'Go on,' she said. 'You're not reading.'
So I began--'I have been thinking of you sometimes--have you been
thinking of me?'--
'Of several others as well, beside her, I'll wager,' said Mrs. Goyte.
'Probably not,' said I, and continued. 'A dear little baby was born here
a week ago. Ah, can I tell you my feelings when I take my darling little
brother into my arms--'
'I'll bet it's _his_,' cried Mrs. Goyte.
'No,' I said. 'It's her mother's.'
'Don't you believe it,' she cried. 'It's a blind. You mark, it's her own
right enough--and his.'
'No,' I said, 'it's her mother's.' 'He has sweet smiling eyes, but not
like your beautiful English eyes--'
She suddenly struck her hand on her skirt with a wild motion, and bent
down, doubled with laughter. Then she rose and covered her face with her
hand.
'I'm forced to laugh at the beautiful English eyes,' she said.
'Aren't his eyes beautiful?' I asked.
'Oh, yes--_very!_ Go on!--_Joey, dear, dee-urr, Joey!_'--this to the
peacock.
--'Er--We miss you very much. We all miss you. We wish you were here to
see the darling baby. Ah, Alfred, how happy we were when you stayed with
us. We all loved you so much. My mother will call the baby Alfred so that
we shall never forget you--'
'Of course it's his right enough,' cried Mrs. Goyte.
'No,' I said. 'It's the mother's.' Er--'My mother is very well. My father
came home yesterday--on leave.
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