d breathlessly, and the doctor
laughed.

"Go upstairs and look at him, my dear fellow! Pine little chap as you
could wish to see."

In truth he was a healthy nine-pounder of a son, guaranteed by nurse and
mother to be the finest baby ever born, and seated by his wife's
bedside, Francis gave vent to his jubilation.

"Now," he said triumphantly, "I have everything I want. I really am a
lucky fellow. Jolly little beggar, eh? Seems to me--I don't know if
I'm right--but I do think he looks different from the rest!"

The wife smiled, but Francis was right; everybody said he was right.
The longed-for boy was in truth an extraordinarily comely infant, and
each week of his life he blossomed into fuller charm. His well-shaped
head was covered with golden curls and when he lay asleep (and he
obligingly slept most of his time) it was a pleasure to observe the
delicate promise of his features. He had obviously elected to resemble
his handsome father, and the father was complacently grateful for the
fact.--

Mrs Manning observed with amazement that Francis nursed this baby,
positively nursed him in his arms, and was quite disappointed when, on
returning from the city, he failed to find him awake.

"Are his eyes changing colour yet?" he would ask. "I want them to be
blue. Blue eyes would look so well with his yellow hair." But the
baby's eyes remained a dull, clouded grey. "Not blue yet!" Francis
would repeat. "How long is it before they begin to change? Fine big
eyes, aren't they? I want to make the little beggar look at me, but he
won't. Why does he stare at the ceiling?"

"It's the electric light," said his wife; but the next morning, when the
lights were turned off, the baby still stared blankly upward.

"Why the dickens does he stare at the ceiling?" Francis asked again.

Gradually, imperceptibly, a growing anxiety began to mingle with his
joy, and the anxiety was connected with those staring eyes. He would
not put his thoughts into words; but he watched his wife's face, and saw
in it no reflection of his own fears. Then for a time he would banish
the dread; and anon it would recur.

_Were_ the boy's eyes all right? Was it really natural that he should
be always staring up? Ridiculous nonsense! Of _course_ it was all
right. Things had come to a pretty pass when he took to worrying
himself, while his wife, who knew a thousand times more about babies,
remained untroubled and serene. Bother the chi