At length, on Christmas day, the little boy was born; his mother’s birthday likewise; and it seemed as if Mr. Bangs had never lived till that moment. He was sitting in a very nervous, dogged, defying sort of way, by himself, in the front parlour, before a large fire, having some anxiety about his daughter, but a greater sympathy for himself and his thirteen disappointments, when Mrs. Bangs entered the room. He turned slowly around and stared at her with his mouth wide open, as she announced that Fanny was safely through her trouble; and that Mr. Floss was too happy to do more than cry like a child. Mr. Bangs was speechless, while his wife expatiated on Fanny’s fortitude, and her anxiety to prevent her mother from knowing what her sufferings were. Still Mrs. Bangs did not hear the sound of thanksgiving from his lips. She little dreamed that the foolish old man’s head was running on the sex of the child. “And—and—wife,” said he at last, “it is a girl, I presume; nothing but girls in this life,” said he, as he jerked himself around and stared at the fire. “I hope I shall be rewarded in the other world, by having some of my girls turned to boys.” “Why, Christopher, did I not tell you that the dear chubby little thing was a boy?” “A boy!” exclaimed he, jumping on his feet, his face flushed with agitation, “a boy—a boy—now, Molly Bangs, are you sure?—take care—remember, a man can’t bear disappointments for ever—I’ve had thirteen, remember.” “Am I sure—certainly I am; and a sweet, dear, blessed, chubby little thing it is; one roll of fat and good nature; and the very picture of you; but let that alone, ‘tis no concern of ours, just now; but I hope that you are suited at last.” Mr. Bangs could not speak; but he untied his cravat, and wiped the perspiration from his face, while his wife stood looking at him with amazement. “Why, Christopher—Kit, what ails you?” said she, really frightened at this extraordinary display of animation—“is it possible that a boy sat so close to your heart? and have you borne your thirteen disappointments so long, and so well? I really give you credit for not showing a great deal of ugly temper; and now I trust that this dear, little, chubby fellow will make amends.” “It will, Molly, it will: and I heartily forgive you for giving me thirteen girls. How soon will little Christopher walk? Hang it all; but he shall have a hobby-horse as soon as he can call me grandpapa. And you must dress him in his best when I walk out with him. I’ll take him to our club, some warm evening. I’ll not let a servant touch him, to get his back broke, but will carry him myself.” “Heaven help him,” thought his wife, as she slowly walked up stairs, “he is growing foolish.”