I’d feel a heap safeter ef this quilt was nailed to the flo’ on each side o’my legs.  They’re trimblin’ so I dunno what minute my feet’ll let go their holt.

An’ she don’t know it yet!  An’ he layin’ here, dressed up in all the little clo’es she sewed!  She mus’ be purty bad.  I dunno, though; maybe that’s gen’ally the way.

They’re keepin’ mighty still in that room.  Blessed ef I don’t begin to feel ‘is warmth in my ol’ knee-bones!  An’ he’s a-breathin’ thess ez reg’lar ez that clock, on’y quicker.  Lordy!  An’ she don’t know it yet!  An’ he a boy!  He taken that after the Joneses; we’ve all been boys in our male branch.  When that name strikes, seem like it comes to stay.  Now for a girl—­

Wonder if he ain’t covered up mos’ too close-t.  Seem like he snuffles purty loud—­for a beginner.

Doctor! oh, doctor!  I say, doctor!

Strange he don’t hear—­’n’ I don’t like to holler no louder.  Wonder ef she could be worse?  Ef I could thess reach somethin’ to knock with!  I daresn’t lif’ my foot, less’n the whole business’d fall through.

Oh, doc’!  Here he comes now—­Doctor, I say, don’t you think maybe he’s covered up too—­

How’s she, doctor?  “Thess the same,” you say? ‘n’ she don’t know yet—­about him?  “In a couple o’ hours,” you say?  Well, don’t lemme keep you, doctor.  But, tell me, don’t you think maybe he’s covered up a leetle too close-t?

That’s better.  An’ now I’ve saw him befo’ she did!  An’ I didn’t want to, neither.

Poor leetle, teenchy, weenchy bit of a thing!  Ef he ain’t the very littlest!  Lordy, Lordy, Lor_dy!_ But I s’pose all thet’s needed in a baby is a startin’-p’int big enough to hol’ the fam’ly ch’racteristics.  I s’pose maybe he is, but the po’ little thing mus’ feel sort o’ scrouged with ’em, ef he’s got ’em all—­the Joneses’ an’ the Simses’.  Seem to me he favors her a little thess aroun’ the mouth.

An’ she don’t know it yet!

[Illustration:  “Seem to me he favors her a little thess aroun’ the mouth.”]

Lord!  But my legs ache like ez if they was bein’ wrenched off.  I’ve got ‘em on sech a strain, somehow.  An’ he on’y a half hour ol’, an’ two hours mo’ ‘fo’ I can budge!  Lord, Lord! how will I stand it!

God bless ‘im! Doc!  He’s a-sneezin’!  Come quick!  Shore ez I’m here, he snez twice-t!

Don’t you reckon you better pile some mo’ wood on the fire an’—­

What’s that you say?  “Fetch ‘im along”?  An’ has she ast for ’im?  Bless the Lord!  I say.  But a couple of you ’ll have to come help me loosen up ‘fo’ I can stir, doctor.

Here, you stan’ on that side the quilt, whiles I stir my foot to the flo’ where it won’t slip—­an’ Dicey—­where’s that nigger Dicey?  You Dicey, come on here, an’ tromp on the other side o’ this bedquilt till I h’ist yo’ young marster up on to my shoulder.