face.

“What a perfectly lovely child!” said a pleasant voice. “Is it a boy? How old is he?”

Cassandra looked up to see a rosy-cheeked girl, a little too stout and florid, with a great mop of dark hair tied with a wide black ribbon. A gray-haired lady followed, and paused beside her.

“Yes,” said Cassandra, faintly. “He is almost six months old.”

The girl reached over and patted his cheek. “How perfectly dear. See him, mamma. Isn’t he, though?”

“Babies are always dear,” said the mother, with a smile. “Come, Laura, we can’t wait, you know,” and they passed on. As Cassandra looked up in the mother’s