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Cristie returned from Romney, Ida Mayberry was walking by the side of the baby-carriage, which Lanigan Beam was pushing towards the spot from which there was the best view of the western sky. Mrs. Cristie looked at them, and said to herself: "I don't altogether like that sort of thing, and I think it must be stopped." Calthea Rose appeared to have recovered her good humor.
"An' I'll warrant you deserve it," said the woman. Then she added to Maria she was entirely impartial in her scolding "Let go of her, ain't you shamed." Then to the baby, "Did he think he was goin' to get hurted?" "He's a girl!" cried Maria in a frenzy of indignation. "He is not a boy, he is a girl." She still clung desperately to Josephine's hair, who in her turn clung to the baby-carriage.
"I am afraid you are not strong enough to back him out of that," said Ida; "and if there were not so much water all around him I would go and take him by the head." "Let him alone," cried Miss Calthea. "Back, Sultan! Back, I say!" And she pulled and pulled, tiring herself greatly, but making no impression upon the horse. Now appeared upon the scene Mrs. Cristie, pushing her baby-carriage.
It will be remembered that Honora was even then a coquette, and as she sat in her new baby-carriage under the pear tree, flirted outrageously with Peter, who stood on one foot from embarrassment. "Why, Peter," Uncle Tom had said slyly, "why don't you kiss her?" That kiss had been Peter's seal of service. And he became, on Sunday afternoons, a sort of understudy for Catherine.
And the move with the baby carrying his puppy, and Pip the goldfish, and the girls wheeling the old baby-carriage full of their treasures, and Linda whitening her hands with a cut lemon, as she walked the seven short blocks ! Harriet made them see it all, and Richard laughed with the children.
She wore a round straw hat with a white ribbon, and a light-colored summer suit with a broad belt, which held a large bunch of yellow flowers with brown centers. She had a cheerful, pleasant countenance, and large brown eyes which seemed to observe everything. As the wagon approached, Mrs. Cristie rapidly pushed her baby-carriage towards the house.
Why not wheel another fellow's baby-carriage for another fellow's wife's baby across Brooklyn Bridge at midnight? Whoops! why not!" "We're off, then, Gert." "Forward, march!" "Keep your eye on the steering-wheel, Phonzie, and remember, ten miles is speed limit on the Bridge. One, two, three! Gawd! if my friend from Carson City could only see me now!"
She stood near and yet aloof, a lovely little flower of a girl, all white-scalloped frills and ribbons, with a big white-frilled hat shading a pale little face and covering the top of a head decorated with wonderful yellow curls. She stood behind a big baby-carriage with a pink-lined muslin canopy and containing a nest of pink and white, but an empty nest.
The beautiful door of the old colonial mansion opposite was thrown open, and clumsy and cautious motion was evident. Presently a tall, slender woman came down the path between the box borders, pushing a baby-carriage. It was undoubtedly a very old carriage. It must have dated back to the fifties, if not the forties. It was made of wood, with a leather buggy-top, and was evidently very heavy.
He kept an alcohol lamp in his room, and a French coffee-pot, and his wife made coffee for him at any hour of the night he happened to want it. Most Black Hawk fathers had no personal habits outside their domestic ones; they paid the bills, pushed the baby-carriage after office hours, moved the sprinkler about over the lawn, and took the family driving on Sunday. Mr.
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