well enough, only I can't worship him as you do."
"You shall nurse him for me, as a punishment," said I, rising to put my baby in its father's arms.
"No, don't, Helen—don't!" cried he, in real disquietude.
"I will: you'll love him better, when you feel the little creature in your arms."
I deposited the precious burden in his hands, and retreated to the other side of the room, laughing at the ludicrous, half embarrassed air with which he sat, holding it at arms length, and looking upon it as if it were some curious being of quite a different species to himself.
"Come, take it, Helen; take it," he cried at length. "I shall drop it, if you don't."
Compassionating his distress—or rather the child's unsafe position, I relieved him of the charge.
"Kiss it, Arthur; do—you've never kissed it yet!" said I, kneeling and presenting it before him.
