or other, and Joseph must stay with you
to-night; won't you, Joseph? Ah, well, that's all arranged.'

"He put on his things and wrapped himself up to go. He was shaking
hands with my husband, when I seized one hand, and kissed it--like a
fool, as I was; but I didn't stop to think. He laughed heartily, and
said to my husband, 'Are you not jealous, friend? Your wife is making
great advances to me. But I must be off now. Good night, good people.'

"And from that night he always talks so friendly and familiarly to us,
not a bit contemptuously either, but as if he liked us, and was glad
to be of service to us."

A FAMILY NEW-YEAR'S

From 'Monsieur, Madame, and Baby'

It is barely seven o'clock. A pale ray of wan light filters through
the double curtains, and some one is already at the door. In the next
room I hear the stifled laughs and silvery voice of my little child,
who trembles with impatience and begs to come.

"But father dear," he cries, "it's Baby. It's your own little boy--to
wish you 'Happy New Year.'"

"Come in, darling; come quick and give me a kiss," I cry.

The door opens, and my boy, with shining eyes and his arms in the air,
rushes toward the bed. Long curls, escaping from the nightcap which
imprisons his blond head, fall over his forehead. His loose
night-shirt, embarrassing his little feet, adds to his impatience and
makes him trip at every step. He has crossed the room at last, and
stretching his hands toward mine, "Baby wishes you a happy New Year,"
he says earnestly.

"Poor darling, with his bare feet! Come, dear! Come and get warm under
the covers; come and hide in the quilt."

I draw him to me; but at this movement my wife wakes up suddenly....
"How you frightened me! I was dreaming that there was a fire, and
these voices in the midst of it! You are indiscreet with your cries!"

"_Our_ cries! So you forget, dear mamma, that this is New-Year's day.
Baby is waiting for you to wake up, and so am I."

I wrap up my little man in the soft quilt, I bury him in the
eiderdown, and warm his frozen feet with my hands.

"Mother dear, this is New Year," he cries. He draws our two heads
together with his arms, and kisses us anywhere at random, with his
fresh lips. I feel his dimpled hand wandering about my neck; his
little fingers are entangled in my beard. My mustache pricks the end
of his nose. He bursts out laughing, and throws his head back.

His mother, who has recovered from her fright,