Thyrza had a letter from Tom, which she read to the company, every now and then stopping to hum over some passage which for obviously pleasant reasons could not be read out loud. “To think he’s never seen his baby,” she murmured, bending towards her crooked arm. “To think of Tom ever having a baby to see,” said Mrs. Beatup—“and you’d know he wur Tom’s by his flat nose.” “Wot have you settled to call him?” asked Ivy. “Is it still Thomas Edward?” “No, it’s to be Thomas William, fur Bill Putland has promised to stand godfather.” “I doan’t lik William as much as Edward. Wot maade you change, Thyrza?” “Tom wants him called after his best pal, surelye.” “And after the Kayser, too—William’s the Kayser’s naum.” Thyrza looked shocked. “You’ll have to call him Bill fur short.” “That ud sound more like the Kayser than ever—I always call the Kayser Bill.” “Then call him Willie.” “That’s the young Kayser, and Tom when he fixed William said as he must never shorten it to Willie, ’cos there’s a kind of shell called Little Willie, and he says as if, when peace comes and he gits hoame, fulks wur to say, ‘Here comes Little Willie,’ he’d chuck himself down in the lane and start digging himself in—Ha! ha!” and Thyrza laughed at the joke, and tickled the baby to make it laugh too, which it didn’t. “Reckon he’s too young to laugh,” said Mrs. Beatup. “He aun’t too young to cry.” “We’re none of us too young fur that, nor too oald, nuther.” Thyrza sighed gently— “I’m unaccountable set on Tom’s coming fur the christening—and Passon’s been wanting to christen him; he asked me at the churching. I thought maybe Tom cud git leave to see his baby christened, but seemingly he can’t.” “They’re unaccountable short wud leave,” said Mrs. Beatup. “Steve couldn’t git more’n three days to git married in.” “But reckon he’ll git some more later, woan’t he, Nell?” Nell started—during the little womanly talk her mind had gone off on questionings of its own. “Leave? Yes. He’s sure to get a week before he goes out to France.” “You’re unaccountable lucky. Reckon he’ll taake you to another hotel and buy you another hat.” “And send you home in another cab.” “I’ll go up and have a look at father,” said Nell. There was silence in the kitchen for a little while after she went. Harry and Zacky had gone back to their digging, and Ivy and Mrs. Beatup sat squatting against Thyrza’s lap, where the baby lay more helpless than a day-old kitten. “Nell’s middling quiet,” said her mother at last. “She’s sad at having said good-bye to Steve,” sighed Thyrza. “I doan’t waonder as she’s vrothered,” said Mrs. Beatup. “Courted, cried, and married, all in a huddle lik that. Ivy, I hope as this ull be a lesson to you, and you’ll bide your banns praaperly and buy your bits of things in more’n one day’s shopping. Pore Nell, she sims all swummy and of a daze, and I doan’t woander, nuther, wud all the hurriment thur’s bin. Reckon she scarce knows yit if she’s maid or wife.”