“It’s a very pretty baby,” said Emily graciously, turning to Roux, who hastened to smile and bow. “But, Mr. Roux, these three children do not resemble Charles at all.” “Different style of beauty,” remarked Tugmutton, with preternatural gravity, rolling his great eyes up at Emily. Emily laughed aloud at this oracular suggestion, and Harrington and Muriel looked at each other and smiled, while the Captain fixedly surveyed the squab with mute admiration. “You know, dear,” said Muriel to Emily, “or rather you do not know, that Charles is only an adopted child of Mr. and Mrs. Roux.” “Oh!” returned Emily, suddenly enlightened, “that accounts for the different style of beauty.” “Yes, madam,” said Roux elaborately bowing, “that accounts for it.” Emily smiled at the simplicity of the reply. “And how did it happen that he got the name of Tugmutton, Mr. Roux?” she inquired. “Well, Madam,” replied Roux, quite seriously, “it was a sort of accidental. When I firs’ got to Boston, Tug’s father and mother treated me right handsome. I was ruther bad off, an’ they took me in till I got somethin’ to do. They was very fat folks, both of ’em, an’ Tug was an uncommon fat baby. Somehow his father and mother never could fix on a name for him, so he growed along without none. Bimeby when he was three year old, his father died, and bimeby when he was five, his mother died likewise. I was married to Clarindy when that catastrophe happened, so feelin’ right grateful to Ezek’el and Sally Pitts—that was Tug’s father and mother’s name, madam—I took Tug in. That day we had a chunk of baked mutton, wich you couldn’t bite, madam, it was so tough, an’ after dinner we missed Tug all on a sudden. We got ruther skeered at not findin’ him, an’ went lookin’ round the streets, but couldn’t git no news of him. Long toward evenin’ we heerd a stir under the bed, an’ lookin’ under, there he was tuggin’ away at that chunk of mutton, and there he’d hid himself all the afternoon. I’m a miser’ble orphan, says he, the minute we sot eyes on him, never leavin’ off tuggin’ at the meat. You’re a young Tugmutton, an’ that’s what you are, says Clarindy. Then we larfed, and so after that we got to callin’ him Tugmutton, an’ he took to that name astonishin’. That’s the way of it, madam.” Muriel and Harrington, who had heard this story before, listened to it now smiling, while Emily and the Captain, vastly amused during its repetition, laughed heartily as Roux ended. Tugmutton, meanwhile, sitting in the low chair with the baby, grinned sheepishly at the revival of this reminiscence of his miserable orphanage. “Are you—that is, did you—escape from the South, Mr. Roux?” inquired Emily, hesitatingly, after a pause. “Yes, madam, I did,” replied Roux with another elaborate bow. “It wouldn’t be well, madam, to have it mentioned roundabout, lest”— “O never fear, Mr. Roux,” she rejoined hurriedly. “I wouldn’t speak of it for the world.”