It's rubbing his feet together that gets
them off."
As I passed the kitchen window, I saw Pomona at work. She looked
at me, dropped something, and I heard a crash. I don't know how
much that crash cost me. Jonas rushed in to tell Pomona about it,
and in a moment I heard a scream of laughter. At this, Euphemia
appeared at an upper window, with her hand raised and saying,
severely: "Hush-h!" But the moment she saw me, she disappeared
from the window and came down-stairs on the run. She met me, just
as I entered the dining-room.
"What IN the world!" she breathlessly exclaimed.
"This," said I, taking Pat into a better position in my arms, "is
my baby."
"Your--baby!" said Euphemia. "Where did you get it? what are you
going to do with it?"
"I got it in New Dublin," I replied, "and I want it to amuse and
occupy me while I am at home. I haven't anything else to do,
except things that take me away from you."
"Oh!" said Euphemia.
At this moment, little Pat gave his first whimper. Perhaps he felt
the searching glance that fell upon him from the lady in the middle
of the room.
I immediately began to walk up and down the floor with him, and to
sing to him. I did not know any infant music, but I felt sure that
a soothing tune was the great requisite, and that the words were of
small importance. So I started on an old Methodist tune, which I
remembered very well, and which was used with the hymn containing
the lines:
"Weak and wounded, sick and sore,"
and I sang, as soothingly as I could:
"Lit-tle Pat-sy, Wat-sy, Sat-sy,
Does he feel a lit-ty bad?
Me will send and get his bot-tle
He sha'n't have to cry-wy-wy.
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