But baby objected to be jumped up and down in the ecstatic little way she was treating him to; he gave vigorous signs of annoyance, so she sank into her low chair, and rocked soothingly. But she could not keep silent when he said with such wise, round eyes that he knew everything about everything, and was as pleased as herself. 'Bab-bab,' he began encouragingly, and hit at her with his dear little fists. And 'He should be a little prince, he should,' was her deliciously inconsequent answer, punctuated with kisses on his wee nose. 'Bab-bab-bab'--he tried to walk excitedly up the front of her dress in a horizontal position, and then make gleeful clutches at her hair. But the short little curls slipped through his fingers, and he kept tumbling back in her lap, a little heap of cuddlesome sweetness. 'Little son, small little sweet, mamma's boy bonnie,' she whispered again and again and again, her face in his neck or on his soft thick hair. That was her way of telling him that all the rest of their lives was going to be a bright golden dream, a triumphal march through the world, over a carpet of rose leaves and under a canopy of the bluest sky ever stretched out. The very way he rounded his eyes and stuck his fingers in her mouth to be bitten, and crowed 'bab-bab,' showed how perfectly he understood and approved. But presently he began to nod like a little heavy-headed rose, and she nestled him up close to her breast and sang softly, happily below her breath. Drip, drip on the roof fell the rain; splash, splash in the path-puddles where the blown roses were drowning; tap tap, at the misty window panes. There was a kink somewhere in the rocking-chair, it made a not unmusical little sound at each backward swing, marking time to Dot's low singing. Baby could not have slept properly without that gentle jerk between the rise and fall. The logs fell asunder. All Dot's enchanted castles were building in the red glow, now they rose up gloriously with the blaze, and the gladness in her eyes deepened. 'Bab-a-bab,' murmured baby sleepily, a gleam of blue just peeping through the long lashes to discover the noise. But the soft singing bore him off again, and the rock, rock, rock of the chair. 'Sweet one hush, little baby sleep, Rock-a-by soft on my breast, Creep in my hand, little fingers, creep, Little dear baby, rest.' The lashes lay quiet again on the little cheeks, one small hand uncurled from Dot's finger, and lay open on her knee. Again the logs fell apart, again the castles grew glorious. Baby's hand curled up again, but the sweet lashes were too heavy to lift. 'This is the place for a baby's head, And this is the place for its feet, Rock-a-by off to the land of bed, Lull-a-by, hush small sweet.' A wild gust of wind flung itself at the cottage, every door and window rattled, the garden gate clicked and then banged.