first one uncle and then another. He had
been kissed and cuddled by all the aunties and cousins, until his cheeks
were rosy with triumph; and, finally, he had been carried, shouting
with glee, high up on his father's shoulder, down to the dining-room,
and occupied the seat of honor at the long table, where he crowed, and
laughed, and clapped his hands over every plum that found its way into
his dainty mouth. This conduct was interspersed, however, by sundry
dives and screams after the coffee urn and the ice pitcher, and various
unattainable things--for there were unattainable things, even for Pliny
Hastings. Oh, the times and times in his young life that he had cried
for the beautiful round moon, and got it not! And even gaslight and
firelight had hitherto eluded his eager grasp; but he had learned no
lessons from his failures, and still pitched and dived after
impossibilities in the most insane fashion. To-day he looked with
indifference on the gold-lined silver cup bearing his name and age, and
wanted the great carving fork instead. He cared not a whit that the
sparkling wine was poured, and glasses were touched, and toasts drank on
his account; but a touch of wisdom must have come over his baby brain,
for he made a sudden dash at his father's glass, sending the red wine
right and left, and shivering the frail glass to fragments; he did more
than that, he promptly seized on one of the sharpest bits, and thereby
cut a long crooked gash in the sweet chubby finger, and was finally
borne, shrieking and struggling, from the room, his little heart filled
with mingled feelings of terror and rage. So much for Baby Hastings and
his birthday.

* * * * *

In a neat white house, no more than a mile away from this great mansion,
there was another baby. It was just when Pliny Hastings was hurried away
to the nursery that this baby's mother folded away papers, and otherwise
tidied up her bit of a nursery, then pushed a little sewing chair in
front of her work table, and paused ere she sat down to give another
careful tuck to the blanketed bundle, which was cuddled in the great
rocking chair, fast asleep. Then she gathered the doubled up fist into
her hand, and caressed it softly, while she murmured: "Bless his
precious little heart! he takes a splendid nap for his birthday, so he
does."

"Ben," this to the gentleman who was lounging in another rocker, reading
the paper, "does it seem possible that