just as pretty a face and just as cute little hands as our baby had. Say, where’d you get him?”
“He’s mine,” said Jamie. “His name is James Lewis MacFarlane, Junior.”
“Well, I’ll be darned!” said the little Scout. “Ain’t the world gettin’ full of James and Jamies and Jimmies! I know about two dozen. Dad’s name begins with James and our baby’s Jimmy, and this baby will be Jamie and you’re Jamie. You wouldn’t think, with all the names in the back of the dictionary and names by the yard in the Bible and fool names that people invent, that so many folks would have to run to James. Say, what you going to do with him?”
“That’s exactly the question,” said Jamie. “What am I going to do with him?”
“Hm-m-m-m!” said the little Scout. “Lemme think.” Jamie had the impression that he came closer to seeing thought than he ever had before. The face of the youngster was drawn with thought. First the body sank back on the heels and then the heels curled under and the floor made the seat. One arm leaned against the davenport. One hand, from fingering the blanket, crept up and closed over the little red fingers of the newborn baby. The little Scout looked up.
“Pull down that window blind,” came the order. “You got to have a dim light. Their eyes are riley for the first few days. They can’t see. If they get too much light, they go cross-eyed.”
There was a return of a few minutes to thought. Then
