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Then he told them things. He had spent a year at Deal long ago, where a cousin of his was married to a boatman.

Mr Button had put in a year as a longshoreman at Deal, and he had got a great lot to tell of his cousin and her husband, and more especially of one, Hannah; Hannah was his cousin’s baby—a most marvellous child, who was born with its “buck” teeth fully developed, and whose first unnatural act on entering the world was to make a snap at the “docther.” “Hung on to his fist like a bull-dog, and him bawlin’ ‘Murther!’”

“Mrs James,” said Emmeline, referring to a Boston acquaintance, “had a little baby, and it was pink.”

“Ay, ay,” said Paddy; “they’re mostly pink to start with, but they fade whin they’re washed.”

“It’d no teeth,” said Emmeline, “for I put my finger in to see.”

“The doctor brought it in a bag,” put in Dick, who was still steadily fishing—“dug it out of a cabbage patch; an’ I got a trow’l and dug all our cabbage patch up, but there weren’t any babies—but there were no end of worms.”