166 — Bob Robinson's Baby

never greatly approved of those hideous little
bare worm-bags—they are really most revolt-
ing objects to look upon; something like
Christmas turkeys hung up at the poul-
terer’s, only more so. I particularly object
to the unsightly knobs they have for eyes.
Now if you could make it convénient to
hatch out a human baby—what do you think ?
I noticed last year, when looking in at the
nursery window of those young married
people whose house adjoins my garden (by
an arrangement between myself and them),
a very nice baby there—pink. It’s there
now—only bigger.”

“But whatever could we do with it?”
asked Mrs. R.

“Why, just: think, when it grew up to
be a man

“A man?” said Mrs. R. ‘Why, how
could it grow up to be a man? I’ve
seen it; it is not a bit like a man!
Erthupp is a man; he has a nest on his
head, and another on his chin, and a deep
voice something like Mr. Rook’s, only
larger.”