That's a handsome child you have there. Is he your brother?"
"No, he's a little war-baby I've been taking care of, because his mother
died and his father was overseas," answered Rilla in a subdued tone.
"War-baby! Humph! Well, I'd better skin out before he wakes up or he'll
likely start crying. Children don't like me--never did. I can't
recollect any youngster ever coming near me of its own accord. Never had
any of my own. Amelia was my step-daughter. Well, it's saved me a world
of bother. If kids don't like me I don't like them, so that's an even
score. But that certainly is a handsome child."
Jims chose this moment for waking up. He opened his big brown eyes and
looked at Mrs. Matilda Pitman unblinkingly. Then he sat up, dimpled
deliciously, pointed to her and said solemnly to Rilla, "Pwitty lady,
Willa, pwitty lady."
Mrs. Matilda Pitman smiled. Even eighty-odd is sometimes vulnerable in
vanity. "I've heard that children and fools tell the truth," she said.
"I was used to compliments when I was young--but they're scarcer when
you get as far along as I am. I haven't had one for years. It tastes
good. I s'pose now, you monkey, you wouldn't give me a kiss."
Then Jims did a quite surprising thing. He was not a demonstrative
youngster and was chary with kisses even to the Ingleside people. But
without a word he stood up in bed, his plump little body encased only in
his undershirt, ran to the footboard, flung his arms about Mrs.
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