"Is that a real, live boy?" cried the young man softly. "Or have you
stolen him out of a frame somewhere?"
Mrs. Stephen stood still, smiling, on the bottom stair, and Richard
approached with eager interest. He came close and stood looking into the
small face with eyes which took in every exquisite feature.
"Jove!" he said, under his breath, and looked up at the young mother. "I
didn't know they made them like that."
She laughed softly, with a mother's happy pride. "His little sister
really ought to have had his looks," she said. "But we're hoping she'll
develop them, and he'll grow plain in time to save him from being
spoiled."
"Do you really hope that?" he laughed incredulously. "Don't hope it too
fast. See here, Boy, are you real? Come here and let me see." He held
out his arms.
"He's very shy," began Mrs. Stephen in explanation of the situation she
now expected to have develop. It did develop in so far that the child
shyly buried his head in her shoulder. But in a moment he peeped out
again. Richard continued to hold out his arms, smiling, and suddenly the
little fellow leaned forward. Richard gently drew him away from his
mother, and, though he looked back at her as if to make sure that she
was there, he presently seemed to surrender himself with confidence into
the stranger's care and gave him back smile for smile.
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