When the family vacated this room for the convenience of Ralph and
Sim, they left behind at the fireside, sitting on a stool, a little
boy of three or four, who was clearly the son of the landlord. Ralph
sat down, and took the little fellow between his knees. The child had
big blue eyes and thin curls of yellow hair. The baby lips answered to
his smile, and the baby tongue prattled in his ear with the easy
familiarity which children extend only to those natures that hold the
talisman of child-love.
"And what is _your_ name, my little man?" said Ralph.
"Darling," answered the child, looking up frankly into Ralph's face.
"Good. And anything else?"
"Ees, Villie."
"Do they not say you are like your mother, Willie?" said Ralph,
brushing the fair curls from the boy's forehead. "Me mammy's darling,"
said the little one, with innocent eyes and a pretty curve of the
little mouth.
"Surely. And what will you be when you grow up, my sunny boy?"
"A man."
"Ah! and a wit, eh? But what will you be at your work--a farmer?"
"Me be a soldier.
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