I was now fairly in for it; I reasoned with myself a short time, and became convinced that the fault must be entirely my own—_I_ was the one to blame, for its own mother had praised it as an excellent baby, and she surely ought to know—my bad management was the sole cause of its present behavior. My ambition was concerned to restore its good humor; Mrs. Morfield would be far better pleased to be relieved from the trouble of tending it, and animated with new energy, I seized it in my arms, and began dancing wildly around the room. The young lady regarded me with a look of approval, and sucked her fingers in quiet content. It was very solid, and appeared to me the heaviest baby I had ever carried, still I toiled on as long as I was able, but the moment I sunk into a seat she began to scream; and as I had at length found the means of quieting her, I endeavored to keep up for a short time longer—hoping every moment that Mrs. Morfield would enter the door and relieve me. I wondered that she did not hear the child cry; it seemed as though such screams must pierce the thickest wall; but the time passed on, and I was still imprisoned with my tormenting charge. At length I was obliged to give up—I really could not lug her around any longer; and sinking down in a kind of despair, I was entertained with an interminable fit of crying. In the midst of this ebullition I happened to look out upon the lawn, and seeing a peacock pass leisurely along, I resolved to turn it to some account. Resting my heavy burden on one arm, with the other I pointed out the bird, knocked on the glass to it, talking as much nonsense in the meantime as I had ever heard in my whole life. The young lady was highly delighted—she stopped crying, and gazed with rapture on the brilliant color of the feathers. But at last, the peacock grew tired of spreading out his tail, and walked slowly away to my great annoyance, and also to that of my charge—who, finding that no more was to be seen, resumed her customary music. If ever a full sense of the beautiful dawned upon me, it was at the sight of a black hen and a brood of little chickens, who very obligingly supplied the absence of the peacock, and quarreled over some crumbs which had been thrown beneath the window. The child appeared to be fascinated by any thing that had the power of life; on the disappearance of the hen and chickens she transferred her raptures to a grave-looking cat; and I even hailed with delight the appearance of a grasshopper, if he took a pretty high spring.