n he was a baby."

"And what is he now?" said John, whose heart was affected by strange
emotions, he, the man who had just decided (with relief) that he was not
a marrying man. There came over him a curious wave of sensation which he
had no right to. If he had had a right to it, if he had been coming home
to those who belonged to him, not distantly in the way of cousinship,
but by a dearer right, what sensations his would have been! But sitting
at the corner of the fire (which is very necessary in Waterdale in the
end of September) a little in the shadow, his face was not very clearly
perceptible: though indeed had it been so the ladies would have thought
nothing but that John's kind heart was touched, as was so natural, by
this sight.

"What is he now? Your nephew! Tell Uncle John what you are now," said
Elinor, lifting her child on her lap; at which the child between the
kisses which were his encouragement and reward produced, in a large
infant voice, very treble, yet simulating hers, the statement, "Mamma's
bhoy."

"Now, Elinor," said Mrs. Dennistoun, "he has played his part
beautifully; he has done everything you taught him. He has told you who
he is and who Uncle John is. Let him go to his nursery now."

"Come up-stairs, Pippo. Mother will carry her boy," said Elinor. "They
don't want us any more, these old people. Say good-night to Uncle John,
and come to bed."

"Dood-night, 'tle John," said the child; which, however, was not enough,
for he tilted himself out of his mother's arms and put his rosy face and
open mouth, sweet but damp, upon John's face. This kiss was one of the
child's accomplishments. He himself was aware that he had been good, and
behaved himself in every way as a child should do, as he was carried off
crowing and jabbering in his mother's arms. He had formed a sort of
little human bridge between them when he made that dive from Elinor's
arms upon John's face. Ah, heaven! if it had been the other way, if the
child and the mother had both been his!

"He has grown up very sweet. You may think we are foolish, John; but you
can't imagine what a delight that child is. Hasn't he grown up sweet?"

"If you call that grown up!"

"Oh, yes, I know he is only a baby still; but so forward for his age,
such a little man, taking care of his mother before he is two years
old!"

"What did I hear her call him?" John asked, and it seemed to Mrs.
Dennistoun that there was something severe in the sound of hi