Morgan
and I didn't stand remorselessly in the way. Susan says Jims is the
cleverest child she ever saw and can recognize Old Nick when he sees him
--this because Jims threw poor Doc out of an upstairs window one day.
Doc turned into Mr. Hyde on his way down and landed in a currant bush,
spitting and swearing. I tried to console his inner cat with a saucer of
milk but he would have none of it, and remained Mr.
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