'Hush by, Budda,—hus' by, Budda,' till the baby went to sleep. Then she went to sleep too. I thought I'd like to see what would happen when they woke up, so I sent the snow-storm on and stayed behind with my eye to the chink.
"I'm not a tender-hearted person myself," said March, modestly, "but really I couldn't bear to disturb those children. Several times I wanted to roar dreadfully,—roaring is one of my greatest pleasures,—but I didn't. I never quite knew why, but so it was. The snow isn't noisy, so it was as still all night about the little house as if it had been mid-summer.
"I watched, and the children slept. By and by when morning came, the baby woke up and began to cry. The Tot patted him and said, 'Hush-a-by, Budda,' a great many times; but he wouldn't stop. Babies don't stop," added March, reflectively, "as a general thing. Then the Tot said, 'Budda hundry;' and she got up, and tugged and tugged to put a stick on the fire, and fetched a tin cup and spoon, and set them
