"If you've got any eyes, Maggie, look there."

My eyes were good enough, if that was all; but what was that woman
sitting there for? I thought she had a heap of woollen clothes in her
lap.

Father took it.

"Come here, Totty-wax."

I put out my hands, and felt something as soft as kittens.

"Presto, change!" cried Ned, and pulled down the top of the blanket.
There lay a little, wrinkled, rosy face, a baby's face, and over it
was moving a little wrinkled hand.

I jumped, and then I screamed; and then I ran out of the room and back
again.

"O, O, O! Stop her! Hold her!" said Ned.

But they couldn't do it. I rushed up to the baby, who cried in my
face.

"What IS that?" said I; and then I burst into tears.

"Your little sister," said father.

"It isn't," sobbed I, and broke out laughing.

Everybody else laughed, too.

"Say that again," said I.

"Your little sister," repeated father.

"Does Fel know it? And it _isn't_ Ned's brother?" seizing father by
the whiskers. "And he can't set her on the wood-pile! Came down from
heaven. What'm I crying for? Came down particular purpose for me."

"Yes, Totty-wax," said father, smiling, with a tear in the corner of
his eye,--

"'Twas for my accommodation
Nature rose when I was born."

"Has this child had any supper?" asked mother, in a faint voice from
the bed.

"No, _she_ can't eat," laughed I; "her face looks like a roast apple."

"Your mother means you, Maggie. You are tired and excited," said
cousin Lydia. "Ruth made cream-cakes to-night."

"But I shan't go, 'thout I can carry the baby. Ned's holding her. She
isn't _his_ brother. I haven't had her in my arms once. How good God
was! O, dear, what teenty hands! She can't swallow 'em, on 'count of
her arms. Sent particular purpose for me--father said so. 'Ria Parlin,
she's nowhere near your age. You have everything, but you can't have
this. She gapes. She knows how to; she's found her mouth; she's found
her mouth!"

And so I ran on and on, like a brook in a freshet, and might never
have stopped, if they had not taken me out of the room, and tied me in
a high chair before a table full of nice things. And Ruthie stood
there with a smile in her eyes, and said if I spoke another word, I
shouldn't see baby again that night.

I couldn't help pitying Ned. I wasn't sure I had treated him just
right. I had prayed, off and on, as much as two or three weeks in all,
that God would send me a siste