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Habberton, John, 1842-1921

"Helen's Babies"

"Of course you'll say 'Yes.' "In
great haste, your loving
"SISTER HELEN.
P. S. You shall have our own chamber; it catches every breeze, and
commands the finest views. The children's room communicates with
it; so, if anything SHOULD happen to the darlings at night, you'd
be sure to hear them."
"Just the thing!" I ejaculated. Five minutes later I had
telegraphed Helen my acceptance of her invitation, and had
mentally selected books enough to busy me during a dozen
vacations. Without sharing Helen's belief that her boys were the
best ones in the world, I knew them well enough to feel assured
that they would not give me any annoyance. There were two of them,
since Baby Phil died last fall; Budge, the elder, was five years
of age, and had generally, during my flying visits to Helen, worn
a shy, serious, meditative, noble face, with great, pure,
penetrating eyes, that made me almost fear their stare. Tom
declared he was a born philanthropist or prophet, and Helen made
so free with Miss Muloch's lines as to sing:--
"Ah, the day that THOU goest a-wooing,
Budgie, my boy!"
Toddie had seen but three summers, and was a happy little know-
nothing, with a head full of tangled yellow hair, and a very
pretty fancy for finding out sunbeams and dancing in them. I had
long envied Tom his horses, his garden, his house and his
location, and the idea of controlling them for a fortnight was
particularly delightful.


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