e _pleasure_,' returned big Dumps, his tone and look making
it doubtful whether in his life he had ever experienced the sensation.

'I'm sure,' said Mrs. Kitterbell, with a languid smile, and a slight
cough. 'I'm sure--hem--any friend--of Charles's--hem--much less a
relation, is--'

'I knew you'd say so, my love,' said little Kitterbell, who, while he
appeared to be gazing on the opposite houses, was looking at his wife
with a most affectionate air: 'Bless you!' The last two words were
accompanied with a simper, and a squeeze of the hand, which stirred up
all Uncle Dumps's bile.

'Jane, tell nurse to bring down baby,' said Mrs. Kitterbell, addressing
the servant. Mrs. Kitterbell was a tall, thin young lady, with very
light hair, and a particularly white face--one of those young women who
almost invariably, though one hardly knows why, recall to one's mind the
idea of a cold fillet of veal. Out went the servant, and in came the
nurse, with a remarkably small parcel in her arms, packed up in a blue
mantle trimmed with white fur.--This was the baby.

'Now, uncle,' said Mr. Kitterbell, lifting up that part of the mantle
which covered the infant's face, with an air of great triumph, '_Who_ do
you think he's like?'

'He! he! Yes, who?' said Mrs. K., putting her arm through her husband's,
and looking up into Dumps's face with an expression of as much interest
as she was capable of displaying.

'Good God, how small he is!' cried the amiable uncle, starting back with
well-feigned surprise; '_remarkably_ small indeed.'

'Do you think so?' inquired poor little Kitterbell, rather alarmed.
'He's a monster to what he was--ain't he, nurse?'

'He's a dear,' said the nurse, squeezing the child, and evading the
question--not because she scrupled to disguise the fact, but because she
couldn't afford to throw away the chance of Dumps's half-crown.

'Well, but who is he like?' inquired little Kitterbell.

Dumps looked at the little pink heap before him, and only thought at the
moment of the best mode of mortifying the youthful parents.

'I really don't know _who_ he's like,' he answered, very well knowing the
reply expected of him.

'Don't you think he's like _me_?' inquired his nephew with a knowing air.

'Oh, _decidedly_ not!' returned Dumps, with an emphasis not to be
misunderstood. 'Decidedly not like you.--Oh, certainly not.'

'Like Jemima?' asked Kitterbell, faintly.

'Oh, dear no; not in the least. I'm no judg