"You'd lose your money. Lizzie Alfreda be the name." Uncle considered this, and commended the choice. Then he squared his shoulders and inflated his big chest. "You missed a rare treat this marning, Susan." "Did I?" She spoke with indifference. Uncle believed in "gentling" refractory horses and women. Conviction had descended upon him during the sermon that he might be the Lord's instrument to lead Susan Yellam back to her pew. "Pa'son preached about the Babe of Bethlehem, as was right and proper, but I makes bold to say as he was thinking of 'ee, Susan, and of Lizzie Alfreda, bless 'un." Mrs. Yellam felt strangely bored. But she knew that it was hopeless to try to stop Uncle. What did it matter what any parson said? She was wondering whether she could apply for milk to Mr. Fishpingle, at the Home Farm. Village cows, grazing by the roadside, might pick up any noxious weed. Uncle continued solemnly: "Me and Pa'son sees eye to eye about babes. And times, when he do drop out o' sky and walks the green earth with mortial men, I feel sure that fool-wisdom be his as 'tis mine. We sucked 'un in wi' mother's milk." Susan said abruptly: "I've a notion, Habakkuk, that the milk from they Freesian-Holsteen cows bain't too rich for a baby's stomach." Uncle stared at her, anxiously. With difficulty, he assimilated her thoughts, abandoning, for the moment, his own. "Quantity they gives, Susan, not quality. If I was lookin' after lil' Lizzie Alfreda, dang me, if I wouldn't give 'un pure cream." "I'll be bound you would. Or old ale." She smiled grimly. Uncle really thought that the thaw had set in. He continued joyously: "You listen to me, Susan; I've an upliftin' message for 'ee, and it consarns what your thoughts be dwellin' on--the baby upstairs. Pa'son made that plain this marning to us old sticks. The Babe of Bethlehem brought good cheer and peace to a wicked world ten thousand years ago, and the peace o' this world, seemin'ly, lies wi' the little 'uns. And we be bound to take extry good care o' they. I tell 'ee, Pa'son talked so warm about babes that I felt it in me to raise another family." "On pure cream?" asked Susan. But, at last, he had challenged her attention. "Ah-h-h! You has your joke. But babes be goin' to be our salvation. 'Tis a brave, true notion. What makes a pack o' hounds, Susan? The young drafts. If they be lackin' in bone and blood, they turns out skirters, and presently the pack be streamin' all over country, runnin' riot, chasin' everything and catchin' nothing. And so, old girl, when you sets your gert mind on what milk to give lil' Lizzie, you be sarvin' the Lard and your country."