“But, you may, ma’am! Oh, he’s got a will of his own, I do tell you! I couldn’t make my peace with him until I had lighted all the wax candles in the place! See what an illumination there is, ma’am! Enough to blind any body but a boy baby. And such work to get him undressed. He wouldn’t have his finery off forever so long. He wanted to dance in it. And then, after I had loosened it and got it off little by little with sheer conjuration, would you believe it, ma’am? he wanted to dance in his sacred skin, like a North-American Indian! I have got his night-gown on at last; though _how_ I ever got it on with his prancing and dancing, goodness knows. But, as for his little red shoes, I’ll defy mortial man or woman to get _them_ off his feet except by main force! When I try to do it he kicks so fast you would think there were nineteen pair of feet in nineteen pair of boots instead of one!” “Lenny will let his mammy take off his boots,” said Drusilla, kneeling by the baby’s feet and making an essay. Lenny would let his mamma do a great many things to him, but he would by no means let her remove his red shoes. His little legs flew so fast in resistance that you could not have told one from the other. “He means never to part with them, ma’am,” laughed Pina. “We can take them off when he goes to sleep,” smiled Drusilla. “But there’s no sleep in his eyes, ma’am, nor won’t be for hours! He’ll keep awake to watch his boots and to dance! Goodness gracious me! My arms are almost pulled out of their sockets holding him while he dances.” “I will take him presently, Pina, as soon as I change my dress,” said Drusilla. And she went and took off her wreath of roses, her necklace and bracelets of pearl, and her rich moire antique dress; and put on a neat white muslin wrapper, whose pure color and perfect fit became her well. Then she took her dancing babe; but not to put him to sleep just yet. Little Master Leonard had a duty to do before he could be put to bed. She carried him into the next room, which was her own pretty private parlor. The room was very inviting. A small, cheerful wood fire, very acceptable this chilly May evening, was blazing on the hearth. The tea-table with its snowy, damask cloth, its silver service and clear China, was standing before the fireplace. A large easy chair, with a foot cushion was drawn up on the right side; and Drusilla’s own little sewing chair was on the left. Marcy was in attendance. “This is all quite right. Now do you wait here until I bring the General in, and then you can serve tea,” said Drusilla, as with her baby in her arms she passed out into the hall and on towards General Lyon’s study. She opened the door. The little room was dark and chill, but the lights from the hall shone in, and revealed to her the form of the old man, seated at the writing table, with his arms folded on it, and his head bowed down upon them. It was an attitude of depression, of sleep or of death.