After a well deserved rest of forty seconds, during which we wagged our heads in wonder, Baby turned his attention to his right-hand neighbour, and for the balance of the minute examined her with compassion. An old maid without question, with her disposition written on the thin, tightly drawn lips, and the hard, grey eyes. None of us would care to trifle with... Will he dare?... if he has not! That was his chief stroke of genius, and it deserved success--when, with an expression of unaffected pity, he put out his soft, dimpled hand and gently stroked her cheek. “Poor thing, all alone, 'lone, 'lone,” he cooed in her ear, as if to say with liquid baby speech, “I'm so solly, solly, solly, so velly, velly, velly solly.” Did I say that her eyes were tender and true enough to win a man's heart and keep it, and that her lips spoke of patience and gentleness? If I did not, I repair my neglect. She must have been a beautiful woman in her youth--no, no, to-day, just when she inclines her head ever so slightly, and Baby strokes her cheek again, and cooes, “Pretty, pretty, pretty, and so velly, velly, velly good.” Was not that a lovely flush on her cheek?--oh, the fool of a man who might have had that love. She opens a neat little bag, and as this was an imperial incident we watched without shame. Quite so; she is to be away all day, and has got a frugal luncheon, and--it's all she can do in return. Perhaps he cannot eat it. I don't know, nor does she; that's the pity of it, poor soul, baby-ways are a mystery to her; but would he refuse that biscuit? Not he; he makes an immense to do over it, and shows it to his mother and all his loyal subjects; and he was ready to be kissed, but she did not like to kiss him. Peace be with thy shy, modest soul, the Christ-child come into thine heart!