Budge, fat, red-faced, and round-eyed, with her hair cut square at the ends so that it wouldn't stay tucked behind her ears, but kept coming down over her eyes, came running to take baby, and was soon planted on a three-legged stool on the clean, red-tiled floor, where she began shaking her head--and hair--over the baby, like a dark-brown mop, making the little eyes stare up at it wonderingly; and now and then a faint, rippling smile played round the lips, and brightened the eyes, to Budge's great delight. For just then Budge was hard pressed. Workhouse matron teaching had taught her that when she went out to service it would be rude to stare at people when they were eating; and now there was the pouring out of tea, and spreading of butter, and cutting of bread and bacon going on in a way that was perfectly maddening to a hungry young stomach, especially if that stomach happened to be large, and its owner growing. Budge's stomach was large, and Budge was growing, so she was hard pressed: and do what she would, she could not keep her eyes on the baby, for, by a kind of attraction, they would wander to the tea-table, and that loaf upon which Tom Morrison was spreading a thick coating of yellow butter, prior to hacking off a slice. Poor Budge's eyes dilated with wonder and joy as, when the slice was cut off, nearly two inches thick, Tom stuck his knife into it, and held the mass out to her, with-- "Here, lass, you look hungry. Tuck that away." Budge would have made a bob, but doing so would have thrown the baby on the floor; so she contented herself with saying "Thanky, sir," and proceeded to make semicircles round the edge of the slice, and to drop crumbs on the baby's face. "Well, lass," said Tom, as Polly handed him his great cup of tea, "about the christening? When's it to be?" "On Sunday, Tom, and that's what I wanted to tell you--it's my surprise." "What's a surprise?" "Why, about the godmothers, dear. Why, I declare," she pouted, "you don't seem to mind a bit." "Oh, but I do," he said, "only I'm so hungry. Well, what about the godmothers?" "Why, Miss Julia and Miss Cynthia have promised to stand. Isn't it grand?" "Grand? Oh, I don't know." "Tom!" "Well, I suppose it is grand, but I don't know. It's all right if they like it. But about poor Jock?" "Oh, that won't make any difference, dear. They've promised, and I know they won't go back. They'll be the two godmothers, and you the godfather." "Of course," cried Tom, eating away; "two godmothers and a godfather, eh, lass? that's right, isn't it?" "Yes, Tom," said the little woman, eagerly attending to her husband's wants, "and two godfathers and a godmother if it's a boy." "It'll be a grand christening, won't it, Polly?" said Tom. "Oh, no, dear. Miss Julia and Miss Cynthia are the dearest and best of girls, and they have no pride. Miss Julia talked to me the other day just like a friend." "I say," cried Tom, eagerly. "What, dear?"