So the captain and Miss Rosie began life on love and short commons; and, neither of them understanding economy, made a good many mistakes, as might have been expected. They didn’t know how to contrive, and they got into debt, and when the children came and expenses grew heavier they lost spirit and patience, like a good many more, and let things go their own way. The captain lost his temper and the mistress grew careless and fretted, and when the young master was born—the one as I’m telling about—things were about as bad and as comfortless as they could be. Not wishing to say a disrespectful word, or a harmful one, I _must_ say as I’d even thought the captain were getting tired of his love-match, for he was aging uncommon fast and his temper was getting uncommon sharp, and now and then Mrs. Dalgetty and him would have words, as would end in him striding out of the bungalow, leaving her crying and worriting among the children. I can’t say even as he were over fond of the children, or that they were over welcome when they came—six girls, one after another—though they were pretty little things, all of them. But when Master Lionel were born it struck me as he _were_ rather better pleased than he had been before, for he were the first boy. Well I remember the day the captain came out of his quarters and told me about his having made his appearance rather unexpected. I had been so long with them, and there were so many little things I could do as was a help, that I’d got into the way of doing them; and I happened this morning to be polishing about, and sees the captain coming out, looking half-way pleased with something or other; and when I drew myself up and saluted as usual, says he: “Rabbett,” says he, “there’s a change in the programme this time.” I drops my swab in a minute and draws up and salutes again. “What, sir?” says I. “Boy, sir?” “Yes,” says he. “Boy, and a fine little fellow too.” So in the course of a week I smartens myself up a bit more than common, in honor of the occasion, and goes into the house and gets the ayah to let me have a look at the young gentleman as he lay in his cradle in the nursery, next to the mistress’s room. They was rather fond of me in that nursery, I may say, and it wasn’t the first time I’d been there by many a one. But though I stepped light enough for fear of wakening the little fellow, somehow or other he did waken that very minute. As I bent over his cradle he opens his eyes, and he actually stares at me as if he was asking me a question or so. At least it looked that way to me, and then, as sure as I’m a living man, he does something with his face as if he was doing his best to laugh; and when I laughs back and lifts his bit of a red hand, he opens it out and lets it lay on mine, quite friendly and sociable.