us are, and ought to be; and if baby was older, there would be four."

"And where on earth have you hidden baby?" cried Kenelm. "Surely he
might have been kept up for me to-night, when I was expected; the last
time I supped here I took you by surprise, and therefore had no right to
complain of baby's want of respect to her parents' friends."

Jessie raised the window-curtain, and pointed to the cradle behind it.
Kenelm linked his arm in Tom's, led him to the cradle, and, leaving
him alone to gaze on the sleeping inmate, seated himself at the table,
between old Mrs. Somers and Will. Will's eyes were turned away towards
the curtain, Jessie holding its folds aside, and the formidable Tom,
who had been the terror of his neighbourhood, bending smiling over
the cradle: till at last he laid his large hand on the pillow, gently,
timidly, careful not to awake the helpless sleeper, and his lips moved,
doubtless with a blessing; then he, too, came to the table, seating
himself, and Jessie carried the cradle upstairs.

Will fixed his keen, intelligent eyes on his bygone rival; and noticing
the changed expression of the once aggressive countenance, the changed
costume in which, without tinge of rustic foppery, there was the token
of a certain gravity of station scarcely compatible with a return to old
loves and old habits in the village world, the last shadow of jealousy
vanished from the clear surface of Will's affectionate nature.

"Mr. Bowles," he exclaimed, impulsively, "you have a kind heart, and a
good heart, and a generous heart. And your corning here to-night on this
friendly visit is an honour which--which"--"Which," interrupted Kenelm,
compassionating Will's embarrassment, "is on the side of us single men.
In this free country a married man who has a male baby may be father
to the Lord Chancellor or the Archbishop of Canterbury. But--well, my
friends, such a meeting as we have to-night does not come often; and
after supper let us celebrate it with a bowl of punch. If we have
headaches the next morning none of us will grumble."

Old Mrs. Somers laughed out jovially. "Bless you, sir, I did not think
of the punch; I will go and see about it," and, baby's socks still in
her hands, she hastened from the room.

What with the supper, what with the punch, and what with Kenelm's art
of cheery talk on general subjects, all reserve, all awkwardness, all
shyness between the convivialists, rapidly disappeared. Jessie mingled
in t