er to favor that name, it would be against
human nature for her to suggest any other, under the circumstances.

Hugh, the "hitherto baby," if that is a possible term, sat in one
corner and said nothing, but felt, in some mysterious way, that his
nose was out of joint; for there was a newer baby now, a possibility he
had never taken into consideration; and the "first girl," too, a still
higher development of treason, which made him actually green with
jealousy.

But it was too profound a subject to be settled then and there, on the
spot; besides, Mama had not been asked, and everybody felt it rather
absurd, after all, to forestall a decree that was certain to be
absolutely wise, just and perfect.

The reason that the subject had been brought up at all so early in the
day lay in the fact that Mrs. Bird never allowed her babies to go over
night unnamed. She was a person of so great decision of character that
she would have blushed at such a thing; she said that to let blessed
babies go dangling and dawdling about without names, for months and
months, was enough to ruin them for life. She also said that if one
could not make up one's mind in twenty-four hours it was a sign
that--but I will not repeat the rest, as it might prejudice you against
the most charming woman in the world.

So Donald took his new velocipede and went out to ride up and down the
stone pavement and notch the shins of innocent people as they passed
by, while Paul spun his musical top on the front steps.

But Hugh refused to leave the scene of action. He seated himself on
the top stair in the hall, banged his head against the railing a few
times, just by way of uncorking the vials of his wrath, and then
subsided into gloomy silence, waiting to declare war if more "first
girl babies" were thrust upon a family already surfeited with that
unnecessary article.

Meanwhile dear Mrs. Bird lay in her room, weak, but safe and happy with
her sweet girl baby by her side and the heaven of motherhood opening
before her. Nurse was making gruel in the kitchen, and the room was
dim and quiet. There was a cheerful open fire in the grate, but though
the shutters were closed, the side windows that looked out on the
Church of our Saviour, next door, were wide open.

Suddenly a sound of music poured out into the bright air and drifted
into the chamber. It was the boy-choir singing Christmas anthems.
Higher and higher rose the clear, fresh voices, full of hope a