wer of Dimples should ever come out, how will it be
manifest? Surely in his imagination. Tell him a story and the boy is
lost. He sits with his little round, rosy face immovable and fixed,
while his eyes never budge from those of the speaker. He sucks in
everything that is weird or adventurous or wild. Laddie is a rather
restless soul, eager to be up and doing; but Dimples is absorbed in the
present if there be something worth hearing to be heard. In height he is
half a head shorter than his brother, but rather more sturdy in build.
The power of his voice is one of his noticeable characteristics. If
Dimples is coming you know it well in advance. With that physical gift
upon the top of his audacity, and his loquacity, he fairly takes command
of any place in which he may find himself, while Laddie, his soul too
noble for jealousy, becomes one of the laughing and admiring audience.

Then there is Baby, a dainty elfin Dresden-china little creature of five,
as fair as an angel and as deep as a well. The boys are but shallow,
sparkling pools compared with this little girl with her self-repression
and dainty aloofness. You know the boys, you never feel that you quite
know the girl. Something very strong and forceful seems to be at the
back of that wee body. Her will is tremendous. Nothing can break or
even bend it. Only kind guidance and friendly reasoning can mould it.
The boys are helpless if she has really made up her mind. But this is
only when she asserts herself, and those are rare occasions. As a rule
she sits quiet, aloof, affable, keenly alive to all that passes and yet
taking no part in it save for some subtle smile or glance. And then
suddenly the wonderful grey-blue eyes under the long black lashes will
gleam like coy diamonds, and such a hearty little chuckle will come from
her that every one else is bound to laugh out of sympathy. She and
Dimples are great allies and yet have continual lovers' quarrels. One
night she would not even include his name in her prayers. "God bless--"
every one else, but not a word of Dimples. "Come, come, darling!" urged
the Lady. "Well, then, God bless horrid Dimples!" said she at last,
after she had named the cat, the goat, her dolls, and her Wriggly.

That is a strange trait, the love for the Wriggly. It would repay
thought from some scientific brain. It is an old, faded, disused downy
from her cot. Yet go where she will, she must take Wriggly with her. All