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Curt post-cards came on these occasions, thus conceived: 'DEAR MOTHER, 'A son. Send Bloomah. Sometimes these messages were mournfully inverted: 'DEAR MOTHER, 'Poor little Rachie is gone. Send Bloomah to your heart-broken 'BECKY. Occasionally the post-card went the other way: 'DEAR BECKY, 'Send back Bloomah. 'Your loving mother.
"Don't you know the presents all belong to little Carson?" "Well, we didn't get anything but mittens and caps," said Rachie, in the baldest of candor. "Go ahead and enjoy the things," instructed Jim. "Skeezucks, do you want the little girls to play with all the things?" The little fellow nodded. He was happier far than ever he had been in all his life.
"Isn't Carson a sweet little boy, mammy? What's he got a rabbit?" "That's his doll," said Jim. "Oh, papa, look!" said Rachie. "Oh, papa, look!" echoed Susie. "Papa, yook!" piped Ellie, the youngest, who wanted the dolly for herself, and, therefore, hauled at it lustily. The others endeavored to prevent her depredations.
There was nothing artificial in the way those little girls fell in love with tiny Skeezucks; and with equally engaging frankness the tiny man instantly revealed his fondness for them all. They were introduced as Susie and Rachie and Ellie. Their other name was Stowe.
Then they fell on the presents, to which they conveyed little Carson, in the intimate way of hugging in transit that only small mothers-to-be have ever been known to develop. "Oh, papa, look at the funny old bottle!" said Susie, taking up one of the "sort of kaliderscopes" in her hand. "Papa, mamma, look!" added Rachie.
In a desperate groping for his inspiration, Jim thought instantly of all his favorites Diogenes, Plutarch, Endymion, Socrates, Kit Carson, and Daniel Boone. "Wal, yes. His name " and there old Jim halted, while "Di" and "Plu" and "Indy" and "Soc" all clamored in his brain for the honor. "His name I reckon his name is Carson Boone." "Little Carson," said Rachie.
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